Rabbi's Chayva's Chat

The Israeli national holidays, Yom HaZikaron (Israeli Memorial Day) and Yom Ha'Atzma’ut (Israeli Independence Day), fell on Monday and Tuesday of this week. If you need a break from thinking about Israel and the war, I see you and I encourage you to skip this one. It’s important to take care of ourselves.

But if you felt Yom HaZikaron and Yom Ha’Atzma’ut this week, you were probably also asking: how do we hold these two days this year? How is this Memorial Day different from the 222 days of mourning since October 7? How can we celebrate when the hostages are still held (and are still, God-willing, alive), when Gazans who fled war in the north are now finding it in the south, and when Israeli soldiers are still dying both in Gaza and on the Lebanon border? How can we not celebrate proudly in a year when Jews have felt so vulnerable? We feel a complicated grief, and we also need this simcha, this joyous celebration.

This Memorial Day is different, of course, from past years. Every year, the Israel Central Bureau of Statistics publishes the number of Jewish Israelis who have died, either as soldiers or as victims of terror attacks, since the start of Zionism in 1860. Last year, the number of soldiers was 24,213. This year, the number jumped by more than 500. Last year, Israel remembered 4,255 terror victims; this devastating year added more than 1,000 souls. Yom HaZikaron creates a moment in time when those many grieving families are held by their country and the global Jewish community, and when we can step back from living day by day and see the full picture of what and whom we’ve lost.

Jewish tradition suggests that when giving tzedakah, one should first start with one’s family, then one’s Jewish community, then the greater community. This year, that is often how my grief has felt. First and foremost, I worry about those of us, our friends and family members, both here and in Israel, who have suffered. I know that for some of us, that grief is already too much and there is no more space to extend grief and empathy further. But the Passover seder teaches us, as we recount the plagues, that we share a portion of the suffering of those around us - the people who get caught in the crossfire. For that reason, and because Rabbi Emily Cohen’s guidance to “stay in your grief” echoed in my mind, I chose for the first time this year to watch part of the Joint Memorial Day Ceremony of Combatants for Peace and Israeli & Palestinian Bereaved Families for Peace. I expected to find the heartbreak, which was open and raw. But I was surprised to also find hope - hope, because there continues to be a community that dreams of a peaceful land where everyone feels secure. I believe that continuing such a dream is the greatest honor we can give to those who have died.

Unexpectedly, hope propelled me into Yom Ha’atzma’ut, Israeli Independence Day. The transition from sadness to celebration is famously abrupt, and this year it was even debated whether celebrations should be held. There was another year like this: 1974, as Israel endured the aftermath of the Yom Kippur War. The story is told beautifully by Israeli academic Noah Efron on “The Promised Podcast” (from 11:45-34:55), which I recommend listening to. Because even in 1974, even as she prepared to step down, Golda Meir said, “Even with all the sadness and all the pain, it is still Yom Ha’atzma’ut,” and as Noah said, “There is still what to celebrate.” There is still something to hope for.