February 2nd, '03
After the Fall

It was about a half hour after Shabbat when I heard the awful news that the space shuttle - carrying Israeli Ilan Ramon, along with six other astronauts - had disintegrated on reentry. My reactions veered in all directions, from the personal, to the political, to the apocalyptic.

The personal came first: "It can't be. I can't take any more bad news."

Then the political, born of the anger that an endless stream of bad news over the past two years has created : "I'll bet the Palestinians are dancing in the streets," I thought to myself. "And I'll bet that Arafat's people will be out there making sure no one catches it on film."

The apocalyptic (not an adjective I often use to describe my thoughts): "It fell where? Palestine, Texas?! I don't know what message G-d is trying to send us, but it doesn't sound good."

This last reaction was no doubt a reflection of the way in which Ilan Ramon characterized his own trip into space. The son of a Holocaust survivor, Ramon used this mission to spread a message of unity, pride and hope to Jews throughout the world. For Israel, a country that needs hope so badly, the loss is indescribable.

Oh, yes, along with the personal, political and the apocalyptic, there was another reaction as well: parental.

Because I knew that the tragedy would be discussed in all Israeli schools this morning, I broke the news to my children soon after they woke up. Sam, my nine-year old, sat quietly for a while. Then, he said goodbye to the dream that, for him, Ilan Ramon had represented:

"I don't think I want to go outside of our world when I grow up. I like it right here. If someone else wants to do it, let them go."

See also: Shattered Dreams by Dina Coopersmith

A Tribute to Ilan Ramon's Legacy by Caroline Glick

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