Mikey's Red Sandals

date: Aug 6, 2006 9:48 AM
subject: Mikey's Red Sandals


Dear Friends and Family,
Thank you for writing back about the sad news of Michael Levin's death. People all over the states have been writing to me about it, so it's good to know that Mikey will be remembered and so many people have told me they are going to his memorial service in the states. Mikey's funeral, cleaning his apartment, and visiting with his parents were some of the most difficult things I've ever done. Seeing another friend's flag-drapped coffin, his army friends standing at his grave looking helpless and so sad; Mikey's parents and sisters...
And the situation in Israel is still worsening.... 10 people killed today in missle attacks in a northern village. What a crazy country this is; what a sad place to love.
Stay safe to all; I love you all and apologize for not keeping in touch as much as I'd like to and cluttering up your e-mail boxes with my musings. Please know that you guys are helping me get through a really difficult time by reading, commenting, and caring about my writing.
Much love,
Melanie

Mikey Levin's Red Shoresh Sandals

To understand Mikey Levin, first and foremost, you have to understand his red Shoresh sandals. Over and over these sandals popped up in stories about Mikey. "It was winter, absolutely freezing outside," one friend remembered, "and I opened my door and there was Mikey, chewing on his hoodie and wearing those stupid red sandals--his toes bandaged and bruised because he kept wearing those sandals when they made him do kitchen duty in the army." Mikey wearing those sandals to synagogue, to work irrigation in the kibbutz fields, to weddings, to bars.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand his stomping grounds--Kikar Tzion (Zion Square), and really all of Israel. Located just a few blocks from the last apartment he lived in, Kikar Tzion is the heart of Jerusalem and a crazy crowded mishmash of Jews from all over the world, where it's not at all surprising to run into your old kindergarten teacher or childhood neighboor by accident. But it was impossibly frustrating to walk with Mikey in Kikar Tzion because he invariably knew two thirds of the people he passed and you couldn't hold a conversation without him running off and saying "Wow! There's that girl I met on a plane six years ago! I have to go talk for an hour!" When we say that he was a friend to everyone, we were completely serious. He could talk his way into any security-guarded entrance and had connections everywhere, especially with the best ruggelach bakery in Israel where his kilos of baked goods always seemed to weigh more than ours. Mikey was the kind of person you could meet for five minutes and you would feel like his best friend. And he kept in touch with EVERYONE.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand this crazy dream he had of serving in the Israeli Defense Forces. I've rarely met someone so determined, so crazily idealistic, so proud to wear his uniform. I cried at his swearing in ceremony, held at the Western Wall in Jerusalem, because it's not every day you get to watch someone realize a dream they've worked for so hard for years.

But you have to understand, Mikey was a different kind of friend to everyone who met him. He could talk forever into the wee hours of the night, about everything and nothing. I saw him only two weeks ago, and I can still hear his voice and his funny laugh echoing in my head. Perhaps Mikey's thousands of friends will recognize the Mikey I knew, but Mikey was such a chameleon and he could fit into any situation and be friends with everyone.

To understand Mikey, you have to understand how he lived--"crazy, not stupid," his sister always told him. But you also have to understand how he died. On Tuesday morning, Mikey's paratrooper unit was in the village of Ayla al-Shaab in southern Lebanon. As they were searching a building used by terrorist operatives, a Hizbullah terrorist surprised them and opened fire at close range. Michael Levin was killed instantly, along with two other soldiers from his unit. He was only 22.

We found his red Shoresh sandals when we were cleaning out his apartment, trying to make it easier for his parents and roommate. They still smell terrible and they still have the imprint of Mikey's toes. It was only when I saw those smelly sandals, without Mikey in them, that I finally understood he was gone. Hearing so many stories about Mikey since we got the news made it seem like he was coming back from the army next week. I was still having trouble talking about him in the past tense. But seeing those empty sandals, you have to understand, meant I couldn't pretend any more.

Yesterday I bought my own pair of red Shoresh sandals. They're smaller, and cleaner, and they don't smell nearly as bad. Every time I look at them I think of Mikey and smile, remembering all the crazy stories and silly stories and stupid things we did together.

Because to understand Mikey, you have to understand his smelly red Shoresh sandals.