Today is Israel's birthday- the 62nd, since the establishment of the state of Israel.
Not an easy day, following on the heels of Yom HaZikaron, Memorial Day. Not easy at all. So much so that I tried to avoid Memorial Day yesterday, but ended up feeling inexplicably depressed anyways. My soul knew, even if my brain tried to deny it. So I finally sat down and instead of trying to forget, I remembered. I remembered my roomate, Yael, who was gunned down along with her husband outside their home, at nine months pregnant. My Rav's son, Shmuel, who was killed on pesach in Jenin, my Rav Eli and his wife Dina who were murdered at the shabbat dinner table in front of their children, the child I once babysat, Kobi, who was stoned to death with a friend playing hooky from school. I prayed for strength to be a rock for those who have lost more than I. For my faith. Wisdom for our leaders. For the untold thousands who I don't know personally who have been lost. For the families. I prayed in thanks for being saved several times just minutes from such tragedy, for my husband who served and came out without a scratch, and I prayed for my sons, who one day might be asked to stand a post and guard that which we hold so dear. A blessing to live in the days of redemption, a state of our own after thousands of years, and yet it comes at such a dear price.
And it helped. Some things need to be acknowledged before they can go away, I suppose. And then the inevitable shift from sorrow to joy- to celebration and gratitude. My boys all went to school today in blue and white. I forgot to take a picture, but will do later today. Tradition, after all, is an important thing. I proudly send them off in blue and white, they should know and hold Israel with them, even though we aren't there today.
It's been a busy month. Of course, it's always busy. But we had a busy Passover, followed by a week of visits by Ari's parents, followed by a long weekend with good friends. All good things, but today is the first day of our home being empty again. It seems so quiet. Not that that will last, of course, since as soon as the kids come home we have enough noise for one family and then some. Good noise though- happy, loud, and boisterous.
Yesterday I went to pick up the twins from day care, and Ilan asked me, "Ima, did you have a good day?"
I ask him that myself every day, so it's not surprising that he mimic me, and yet, something in the asking was so considerate, he really wanted to know. So I hugged my three Israeli boys close to me tight, said a prayer that they never be in the line of fire themselves, and said, yes, Ilan, I had a very good day.
Today I celebrate. I wipe away the tears, take a deep breathe, and don my own blue and white. This is how the Israelis do it, and I count myself among them. We grieve. And then we dance. It is the way God chose to give us our country, and we continue the observation each year as a reminder that our State comes at a very dear price. We dance with such joy because we cried the day before. The pain, the loss, the sacrifice- I wouldn't say it was worth it. How can I judge for those families what the cost is of their loss? No, not worth it persay, but remembered. We remember each payment as we celebrate. They are never ever forgotten. And we dance.
3 comments:
Shana, this is beautiful. Sounds weird, but I think in certain ways you my have had a more meaningful couple of days than I did, even though you're there and I'm here. I had no idea you were close to that many people who were killed -- I can't imagine how difficult it must be to remember. But I was actually thinking of you yesterday morning anyway -- I was sitting in Yerushalayim within sight of the walls of the old city, waiting for someone to pick me up for a tiyul, and I was singing to myself. I started singing ''Eretz Nehederet'' and remembered when we listened to it together in your first room at Columbia, and our glances met, and we each knew we had met a kindred Israeli spirit.
I'm so glad you're doing well, miss you, and hope to see you and your beautiful family here someday.
Some random thoughts about your thoughts:
I never thought about how we mourn 1st and then leap into joy. Simple logic, but oh so true and much more meaningful that way. It helps to ease the pain. Like laughing after you have a good cry.
There are times when even acknowledgement will never make the sadness go away. April is full of sadness for me, the flowers come out, leaves sprout on the trees and yet it's also my Dad and grandmother Esther's birthdays. I miss them terribly, I can hear their voices; maybe their mortality reminds me of my own. I look at the boys' pix and pray that I'll dance at their wedding. I'm shameless, I want not only to be at their Bar Mitzvah's, but their weddings too. We're given such a short time.
I remember sending you kids off in white & blue clothes never thinking about the time you'll be doing the same. One day their wives will be doing it too. Remember at Sara's Bas Mitzvah I spoke about the continuity & long line of jewish women behind her, waiting to help with traditions and support.
May is just around the corner, I for one am glad to leave April behind- even though it's a month of such renewal.
Love,
Ima
I am sad to think how many people you have personally and so violently lost. Every one is a wrench, and multiply them by so many.
We still and even more so must always count our blessings. Thank you for adding meaning to both Yom Hazikaron and Yom Haatzmaut for me.
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