Letter From Rica
I was asked to jot down what you meant to me and two or three ways that your life touched mine. That seems so inadequate, though. How can I put down on paper what you meant to me?
You helped me through some of the toughest times that I have gone through in my life.
I didn't fully realize to what extent you were there for me when my dad lost his job. I mean, I knew and appreciated you fronting money when we went out, but I didn't know until recently how consciously you did it. And you never made me feel indebted to you (perhaps in jest, but it was clear to me that it was simply a wink).
Though Aaron had nearly been gone a year, it was still such a raw wound when I met you. I don't recall you doing anything directly, but it was a rare occasion that I was comfortable and soothed enough to just be an eighteen-year-old. You allowed me to do that. You allowed me to connect with you in a similar manner to that which I had with Aaron. Perhaps that is one reason why I am so angry, as so many are, at your passing. And I'm sure that you're mighty pissed off, too.
You were at the Arizona when I met the man who later attacked me. I remember you two having a long conversation about German cars - you were fascinated by the fact that he lived near some sportscar plant. When he made it clear that he was interested in me, you kept talking about cars, almost trying to distract him. I was too drunk and too upset to see what was going on, but you did. I'm sure that had I not been as foolish as to leave the bar with him as abruptly as I did, you would have been sure to make it clear to me that leaving with him was a bad idea. I recall you saying something to that effect. But I didn't pick up any "warning" signs. The morning after, Eitan came down to my "rescue", undoubtedly thinking he'd hear some juicy story about that evening's conquest. Little did he know what he was in for. And I certainly did not expect what came next - first not having any real support from the program (how could they not have had some sort of policy in a case like that!) to being banned from bars and clubs altogether because I had shown myself to be too irresponsible - as if it were my fault. I made a foolish, but simple mistake most anyone could have made.
I remember coming back from home on New Yearr's Eve. I remember meeting up with you and then losing my mind when I got back to Riklis. I was a mess. But I remember being with you for breakfast that morning in the chadar ochel realizing what happened to me, what happened the night before, and that for the first time since our arrival, I would be separated from the only friends that I had on Year Course for over a month. I was pretty lonely, but you kept me smiling.
You stood by me. You took me out for good times even when the program tried to deny me of my evenings with friends. I went to the therapist the program sent me to, and all that I got from her was that, again, it was my fault, I brought it on myself if anything really happened. I went to kibbutz where I met new people and spent time with new faces, and I began to rebuild my life, but the weekends (thanks to the therapy sessions) were always with you and Eitan. I took what you and my new friend on kibbutz taught me and I was reborn. I enjoyed life more. I felt much more reassured. My therapy sessions in Jerusalem were not with that horrible "doctor" but with you. Your ear was always open as was your heart.
An example of this was Purim night. What a blast we had! To this very day, I would rank Purim night as the best night out on the town that I've ever had - no exxageration. It wasn't because I was up for a hot date, or wined and dined at Le Cirque� it was because it was pure fun with friends. We had no cares in the world - our only concern was to have a good time, get drunk, be together and be happy. (I confess, we did spend a chunk of the evening trying to find the object of my desire at the time, but I'm actually much happier that we didn't find him). I think my favorite picture of you from Israel (which is now missing) is from that night - Eitan, Shefsky, you and I are all holding beers and an Israel flag on Ben Yehudah Street. One big happy family.
Though it was not a "difficult" night of my life, you spent my first seder away from home with me at that crazy Orthodox Sephardi seder in the Jewish Quarter of the Old City. I remember both of us trying desperately not to fall asleep as the seder droned on into the not-so-wee hours of the night. I remember getting the giggles as we guzzled what seemed to be gallons of wine. I couldn't tell if you were really enjoying the seder, the silliness, were simply drunk or tired, or if you simply smiled to humour me and the host family. I'm inclined to think it was a combination. But I didn't get homesick at all. Perhaps that's because when I was with you, I was at home.
All of that was just in Israel�
When Sam and I broke up, I realized that I had really isolated myself and had not formed the normal relationships that a recent college grad will. Rather then befriend people in my immediate area and reconnect with old friends, I hung out with adults which with I had very little in common. And when my relationship with Sam died, so did my circle of "friends". And I was so broken. Possibly even moreso than when I was raped because when we broke up, I didn't feel the kind of support and warmth that I did in Israel. I began to sever ties with friends and with life itself.
When I was at my lowest and felt so dirty that I wanted to spit, I got the urge to call you. So I did. And for the first time in months I actually wanted to speak to someone - not reach out and "be saved" - that misconception nearly cost me my friendship with Lisa - but to find a comrade - someone who would let me be as depressed as I wanted to be because that's where I needed to be. That was you.
I'm still debating whether or not I should have made that phone call. Though it did bring me to Scott, and in turn Zachary, who is the most precious thing in my life, it later brought you to Lisa. I know, I know - if it was meant to be with Lisa, then you would have gotten together somehow. But I'm not that optimistic. If I hadn't made that call, Scott and I would not have met - he would have had the chance to be on his own and to find himself. Lisa and her family would never have known the heartache of losing you. I'm trying to convince myself that your touching their lives was the best thing that could have happened, but I don't know yet if that counterbalances the devastating loss.
