Reflections on our First Independence Day in Israel

 It’s hard to put into words exactly how I feel on my first Israel Memorial Day and Independence Day since moving back to our land. The last 24 hours have been truly emotional and very moving.

This morning, in an attempt to connect somehow to the power of Memorial Day, Ali and I ventured to a military cemetery in the nearby Kibbutz Kiryat Anavim.

During the War of Independence, there were three Jewish settlements on the mountainous road to Jerusalem,  and Kiryat Anavim, was one of them. The three are close to the Arab village of Abu Gosh, whose inhabitants chose to take a neutral stand during the war. The majority of the fighting force gathered in this area and was called the Harel Brigade.

The regimental headquarters were at Abu Gosh and from here soldiers went out on their missions. When they returned from their battles, the injured were brought to a field hospital, which was set up at the Abu Gosh church. The fallen were buried in the cemetery at Kibbutz Kiryat Anavim, the oldest settlement in the area. After the war, many families chose to leave their loved ones in this cemetery, which became a symbol of the military battle for the road to Jerusalem

Israel’s Memorial Day in not like the Memorial Day that I grew up with in Chicago. There are no barbeques, no pool parties, and no softball games. Today, on Israel Memorial Day, most Israelis are mourning the loss of at least one loved one who fell in battle. In fact, in the cemetery, we saw old women sitting on chairs weeping next to the graves of their sons. We saw young boys crying next to the graves of their fathers. We saw old war buddies reuniting with a knowing embrace that could only be shared by men who experienced the hell of battle together.

Thank G-d, Ali and I were not mourning the loss of  a loved one. Instead, when the two minute long siren went off, I offered up my own personal prayer. With the siren, which eerily resembled the sound of the “great shofar” heralding the Final Redemption blasting in the background, I called out to G-d.

“Please protect all of the soldiers who are defending the Land of Israel and protecting the Jewish people here and around the world (and especially my son Leiby and his entire combat unit). Please let the wars end and allow us to live safely in our land without the existential threat from our enemies who wish to push us into the Mediterranean Sea. And please, G-d, bring back the remnant of your children of Israel still in the diaspora and let us reclaim our national mission of being a “light unto the nations.”

The siren stopped. I opened my eyes. It took me a few moments before I could speak. Holding back the tears, I said to Ali: “Every one of these young men gave up their lives so that you and I could be here and live as Jews in our own land.”

As we looked around we saw graves of the heroic Palmach soldiers from the Harel Brigade who died liberating the roads to Jerusalem. 138 of those fighters were buried here. We saw the resting place of men who died fighting the Egyptians and Syrians during the Yom Kippur War. Each grave had flowers placed on it and many had painted stones.

I took this picture below as it captured everything the day meant. A stone with one simple word: “Todah.” Thank you.

(This is our son Leiby on the left and our dearest family friend Yoeli Margolis on the right at Mt. Herzel yesterday)

That was this morning.

Then, suddenly, in a way that only Jews could pull-off, as the sun went down on Memorial Day, we began the uncontrolled celebration of Israel Independence Day.

We gathered in our local shul with guitars, drums and even Adam Margolis (Yoeli’s father) playing an enormous stand-up base. And we sang and danced with total joy and jubilation. There is so much to be joyful for. We are living in a Jewish state in the hills of Jerusalem, where our ancestors once lived. We have returned to our land to rebuild and to reclaim our unique mission and purpose.

A new friend of mine, Yosef Lerba, leaned over to me as we danced and sang Hallel (Psalms of King David). “Look at Am Yisrael (the Jewish nation). This morning we were weeping and tonight we are dancing.” His words were particularly poignant. Yosef’s son Dov died in 1994 while serving in the IDF. “We have so much to be grateful for,” he said choking a bit on his words.

For me it seemed so natural. Tonight we celebrated. We danced and sang praises to G-d for the many miracles He performed for us to bring us back to our land. But before we could allow ourselves the pleasure of celebration, we first needed “permission” from those who made the ultimate sacrifice for us to be able to be here. Since 1948, some 24,000  Israelis have died defending the Land of Israel. Each  one gave up his or her life so that the Jewish people could live in our own land as Jews. This is a high price to pay, of course, for having a land of our own. But the price we paid for not having a land of our own was far greater. Never forget that on a “productive” day in Auschwitz-Birkenau, 15,000 Jews were gassed and burned. In one day.

It is late and my jetlag is forcing me to a premature meeting with my bed. But I want to conclude by saying that today and tonight made me feel incredibly proud to be able to call myself an Israeli. Being here is the fulfillment of the dream of so many generations that preceded us. May we all merit to share in this joy and celebration together as we march headlong towards the Final Redemption!

Check out the incredible transition for yourself: Click here to see a short video of the mourners prayer (kaddish) being said at the cemetery today and then click here to see the celebration in shul tonight.

Chag Samayach from Jerusalem,

David