On a Suicide Bombing Victim
Jun. 19th, 2003 08:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rfmcdonaldI was browsing the web last night when I came across
http://www.shiri.us/
a website dedicated to the memory of Shiri Negari, a young Israeli woman killed last year in a suicide bombing in Jerusalem.
In my livejournal's fifth entry, entered more than one year ago, I wrote
The above website documents the life of Shiri, an engaging and vital woman who had the misfortune to be brutally murdered for a cause not of her making. It preserves her life to the best of the Internet's capacity. If only she was alive, though; rememberances are cold comfort, even when they're all we have.
http://www.shiri.us/
a website dedicated to the memory of Shiri Negari, a young Israeli woman killed last year in a suicide bombing in Jerusalem.
In my livejournal's fifth entry, entered more than one year ago, I wrote
Sir Andrew MacPhail (1864-1938) is a native-born Islander who has achieved a fair degree of renown, as a writer and historical personage. His semi-autobiographical novel (though classified as biographical under the Dewey Decimal System) The Master's Wife is a wonderful description of life, as it was, in his childhood in the late 19th century in a conservative Highland Scots settlement.
On the first page of my edition (republished in 1994), there is a quote:
"The remembrance of any life, rich and fresh, should not be lost to the world."
This is a profoundly ethical statement. Firstly, that all life is important, and that memory of life should be maintained post-morten. Secondly, it implies that we all can benefit from these memories of lives lived, not only the author though codification of dispersed memories can be a help, but an audience which can enjoy and benefit from these memories.
The above website documents the life of Shiri, an engaging and vital woman who had the misfortune to be brutally murdered for a cause not of her making. It preserves her life to the best of the Internet's capacity. If only she was alive, though; rememberances are cold comfort, even when they're all we have.
