I would never have known, except for a brief mention in the tiny script of Sarah Brightman's liner notes for her 'Harem' album. ''Special thanks to Ofra Haza. We miss you. May your spirit live on through your beautiful voice.''

We don't exactly live with our heads in the sand. If the news had been reported here in the States, we'd have heard it. But it wasn't. And there is a reason it wasn't.

SILENCE = DEATH

Surely, it did in Ofra's case. Despite all the wealth that could have paid for any amount of medical attention, Ofra suffered in silence, never revealing to anyone the source of her illness. It was her families wishes that the cause of her death should be cloaked.

But the cause of her death was more than just a virus with the name of AIDS. No! She could have gone to the hospital, but she suffered in silence and shame. She only sought help when death was already assured and spent thirteen days on dialysis and respirator.

The following is from an article Ha'aretz published three months after Ofra died, when her husband took his life with a drug overdose. ''The medical panel that investigated Haza's death published its findings three months ago. Its report said that:

if Haza had admitted herself to hospital earlier, her life might have been saved. But Haza, fearful that her condition would become public knowledge, refused to go to the hospital, even when her situation had become very serious.''

Think now, what a legacy of shame can do! Ofra's family didn't want the truth out and tried to sue Ha'aretz for publishing the cause of her death.

Did they think this was proper punishment for a woman who didn't play by their rules?

I found the following on the web: ''She was Israel's first female pop idol,'' said Benny Dudkevitch, Israel radio's pop music editor.

Her signature song was the defiant 1979 hit, ''The Tart's Song,'' a celebration of being everything - funny, flirtatious, consumerist - a young woman of the time was not supposed to be, with the chorus declaring, ''I wanna shout out loud, `I'm a tart!'' '

And tarts aren't 'respectable'. 'Polite society' (what an oxymoron!) speaks of them in hushed tones. If in any way they should falter, 'Polite society' speaks in hushed tones, ''Well, that's what they get for not following the rules.''

It's a bug, a dammed impartial bug that doesn't care how it replicates. It's just a bug. And it's a bug that killed a beautiful singer far much sooner than it might have!

And never mind it might have been first acquired by her husband and she the 'perfect' chaste one, faithful to only him!

'Polite society' said ''HUSH!''

SILENCE = DEATH

I think now Laura, I finally understand your anger. I did not then, and you can not know now. But maybe you had some idea then I would later know. Yes, I must believe you did.

Yes, I'm sure you did.
And now I am angry, too!

I shall not be silent!

Those whose lips can never move again,
those whose hands will never type again,
I will speak for you!

*   *   *

Addendum of June 29, 2003

I posted the URL to this entry on all my discussion groups. There was only one person who dissented to this article.

He said ''I've always been bothered with the way our society will wave someone's "tragic death" as a banner for their cause. Please _do_not_ "speak for [me]." If my lips are silenced, I would rather remain silent than be a pawn for a cause that I made the choice not to join in my life.''

To him, and anyone else who has that opinion, Ofra Haza did speak for herself WHILE alive, and here is the description and partial lyrics of one of her songs, YA BA YE:

''This song expresses the disconnection between my parents who live in Israel, and me, especially between my mother and I. She's from the generation before, very religious, and very intelligent. In her point of view, a girl in her twenties has to settle down and raise a family. And she also believes that families should be together with their grandparents at the end of every week.

And me, with my career, with the music and singing that I love, I am in a different world, with different people speaking different languages. My mother does not understand the way of life I've chosen. But she still keeps giving me good advice. But between us, when she calls out in sorrow and pain, ''Ya ba ye,'' (something like ''Oh my g-d'') it still gets to me and stays with me all the time.

My mother's alway told me Ya bin ti Don't forget Min fain in-ti Remember who you are Listen to the voice That plays in your head Make the right choice. Tell me why Tell me why Ya bi na ya . . .

Now, there is only sorrow as an answer.

© Joan Lansberry
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