Michal Bower Ish-Horowicz: Ester, a real dugma
[‘Dugma’ is Hebrew for ‘role model'. Michal was in Israel when she heard that Ester had died. She and some other friends held a ceremony of remembrance for Ester and Michal spoke these words.]
When I tried to think of a way to convey the Ester I knew to you in a few words, I realised it would be impossible. There is no way I can do justice to the extraordinary person she was, but I wanted to share some of the things that made her so special to me and to everyone who knew her.
The thing that always struck me most about Ester was that she was one of those rare people who actually live out their ideals, a real Dugma, even when it's hard, or depressing, or frustrating, because she believed that every person deserved to be loved, looked after, and respected, and that it was up to her to help make this happen.
She did so much to support people in her community; when my mother's friend needed, at short notice, someone to provide twenty-four hour care for her father while she was away, it was of course Ester who volunteered. Everything she did was about building personal relationships. When she went to work in an orphanage in Ghana she was an instant favourite among the children. They loved her because no one else had ever had the time to show them any affection, to build up loving friendships with them as Ester did. And I remember her coming back with her hair in Ghanain plaits, because she had embraced the culture she had lived in as well as the people she had met.
Ester always had an amazing ability to see the good in people and value them as individuals. She worked coordinating volunteers to help detained asylum seekers in detention centres in England, and it was a job that she could have done impersonally. But that wasn't Ester's style. One of the projects she started was collecting creative writing pieces from detainees of their experiences and publishing it as a newsletter, just another example of how she could empower and engage with the people she worked with. And I remember her telling me about one refugee who, knowing he would soon be deported, asked her to come back with him. He'd never met her, only spoken to her on the phone, but she had been one of the only people he had encountered who had treated him as an equal, who had been sympathetic to him, who had been happy to give him time, because she believed that, as a fellow human being, he deserved it.
And yet when I think of the Ester I knew all my life, the Ester I'm going to miss, it's not her good deeds that I think of. It's the girl who had the most embarrassingly loud and distinctive laugh, so that in a crowded room of people, I could always tell if she was there. It's the girl whose favourite colour was purple, and would wear it from head to toe, complete with trademark Doc Martens. It's the girl who sang everywhere so beautifully and yet never realised how talented she was. It's the girl who always managed to make a connection with the people she met because she really valued who you were and what you had to say. And knowing that she is gone is hard to believe because it seems so wrong.
The fact that Ester died so young, that she still had so much to give to the world is a tragedy, but in her short life she managed to achieve so much, to touch so many people, and I am so thankful I was one of them. She was living proof that one person really can make a difference, and I know that her memory will live on and continue to be an inspiration to me and all who knew her.
When I tried to think of a way to convey the Ester I knew to you in a few words, I realised it would be impossible. There is no way I can do justice to the extraordinary person she was, but I wanted to share some of the things that made her so special to me and to everyone who knew her.
The thing that always struck me most about Ester was that she was one of those rare people who actually live out their ideals, a real Dugma, even when it's hard, or depressing, or frustrating, because she believed that every person deserved to be loved, looked after, and respected, and that it was up to her to help make this happen.
She did so much to support people in her community; when my mother's friend needed, at short notice, someone to provide twenty-four hour care for her father while she was away, it was of course Ester who volunteered. Everything she did was about building personal relationships. When she went to work in an orphanage in Ghana she was an instant favourite among the children. They loved her because no one else had ever had the time to show them any affection, to build up loving friendships with them as Ester did. And I remember her coming back with her hair in Ghanain plaits, because she had embraced the culture she had lived in as well as the people she had met.
Ester always had an amazing ability to see the good in people and value them as individuals. She worked coordinating volunteers to help detained asylum seekers in detention centres in England, and it was a job that she could have done impersonally. But that wasn't Ester's style. One of the projects she started was collecting creative writing pieces from detainees of their experiences and publishing it as a newsletter, just another example of how she could empower and engage with the people she worked with. And I remember her telling me about one refugee who, knowing he would soon be deported, asked her to come back with him. He'd never met her, only spoken to her on the phone, but she had been one of the only people he had encountered who had treated him as an equal, who had been sympathetic to him, who had been happy to give him time, because she believed that, as a fellow human being, he deserved it.
And yet when I think of the Ester I knew all my life, the Ester I'm going to miss, it's not her good deeds that I think of. It's the girl who had the most embarrassingly loud and distinctive laugh, so that in a crowded room of people, I could always tell if she was there. It's the girl whose favourite colour was purple, and would wear it from head to toe, complete with trademark Doc Martens. It's the girl who sang everywhere so beautifully and yet never realised how talented she was. It's the girl who always managed to make a connection with the people she met because she really valued who you were and what you had to say. And knowing that she is gone is hard to believe because it seems so wrong.
The fact that Ester died so young, that she still had so much to give to the world is a tragedy, but in her short life she managed to achieve so much, to touch so many people, and I am so thankful I was one of them. She was living proof that one person really can make a difference, and I know that her memory will live on and continue to be an inspiration to me and all who knew her.
posted by Ester memories at 11:43 am
