Letter From Eliya Selhub
A Year Course Friend

A few weeks ago, before I heard about Ari's death, I spoke of him to a friend. At first I found it a remarkable coincidence that I had just been talking about an old friend I had not seen in years right before I heard of his passing, but Ari was one of those rare people who leave a lingering warmth in the hearts of the people they encounter. I had not seen Ari since the summer after year course, but for some reason in some conversation I told a friend about a boy I once knew when I too was a boy.

The remarkable thing about Ari was that he tried so hard not to be nice. He wore leather jackets, collected knives, talked about motorcycles and swore and did everything to make you believe that he was going to be a Hell's Angel some day. I can only guess as to why he wanted to see himself this way, but what I remember most about Ari is that he failed miserably at convincing anybody that he had anything other than a heart of gold.

It may be that outside the intimate confines of Beit Riklis people fell for his ruse, but not one of us bought it for a second. We all knew that he had nothing but love and warmth in his heart, and it was precisely because we were all able to see straight through his rough exterior to that heart that we felt so much affection for him. We felt an uncontrollable urge to nurture him out of his shell.

Perhaps in some way he knew that his heart was too large. It must have created immense pressure as it swelled against the leather jacket he tried to hide it behind. Ari Seth Wolov, if you have an internet connection in heaven, know that even in the all-too-brief glimpse I had of your life, I saw that behemoth within your chest beating against its prison bars.  Even then I saw that it was too powerful for you to control, that you never stood a chance against it. Neither, for that matter, did we.

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Eliya Selhub

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Year Course 92-93