Who knew that your folly was your greatest asset - you had an enormous heart, Ari. It is because of you, largely, that I have learned (time and time again) to live life and value your time. You've demonstrated how to smell the roses (and smoke other "fragrant stuff" too� ). I'm sitting here at my desk doing my usual banal and useless typing and paper pushing, answering phone calls from people that mean about as much to me as the mildew growing in my shower, and surrounding the "pods" are huge windows looking out on an amazingly bright and beautiful spring day. And I'm staring at a screen with numbers and letters. That's not what you showed me - that's not how you lived your life. And that's not what you wanted of me, unless I misunderstood you. I've gotta get out of here. It's killing the spirit that you helped me mend and nurse and share with the people that I love. I've become a bitter "suit". ME. How scary is that?
***
I have two confessions to make. They seem somewhat out of place, but one is a concealed "beef" I had with you and the other, I'm afraid, would hurt you greatly, but I have to get this off my chest. Perhaps this shows me as the incredibly petty person I truly am.
How dare you give up your Israel treasures because of a bad relationship? Your bad relationship with that girl had nothing to do with Israel. You had no right to let her invade that year. Those were our memories, Ari. Those were our days and nights. When you left those behind, you wrote that year off. It was like throwing a part of me away. And that hurts, Ari. Your family and friends here have tangible things that they can hold on to when they need to invoke your memories and hold onto something of yours in order to bring you back to them. But I have nothing, Ari. You gave it all away. I have memories that can either fade or warp over the years. I don't even have a picture of just the two of us. I feel like I have nothing. Just a trail of broken hearts for me to mend. My own included. I have a shattered best friend that leaves me wondering if she will ever recover and a devastated husband who can't open up to anyone else but you. A beautiful, innocent son, already full of love, who will forever wonder where his Godfather is and try and make sense of why his protector died before he was old enough to need him.
My second confession is even more painful for me to admit. Some might say that I shouldn't say anything at all. But I feel like I have to apologize for something unspoken that I did to you. It was really difficult for me to touch you, Ari. I couldn't get past my stupid superficial reaction to your rash. Here you are, an amazing friend, away from home, being your wonderful self and a great companion, and I can't even return your back rub because of my stupid hang up. I am so sorry that I was that shallow. The way you were able to look past whatever a person's hang up about themselves was and to the person they really were should have been enough for me to be as easily comfortable with you. But I'm stubborn, Ari. And so stupid. And I am so sorry if you ever perceived, which I'm sure you had perceived my discomfort. You strove so hard to keep people from being uncomfortable, albeit silently, and here I am, someone "close" to you, and I can't even return the favor. Shame on me.
***
As I listen to the reports of the victims of the Columbine High School shooting and funeral testimonies, I hear how wonderful the victims were. Obviously, there is the standard " will be missed greatly" blah, blah, blah. But each of this kids were extraordinary in their classes. They exceeded adult expectations of teenagers, as you exceeded any human expectation of such compassion in a young man of our generation, stereotyped as uncaring and unwilling. It's as though God saw too much beauty in His Garden this spring and picked His very best flowers for His centerpieces.
But, I wonder something, Ari� I don't think it was a coincidence that you died the day after the Columbine High School shootings. All day we heard "what made these kids do this? How can we fix things? What can we do? Who is to blame?" And there were no answers. What more could the parents have done? The kids couldn't relate to the parents? What more could their teachers have done? Most students don't have open, feeling relationships with their teachers. What could their friends have done? Their friends were fellow outcasts in their despair.
You had such an amazing touch and an angelic gift of getting through to the hardest and coldest hearts and souls. Perhaps God, in God's "infinite" wisdom felt just as inadequate as parents around the country in dealing with today's new generation did. But you were able to get through the hardest of us. You even went so far as to make us love you. Hopelessly and devotedly.
Perhaps you are the only solution God could think of for these "invisible" kids who are feeling so much pain that it turns to hurt. Perhaps God needs you to intercept their pain before it becomes a weapon and turn it into love - as you did for all of us.
***
This whole ordeal is so surreal. You lived life and you lived hard, but it was hardly as though your earthly flame had burned itself up. Rock stars and celebrities die young, but we can all say "well, they lived their lives through - their candle burnt out". But you were on the verge of living life to the fullest. You and Lisa had the love of the lifetime, but barely had the chance to grow old together - there wasn't one of us who saw the two of you together who didn't believe that you would grow old together with several thousand cats and even more happy, bouncing, playful and lovely grandchildren. I was going to sing at your wedding, not your funeral. Scott was going to hug you as your best man, not as your pallbearer. Eitan was going to smoke up not to numb the pain and relive the now dead past, but to celebrate with you. Lisa was supposed to wear white and look stunning, not black (but she still looked stunning). Her eyes were supposed to sparkle with joy, not with tears. She was supposed to be glowing. Instead, she was pale.
As your coffin was lowered into the ground, I heard a telltale Harley engine rev and roar in time with the weeping around your tomb. With the first thud of the damp earth hammering your coffin, the engine grumbled. With each mound of dirt, the Harley grumbled louder. Finally, I heard the hog rev one last time and speed off, and as the engine faded into the unseen horizon, a loud clap of thunder echoed and the clouds parted as though you were riding that phantom motorcycle onward to your heavenly bound journey. And that calmed my aching heart and the tears that had been flowing down my face. It was time for me to tend to other things.
Ari as Best Man at Rica and Scott's wedding. March 22, 1998