It is a feature of any Jewish celebration that we diminish our joy for a moment in order to honor those whom we have lost. For example, at the Passover seder, when we celebrate freedom, we spill out drops of wine in mourning over the loss of the lives of the Egyptians who enslaved us. We end every wedding ceremony by stomping on a glass, the shattered pieces reminding us that our joy is never truly complete until the Temple is rebuilt. So it follows, then, that on the day before we celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israeli Independence Day, we should spend our time remembering those who have made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure the continued survival of this great nation.
It seems appropriate that Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day which honors fallen soldiers as well as victims of terror attacks, should fall at the end of my year in Israel. After a year in Israel, I have a connection with the land, the culture, the people—Yom HaZikaron provides a day for us to reflect on what we have and to honor those who have helped to make it possible. It is also a day to think about what we might lose if it were not for the people we are remembering. Had Yom HaZikaron been celebrated at the beginning of my time in Israel, I’m not sure it would have the same meaning as it did being celebrated at the end. I have a year’s worth of thoughts, prayers, reflections, and thanks to offer to the heroes who have fallen in defense of this nation.
Yom HaZikaron is commemorated quite differently in Israel than Memorial Day is celebrated in the United States. At 8:00pm, a siren sounds for a minute, signifying the beginning of the day. People make their ways to memorial ceremonies across the country to honor those who have fallen, and no stores or restaurants are open. Israel is such a new and small country that everyone has lost someone—everyone has someone to remember. At8:00pm we watched as the cars on King George Street and the people on Ben Yehuda Street paused to remember, and at 8:30, we arrived at a memorial. We watched a few videos created in honor of soldiers who fell in battle, and although we did not know them personally, I feel like I now know their stories. The ceremony featured an array of Israeli artists singing songs—most of which I did not understand—but which the crowd knew and joined in with.
When the tekes (ceremony) was over, I stood, with thousands of Israelis, in the plaza just outside City Hall singing Hatikva, the Israeli national anthem, as I watched the flag blowing in the wind. It was quite the powerful experience—but it could never compare to the next morning, when, at11:00am, as the second siren of Yom HaZikaron sounded for two minutes, I stood shoulder to shoulder with thousands of soldiers, Israelis, Americans, students, parents, and siblings at Har Herzl in two minutes of complete silence, reflecting, remembering, and praying. I stood by the grave of Michael Levin, z”l, a lone soldier from Philadelphia who I knew through camp and USY, who had made aliyah and fallen during the Second Lebanon War in 2006. The entire cemetery was packed—there was no room to move, and hardly room to breathe—and the area around Michael was no exception. His grave was layered high with flowers brought to him by friends, family, lone soldiers, and others who did not know him but were inspired by his story.
After the siren had finished, a girl standing next to me asked if I had known Michael, and I explained that we were both from the Philadelphia area, and involved in the same Jewish activities. She asked me to share any stories I knew of him—she did not know him personally, but had been so touched by his story that she had come to pay her respects on Israel’s Memorial Day. It is hard for most Americans, or Jews from any other country, to imagine what Israeli friends and family experience each day as they send their children off to the army, or to war. Michael’s story has touched so many people in such a powerful way, as to give a glimpse of what Yom HaZikaron is for the rest of Israeli society. It is to these soldiers, who before they joined the army were just your average teenage boys and girls, that we owe a huge debt of gratitude for defending and protecting Israel so that all Jews throughout the world will have at least one place where they can truly feel safe.
The transition between Yom HaZikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut is sudden and abrupt—sadness and sorrow turn into all night celebrations of joy and happiness. As a mental health professional, I’m not sure how healthy it is to experience a day like Yom HaZikaron, which touches everyone’s lives personally, and not to spend time reflecting and processing when it is over, but to instead begin to party and brush the feelings of loss aside. But I feel that celebrating Israel’s Independence is an important piece of remembering Israel’s fallen—of reminding us that their loss was not in vain. We should always remember and appreciate what we have, in addition to remembering and honoring the people who helped make it that way.
Throughout the city, there are ceremonies transitioning from the day of remembrance to the day of celebration, and the night echoes with the sounds of fireworks and parties. Andy and I live near a park, and we noticed families camping out in tents, claiming their barbeque spots for the next morning. On Yom Ha’atzmaut, we woke up to the smell of lighter fluid and burning charcoals, and began to prepare for our own “American style” Israeli barbeque—one that would take place indoors where we had access to a fridge and all of the comforts of home, instead of outside in the grass. We hung our Israeli flag with pride and donned our blue and white.
During the day, the IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) put on an air show, showcasing military planes and helicopters completing tricks and choreographed moves. The planes flew low over our neighborhood, and we watched in amazement from the roof.
At the end of the day, I was not only physically, but also emotionally exhausted. My emotions had yo-yoed back and forth and it was time for me to even out. If this year has confirmed anything for me, it is that I am a Zionist. Although I may not agree with all of Israel’s policies, I recognize the need for a Jewish State to exist, hopefully in a form that allows for peaceful existence with our neighbors. I am so proud of and grateful to all of my friends who have served in or are currently serving in the IDF—thank you.
I hope this will not be my last Yom HaZikaron/Yom Ha’atzmaut in Israel.
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