by Ginette Lando (Thaler)
Dear Family,
The past month has probably been the worst in my life. The non-imaginable happened.
Well, the almost non-imaginable. I lost my 16-year old daughter and almost my 14-year old son
in yet another senseless bombing. Why do I say "almost non-imaginable"? Well, I grew up in
the suburbs of London where life seemed very quiet. There were some criminal activities around
but nothing drastic.
I made Aliya, originally in 1981, after having spent a year previously on kibbutzim and also
several shorter visits to Israel since the age of 15. I guess, I kind of fell in love with the country.
It was my home, the home of the Jews. That's how I felt back then, and still do today.
I later went to live in the U.S., Brooklyn, New York, to be more precise. There I learned
that the world was not so sweet. The violence that took place on the streets there, and
throughout the whole country, was totally foreign to me. It hit home, however, when my then
husband was robbed one day at gunpoint, in the elevator to our apartment building. Brooklyn
was my home for five years. Later we moved to Baltimore, which was a nicer place to live than
Brooklyn, but the violence was still rampant. In any case, I was scared to a certain degree, to
live in the States.
I returned to Israel in 1997 with my children. I had always wanted them to grow up in
Israel, believing that a child's life would be lived to its fullest here. I always believed there was
something very special for children here, there was always the feeling that the child of one is
like the child of everyone else, loved and cared for, and looked on as a jewel. My children had
always talked about living in Eretz Yisrael, as they would say when they were young, and I made
it happen in 1997.
Struggles were had, and that first year was probably very hard for Rachel, Leor, and Zvi,
living in a new country, learning to speak a new language, and going to school with new friends.
But the kids of Ginot Shomron and Neve Aliza opened up their arms to my three kids, and with
time, they became part of the chevrei (friends).
I discovered Ginot Shomron on a pilot trip. It is situated in the Shomron hills, approximately
15 minutes from Kfar Saba, and some of the views around are breathless. It was my dream to
live either in the hills or near the sea - for now, I found the hills. The only hesitation of living
here was that to go to work meant a long trip every day to wherever I was able to find work.
I did find work as an English secretary, but it was always at least an hour's journey in each
direction, morning and evening. My consolation was the fact that, I always believed my children
to be safe, growing up, and living on a Yishuv, away from the usual hubub of town life.
Back in September 2000, when the recent Intifada started, my outlook on life began to
change. All of a sudden, I would be driving home, and after the initial shock of hearing shooting
to my side, as I would pass by Kalkilya, it became a part of my life. I accepted it the same as
I would having to stop at a red light, or sitting in a line of traffic. Then the piguim (the shooting
attacks and bombings) became more and more frequent, and the news would reveal the latest
family or families torn apart by their individual tragedies of losing a family member. It was still
distant, but again it became a part of our daily lives. Tanks then started appearing in the vicinity
of Kalkilya and some of the neighboring villages, many soldiers around, things that don't really
fit into the life of a suburban Londoner, yet here it was, and again it was something that I
accepted as in any other routine.
The shootings and bombings continued and no longer were they things that happened to other
people, it was getting closer and closer to home. It was already close enough in that the victims
were family members of friends or neighbors, and even neighbors, themselves, and I began to
realize that it would just be a matter of time. And yes, that is when I would start to imagine
about how it would feel if it happened to me. All sorts of images would go through my head,
but my biggest worry was that it would be me shot dead by some passing Arab, and then my
children would be left without a mother. How would they survive?
But my imagination took the wrong line. It wasn't me, it was two of my children. Rachel
didn't make it, Leor did, but he suffered pain and experiences that I can't even fathom.
I will never forget the night of the bombing. It was a bad dream come true. Nothing more,
nothing less. I knew Rachel was there, I knew she was hurt, but I couldn't find her. It seemed
like hours and hours, and all I could think of was that she needed me by her, yet I didn't even
know where she was. And what seemed like a short while before I learned which hospital she
was in, I discovered that Leor was also there, lying somewhere in an ambulance or hospital, also
needing me and I could not be there.
So yes, now, it became a reality. It happened this time not to some family member of a
friend, or neighbor, it happened to me, it happened to my children. Our lives have now been
changed forever.
P>The days that followed had no beginnings and no endings. I floated through time and was
held up by the endless arms of my friends and neighbors who were there for me, with me, with
Rachel and with Leor, as well as those at home who were there for Zvi. I never knew what true
support was until this time, this nightmare. Then Rachel died. Rachel, my only daughter,
Rachel, my love, I loved her dearly, still do, with a lot of pain, and always will.
Rachel started out in life as a miracle. She was born after 28 weeks of pregnancy (1.2 kg),
she was born on the 28th day of the month, and she was buried on the 28th day of the month, -
three times 28! Does that have some kind of meaning? The two other children who died
initially, Karen and Nechemia, Rachel now made that number three. Again that number three.
Karen's name in Hebrew, Kuf, Raish, Nun. Kuf-Karen, Raish-Rachel, Nun-Nechemia.
People whispered that at the Shiva the first night, not wanting me to hear, but I heard and I
insisted they told me what they were whispering. Again, three letters to Karen's
name, the initials of the three children. Yes, again the number three!
So now, this evening, I sit here writing this story, well, not really a story but reality, reality
in my life and in my children's lives.
I want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart and my soul for all the support and
help you have all given to me during this terrible ordeal. People have helped me financially as
well, they have donated money to various schools in Rachel's name for which I am extremely
honored. I really have no words to describe what all this has meant to me. Thank you all.
As I end my little saga, I would like to find a way to make people realize the importance of
the State of Israel within the Green Line as well as over the Green Line, as in the territories, that
word that I cannot stand to hear, but that is what most people are familiar with. We cannot let
our Arab neighbors/terrrorists win, we cannot let them get the better of us, we cannot stop living
because of them. We have to go on, to continue and to live to the best of our ability, because
if we don't, then we have given in and given up, and they will have won. And if they have won,
then Rachel, Nechemia and Karen died for nothing.
This war, and it is just that, a war against us as a people, us as Jews, and us as a nation, may
go on forever, but we must never give up and must never run away. Rachel believed so strongly
in all this, and for her, and Karen and Nechemia, we must keep on. And we must make the rest
of the world realize that this is not just our fight, it is the fight of every Jew throughout the
Universe, both religious and nonreligious, from every background. It is also a fight against
terrorism. And today, terrorism is becoming more understood by other nations throughout the
world.
Ginette Lando (Thaler)
ginett@bezeqint.net