Goodbye Ran

A love story ends tragically.

by Inbar Gilboa

I met Ran Baron a little before my 18th birthday.

It was at a performance of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in Tel Aviv. His comedy group, or more like he and a bunch of his friends who came up with a name that loosely united them under one banner, was to put on the infamous pre-show. It was their job to make an audience of 300 people get riled up for a night of sinful debauchery. Not everyone on stage succeeded, but Ran certainly did. By the end of the performance, I was head over heels for the boy, and in an act of rare courage, I wrote my number down on a piece of paper, handed it to him and said, "Here, I’m making a pass at you."

He was flattered, but informed me that he was spoken for. Needless to say, I was heartbroken. Well, not really, just heartily embarrassed. I saw him again a few weeks later. All of the Rocky Horror casts in Israel were getting together to perform in front of 3,000 people in an open park, with a 10-story-high screen. I had moved on, and with a boyfriend, the past embarrassment was gone. By the end of the day, I found out he was single again, and spent the better part of two hours talking to him about, well, everything imaginable. From that moment on, I was officially in love with Ran Baron. Ignoring the boyfriend, I made a bold move to kiss him at that show. He went along, and it was the most amazing kiss of my life. I went home that night and wrote him a love letter, the first of many I would never give him. Needless to say, I broke up with the boyfriend very soon after.

It never worked out between Ran and me, due to an acute case of bad timing, and the inevitable forces of nature. But for one magnificent year, I spent time with him, and knew him, and loved him. We grew apart due to circumstance, but I never stopped loving him. I never dared say a word about it. To anyone.

Ran always made me laugh. He could never be serious for too long. He once told me that he would love to marry me, but he'd get bored because we'd get along so well. He even knew how to make me laugh while breaking my heart.

His eyes were piercing, looking at you with this incredible intensity. He dominated every conversation he took part in, and he always lit up a room. Ran was never the handsomest of the bunch, but he always got the girl.

On April 30, Ran Baron was savagely murdered by a suicide bomber in Tel Aviv. He was out for a night of playing music and hanging out with friends when this monster, for some unknown reason, chose the place where he was to detonate the bomb that took three innocent lives. Ran left behind a mother, a father, a brother, hundreds of friends and several broken-hearted girls. I am fortunate enough to be one of those girls.

I'm writing this not concerned with politics. Ran had no concern for it, except to parody it in his stand-up act. He never harmed anyone; he was an innocent whose life was brutally taken too early. He was about two months shy of his 23rd birthday.

When I heard about his death, I called his mother. Not being able to keep it in anymore, I told her: "I loved your son." She laughed and replied, "Well, dear, you have damn good taste." That, I believe, is very true.

I can't say I knew and loved Ran best. But I did know him and love him. His loss will be with me for the rest of my life. Though I could not be at his funeral, I heard people came out by the hundreds, if not thousands. Close friends, family, fans and people like me, who loved him from afar. He was an amazing human being. But he was one of many in the way that he died. His life touched so many people, and he should be remembered for how he lived it, not how he died. He deserves to be remembered for how he made people laugh. For how easily people fell in love with him. For the way he played the piano. For his incredible intelligence and charm. For the way he used to sing "November Rain" in such a serious voice, then at the climax go into a bad imitation of Axl Rose. For the way he kissed. For the way he loved. For the way he lived. He will always be in my heart. I love you Ran. Still.

Inbar Gilboa is a Temple University student studying film and media. If you would like to respond to this Slant or have one of your own (850 words), contact Howard Altman, City Paper editor in chief, 123 Chestnut St., third floor, Phila., PA 19106 or e-mail altman@citypaper.net.