It is now a year since my world collapsed and I joined the family of victims of terror. I knew nothing of its existence then, of course. What I did know was that my will to live was gone and in its place was an unabating pain.

During the shiva, the seven-day mourning period, several members of that family paid me condolence calls. Though we had never met before, they entered my home, sat beside me, took my hand and whispered words of encouragement.

Other victims reached out to me by phone. Some of them have remained my closest confidants as I grope down this endless tunnel of grief.

This June, the family of victims gathered at a resort hotel by the shores of the Dead Sea to spend Shabbat together. Generous donors had granted us some rest and relaxation along with the opportunity to share our nightmares under professional guidance.

Our sheer numbers were a shock to all of us. We had mushroomed into the newest minority group in Israeli society.

Israel has gradually been learning to cope with terrorism. The day after the Sbarro pizzeria bombing the one in which my daughter, Malki, perished saw the first armed guards stationed at the entrance to many eateries throughout the country. The lesson was learned too late to spare my child, but it was one that has saved many others.

But what of the second challenge of this war: coping with the victims and their needs? Have Israelis acquired the skills needed to embrace this new, fragile minority?

If they have, it has been too little. From this side of the fence, it appears that in their determination to get on with life and maintain a normal daily routine, many Israelis have actually brought additional pain to the victims in their midst.

Even under normal circumstances, reaching out to the bereaved is difficult and unsettling. When the death they mourn was violent, it is especially daunting. And when the fear of more such tragedies is as pervasive as it is here, contact with those who have lost loved ones becomes, for some, impossible.

Many victims report abandonment by relatives and the community soon after the official mourning period. Others find that those who do approach them are intent on conveying a "we are all in this together" message. Some common versions of it are: "Everyone is suffering, too" and "These are tough times for all of us."

There is apparent difficulty in acknowledging that, for a bereaved parent pain is in a class all its own. One woman I met found it impossible to concede this despite my efforts.

WHERE commercial premises were the sites of terror attacks, proprietors hang their eagerness to return to business-as-usual on patriotism. "We´ll show the Palestinians that they can´t change our lives," is the excuse for sometimes-shocking affronts to the sensitivities of victims.

Several days before the shloshim marking 30 days since the Sbarro massacre a newspaper advertisement appeared. Underneath a photo of a heart-shaped slice of pizza was an open invitation to attend the gala opening of Sbarro´s "new, magnificent" Jerusalem branch. Jerusalemites were urged to come and enjoy a free pizza and meet a host of celebrities including the city´s mayor who, the ad boasted, would attend Sbarro´s grand opening. No hint at why Jerusalem was being treated to a brand-new branch. No reference to the suicide bombing. No mention that those celebrities were attending to remember, in accordance with Jewish tradition, the 15 innocents murdered there 30 days earlier. Sbarro´s management hitched a free ride on that memorial service.

In June, the Moment Cafe, destroyed in another fatal suicide attack in Jerusalem, reopened. The gala event was held a more-sensitive three months after the bombing. But it was promoted as an equally festive affair. This time, several bereaved relatives of the victims protested outside. According to someone whose sister had perished there, they were refused entry to the cafe. A journalist who visited Moment that night wrote that she approached the protesters to try to justify to them the cafe owners´ conduct. But "they simply couldn´t be reasoned with." She had intended to join the celebrations inside but reconsidered to avoid upsetting them further. Instead, she resolved to come back another time when they´d be gone.

Let´s not delude ourselves: Insensitivity and condescension are not unavoidable. There is a better alternative. And it does not negate moving on and embracing the future.

New York State is currently considering several redevelopment options for the site of the twin towers. Some of the plans devote more of the site to a memorial park, others less. All are being run past the victims´ families for their reactions. As a Wall Street Journal columnist wrote, "No one disputes that the families of those who died deserve a considerable voice in discussions about a memorial on the WTC site. Nor does anyone doubt that, as part of the site, America wants a fitting memorial to September 11."

While he opined that the families´ preference to devote the entire site to a memorial was unrealistic and unfair to other New Yorkers, he agreed that their wishes must be given weight. And he wasn´t condescending like our journalist.

Is it asking too much for Israel´s victims to be treated with a modicum of respect? Is it unreasonable for our society to recognize its bereaved as heroes?

One couple whose two sons, their only children, died during the Lebanon War wrote this in a Remembrance Day letter to the Ha´aretz newspaper earlier this year: "If one should ask: What heroism is there in being a bereaved parent well, there is a ton, we would say. The heroism to get up every morning and to go to work as if nothing happened. The heroism to accept invitations to weddings when you know you yourself will never make one."

Among the families of Sbarro´s victims is another couple who lost their only child. She was pregnant with what would have been their first grandchild. There are five orphans who buried both their parents and three of their siblings. There are two 15-year-old friends, Malki and Michal: girls with hearts of gold. And one who doesn´t even number among the 15 dead: a young mother still lying unconscious in the hospital, a year later.

And anyone who eats a pizza in Sbarro´s these days need not remember them: the 20 x 10 cm memorial plaque on the restaurant´s wall makes no mention of the victims´ names. That might have ruined some appetites.

The writer is a New York-born freelancer and mother residing in Jerusalem. 

(© 1995-2002, The Jerusalem Post 07/30/02)