EYES THAT SAW WONDERS
By Barbara Sofer
Feb. 5, 2004
Ilan Ramon died a year ago this week when space shuttle Columbia failed to protect the seven astronauts from the heat of re-entry into the Earth's atmosphere. A disturbing television special on Israel's Channel 2 probed the failure of NASA to fully investigate the extent of the damage to the shuttle during its ascent. While others carry on the important investigation of what went so wrong, I'd like to go back and ponder what went so right in the education of the extraordinary Ilan Ramon. What can we learn from this exemplary Israeli, Jew, and human being?
I've been grappling with these questions ever since, shortly after the tragedy, I was privileged to be asked to write a biography of Ilan for American elementary school children.
Ilan went to a regular elementary school in Beersheba. His was one of those large, no-frills classrooms with lots of kids whose parents didn't speak Hebrew at home. It was a time when pupils copied Israeli songs into brown paper "copybooks" and were required to memorize them. Basics included Bible and Shakespeare. Once a week, Ilan and his classmates planted tomatoes and cucumbers. A highlight was a class trip where they piled into the backs of trucks set with benches and went hiking in the nearby Ramon crater. At home, there were piano lessons from Ilan's Mom, library books, and playing ball in a dusty lot. In Beersheba of the '50s and '60s, the future astronaut acquired a love and knowledge of planet Earth and of his place on it.
In education, the pendulum swings back and forth between aiming for a broad common denominator and educating for excellence. Paradoxically, Ilan had an anti-elitist education, yet he consistently strove for excellence. His prodigious inborn talents were reinforced by immigrant parents who communicated the importance of education and their delight in the newborn Sabra generation in the Jewish homeland. His schooling, with its emphasis on Zionism and love of the land, dovetailed with what he learned at home about his mother's Holocaust experience, his father's service in the War of Independence.
Ilan's bar-mitzva was planned for June 1967. He and his classmates spent the weeks before his special day digging trenches and lining up sandbags against bombing. Victory came in six days, and Ilan's bar-mitzva took place amid the national relief and celebration. What teenager in those days didn't dream of being a pilot?
Accepted for pilot's training, the seven-year commitment didn't daunt him. He convinced a friend to become a pilot as well.
Without protekzia, the boy from Beersheba always reached the top. Becoming a fighter pilot is a rare achievement in Israel. Ilan flew in the eighth and most dangerous position on the Osirak attack of the Iraqi nuclear plant. He completed a degree in computer engineering at Tel Aviv University. He was talented, brave, and sharp-witted.
BUT NOT for these characteristics was Ilan our unique hero. Not for his scientific know-how and military pragmatism. It was Ilan's marveling at the beauty of the universe, his poetic descriptions of light, his thrill at seeing Israel below, his unabashed love for Rona and his four children.
His eyes saw wonders in the universe and in those around him. Encased in that metal capsule, he was eminently human, a husband wishing his wife was with him to see the sunrise, a father of four who, like his own dad, was proud of his son's perfect grade in algebra.
The conquest of space reflects humankind's great mechanistic accomplishment: the ability to harness chemical energy, micro-engineering, navigation to place humans in space. As much as we value the science, the true drama is the story of the human being inside the spacecraft.
Although Ilan Ramon was a scientist, a pilot, an astronaut, these were only part of his identity. That he brought with him symbols of Jewish tradition and survival, that he insisted on following Jewish dietary laws showed how he understood that even a human being who could circle the globe didn't have to take on a global identity. He came from a particular family, a particular tradition, a history of struggle, faith, and achievement � and they were the source of meaning for him.
In the Channel 2 special, General Amos Yadlin tells of Ilan's assertive opposition to bringing him home when Columbia's flight was postponed. "I'm no longer just representing the Israeli Air Force," Ilan told Yadlin, "I'm representing the State of Israel and the Jewish people."
We can't return to the past, despite our nostalgia for planting cucumbers. We can, however, make our education instill a sense of wonder, a love of our tradition, a belief that responsibility cannot be shirked even for the young. When you know who you are on Earth, the sky is the limit.
May his memory be a blessing.
The writer's latest book is Ilan Ramon, Israel's Space Hero (Lerner Books).
