Memory of Karen, his cousin

One day he was this scrawny little guy in glasses, the next a teenage heartthrob with big muscles and a tattoo. It was so quick… just in the span of a couple of years. Naomi came back from a trip to Israel and showed me her photos-"who's that guy?" I asked, not recognizing my own cousin. I didn't really know what he had become, but I knew a bit about his fundamental character from the years of interactions at family gatherings. He sure liked to argue... I was so impressed with how much he knew about politics at such a young age. He had well-formed, nuanced opinions where my knowledge barely scratched the surface.

He taught me a few things about Israeli politics when he and Hanna and I took a trip to Petra in 1999. I am so grateful for that trip, for having had the chance to spend those days with him. Every other time we had spent together had been with so many other family members that it was easy to miss each other. But now I have the memories of talking to him about politics in the backseat of the car on that trip. As we passed through the desert landscape, he gave me new insights into ways to think about what goes on there.

Mostly when I think of Dror, though, I think about his little idiosyncrasies which I will never be able to put into words but will always remember as distinctly his-something about his knowing smile, the way his lips and eyebrows moved when he laughed, the particular way that he moved his hands. They are simple things, but they are my specific memories, and I hold onto them tightly. They are what I have left.

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