“How Everyone Is Slowly Disappearing From Us, What a Terrible Year”: Gali Atari Eulogizes Ester Shamir

Ester Shamir and Gali Atari / Guy Kuzi and Yariv Feine; Sharon Adler

Ester Shamir was a truly unique woman. She was a wonderful composer and a superb writer. Among other things, she wrote the lyrics and music for “Amsat September,” the song about the Lebanon War.

On the one hand, she wrote songs like that one, a song that is very difficult in terms of its lyrics, completely unrestrained, about the end of the world, about moments that are very dark and the skies are red with blood. She could go all the way. In “Faster Than the Wind” as well, she sang about a woman with broken worlds. On the other hand, she wrote very emotional songs. It was impossible not to be moved by her texts, even without hearing the melody.

In “Faster Than the Wind,” I sent her the melody. There had been earlier lyrics written by Yehonatan Geffen. Only when I visited Ester at her home, about a week ago, only then, after so many years, did I learn that it was not originally her text, but Yehonatan’s, and then she wrote her own lyrics for “Faster Than the Wind.” She wrote me so many other songs. “Amsat September,” which she wrote for me, was also the name of my album. “One Step Before the River,” which she wrote for me to a melody by Shefi Yishai, was also the name of one of my albums. And “The Day After,” which she wrote for me, was also the name of an album of mine. I sang that song at all my performances at the Culture Hall in its quiet, slow version. It suited the situation and this cursed period.

The words took on meaning, a song about the day after the battle, returning to complete routine, you smiled but you did not return to yourself, I am not myself yet either. We were together at Corinne Allal’s funeral. Look how everyone is slowly disappearing from us, what a terrible year.

Ester reminded me at Corinne’s funeral, and the two of us saw that on almost every second grave in one section of the cemetery, the words “She was stronger than the wind” were engraved. Who knows how many more graves bear those words. She had all kinds of lines, created sayings and left her mark.

Beyond her writing, she spent a long time in her life dealing with spirituality. I even visited her clinic. She did everything gently, calmly, and quietly. Such quiet spirituality, soothing, one that does not burden. That was part of her. Ester was a delicate, soft woman, speaking quietly and never being strident. A truly moving emotion. Seventy-one is not an age to die. So I am very sad about this. It hurts.

Published by: Shagi Ben Nun