It is with deepest sorrow and regret that we anounce the tragic death by car accident of our beloved colleague Nadia Ronis. The ETNI community extends it's deepest condolences to Genia's family.

REMEMBERING NADIA RONIS

May 14, 2005, Saturday To My Dearest Friend and Colleague,

A few hours ago, Menachem called to say that there was a car accident and started to break the news gently. Slowly in agony,I waited . I was told that a few were injured but you - YOU were killed. At that moment, I felt my heart kill a few beats. I couldn't believe it then and I still can't believe it now. it was your name that was said out loud over the cellular phone, on that hot Saturday afternoon at the Fureidis junction and time stopped.

It will be very hard for me to even say the words 'good-bye' to you. Even from a distance, your energy was buzzing and your presence is something that I will miss the most especially when returning to school on a Sunday morning rise and shine for the first lesson.

But, tomorrow is Sunday, and I can hardly believe that I won't see you at school tomorrow and for that matter, I will not see you at all. When I conjure your name, I think of how busy you were in the teacher's room, running off papers, stacking what there was to be stacked, preparing for the next day, week, lesson, semester. Always preparing and thinking with lots of love, tenderness, sometimes a smile but always with a passion and I liked your energy.

In the hallways and classrooms, I always saw you as a hit with the students. You knew intuitively knew how to reach them at their level. I remember wanting to visit your yud-aleph class last year and although we talked about the possible days, it never happened. In our discussions about teaching weaker classes, we eventually got to the topics of dyslexic kids. Your spoken message was crystal clear - help them to overcome their reading difficulties but underneath, you believed in the individual approach. I say this from first hand experience when You always said good and kind things about my work even when the days were down (that is how I first met you) and I can still hear your deep rapid voice saying those words - sometimes in Hebrew and sometimes in English. This was how you treated your students with the individual approach but I believe that your attitude towards teaching was based on a true LOVE for the profession and to do it professionally.

When I first came to Emek Hahula I remember first your black shirts and then your smile. And one day after working with you for several years, I remember reading in one of your end of the year recommendations about the positive and individual approach for a particular student. I confess that I used those exact same words in my recommendations and this Nadia, is what I am taking from you.

You had different voices - Russian, Hebrew and English. You used each language for a different reason and purpose. And although we both didn't grow up in this country, we both experienced the same feelings of adjustment to teaching Israeli students. I know this because I come as an olah hadasha and still after fifteen years of living in this crazy little country, still experience difficulties of adjustment and was able to share this with you.

I slowly got to become acquainted with your tender and loving side that unfortunately I didn't get to know well enough but was fortunate to experience it two weeks before the end of my maternity leave. It happened in the teacher's room when you showed affection to my son, Ivri , held him and cuddled him. You talked to him in Russian and he smiled at you. Of course I didn't know what you were saying but I felt your warmth. I knew that you loved being a grandmother. And even though my mother is miles and miles away stricken with Alzheimer's, for a moment I felt that you shared some grandmotherly love and those moments pulled me into your cloak of warmth.

Just a few days ago, we talked about the classes that you wanted to teach next year and the fact that you wanted to take a sabbatical the year after. The last thing I remember talking to you before Yom Haatzmaoot was about the ninth grade test. You prepared the reading and I prepared the writing task. It occurred then to me that our goals were quite clear. Even though the test was hard, we both felt that it was important to challenge our students.

With all this said, I will miss you and this letter to you only releases the pain knowing that we started to bond only days before your passing. Tomorrow I will face a new day without seeing you in the teacher's room. I don't know quite what to do to overcome the pain. I have a feeling that it will take a long time to adjust to you not being around.

Fondly forever yours,

Dorit