Julia and Elena Nalimov

In childhood, when the Nalimov sisters still lived in Yekaterinburg with their mother, grandmother, and brother, they often quarreled over trifles. But when they came to Israel, they suddenly became inseparable. At first their mother was surprised by such a sharp change in their relationship. Lena and Yulia were only two years apart, yet they had practically reached the same height and looked the same age — though Lena was still the more serious one. She loved music and drawing. Yulia preferred soft toys. She could not stand it when anyone touched her precious teddy bears and mice, and in her free time she wove bead bracelets and keychains.

The sisters were together everywhere — at the disco, on the beach, with friends. They tried to dress in the same style and even pierced their navels with identical jewelry popular among Tel Aviv teenagers.

Sociable, cheerful girls, they attracted crowds of people and had more friends than they could count.

On Friday evening, June 1, they were getting ready for their favorite disco at Dolphinarium. That morning they pestered their mother: "We've already worn everything in our closet to the disco. Let's go to the Carmel Market and buy something new on sale." The family was not wealthy, but Ella never refused her children anything — except entertainment, which the girls earned themselves by working as waitresses in a café once a week.

They went to the market and bought inexpensive pants and tank tops. That same morning Ella photographed her daughters. The film with those last pictures of them still lies undeveloped; they had planned to finish it on Saturday.

The day before, the younger sister Yulia had her birthday, and her friends threw her a surprise party. She came home with a pile of gifts, happy and cheerful.

In the evening the girls got ready for the disco, putting on makeup in front of the mirror, and Ella openly admired her daughters — how beautiful they were! She helped tie Yulia's ponytails and bound them with white bands: "You're my little kitten!" She scolded the older one: "Alena, why did you paint your nails green?" — "You see, Mom, at the disco there's ultraviolet light — it'll look really striking."

Yulia kept hurrying Lena; she was afraid of being late. On Friday nights the girls always walked to Dolphinarium from Shkhunat HaTikva — they had no money for a taxi on Shabbat. On the way back, a friend would give them a ride.

Ella Nalimova, mother of Lena and Yulia:

The last time I saw the girls was at half past ten. "Well, we're off," they said, and Grandmother answered as always: "God be with you!" I heard what had happened on the radio and immediately started calling the girls on their cell phones. No one answered. My son called every hospital — our daughters were on none of the lists. We rushed to Dolphinarium, but there was a heavy police cordon. We went from hospital to hospital. Again and again we called Yulia's phone — unlike Lena, she never turned hers off. At Abu Kabir they asked for identifying marks. There were many: green nails, ponytails, navel piercings, woven bead bracelets on their ankles. Those bracelets were later given to me — by them I identified my girls. My daughters' friends later said the last thing they saw at the disco was the girls standing side by side, holding hands. A week before it happened, Lena dreamed she was standing in a white suit with a gold patterned ring on her hand. I used to wake the girls for school in the mornings, and Lena told me about this dream. "White means a good dream, don't worry, darling," I told her then. How wrong I was! A week later they were buried wrapped in white.

Shely Shryman. "Vesti" special edition.