On Tuesday afternoon, an organization called Yad L’Banim held its annual ceremony in Jerusalem to begin Remembrance Day.
Yad L’Banim is an organization of bereaved Israeli parents. I am privileged to be invited to this most emotional of ceremonies as a representative of Hadassah, very much aware of how thankful I am that I am not a bereaved wife or parent, given that three generations of my family have served or are serving in the IDF.
Every Israeli whose family members serve is terrified of that dreaded knock on the door. This feeling was intensified when two persons called upon to light a memorial fire were parents of soldiers, 73 of whom were killed in the tragic 1997 helicopter crash. Our son had given up his seat on one of the helicopters to a fellow soldier with a family celebration to attend.
At the Tuesday Remembrance Day ceremony, to my left was sitting a 90-year-old man I recognized from a Jerusalem neighborhood where I once lived. His son Yair, then 23, was among the first soldiers whose funerals I attended. Yair should have been a man in his sixties. But, no, he would always stay 23.
When Knesset Speaker Amir Ohana began quoting a prayer written by fallen soldier Maj. Dvir Zion Revah, who was killed in Gaza in January, Revah’s father, Avi Revah, began screaming for Ohana to stop speaking about his son. He had no right, said Avi Revah. Soon, the father’s furious protest changed to uncontrollable sobbing. Speaker Ohana requested the father’s permission to go ahead reading the prayer, and when granted continued with his speech.
No one could listen. The sound of the inconsolable father weeping for his son entered every heart in the audience. It felt as if the entire nation had been holding back tears and was now weeping with him.
Last month’s unique slice of Israeli life
EVER SINCE you asked me, dear colleague, with some justifiable frustration, which days were workdays in Israel this April, I’ve wanted to share last month’s unique slice of Israeli life. It’s unfathomable from afar.
Jews everywhere celebrated Passover in April, and the days before the Seder were busy for all. But Passover is all-encompassing in Israel. It’s not just a Seder and a change in diet. We take vacation on the intermediate days of the holiday, too. Government offices and schools are closed.
Because travel within our New Jersey-sized country was circumscribed all last year by the 19,000 (!) rockets fired at us, we Israelis joyfully returned to our beloved North and South. The radio announced that packed beaches around the Kinneret couldn’t take any more vacationers. Traffic times doubled in almost every direction.
But that was the beginning.
Four days after Passover, we entered the 10-day period that’s recently being referred to as the “Ten Days of Deliverance” or the “Ten Days of Gratitude.” This marks the period between Holocaust Remembrance Day and Independence Day, including Remembrance Day. The reference echoes the Ten Days of Repentance between the High Holy Days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur – a sacred time of personal introspection.
These 10 days are sacred, too. In reality, the 10 days in April are more like a fortnight. Holocaust survivors’ stories are broadcast on the radio starting immediately after Passover. In an effort not to crowd Holocaust Remembrance Day itself, many relevant events are scheduled beforehand. For example, at the home of Holocaust survivor Rena Quint (with whom I wrote the book A Daughter of Many Mothers) was a meeting of the Jerusalem Press Club together with the organization Zikaron Basalon, in which survivors tell their stories in private homes. Amazingly, two million Israelis have taken part in such programs.
My synagogue Shira Hadasha, like many others, held a program with a congregation survivor speaker. And at my workplace, Hadassah-University Medical Center, there was an emotional ceremony, too. So, yes, Holocaust Remembrance Day is officially a workday, but sorrow permeates our minds and hearts.
Formally, a week separates Holocaust Remembrance Day and Remembrance Day for the Fallen of Israel’s Wars. A common saying (attributed to former prime minister Naftali Bennett) is that Yom Hazikaron is the price we pay for having a country; Holocaust Remembrance Day is the price we paid for not having had one.
On the Sunday before Remembrance Day I attended a new ceremony, initiated by the Ein Prat Leadership Academy,i outside the Museum of Tolerance in downtown Jerusalem. The Oz (a Hebrew word meaning “courage”) and Hope Awards Ceremony honored 77 leaders “in recognition of their steadfast commitment to social change and deep dedication to the values of Zionism, partnership, and mutual responsibility.” I was invited by my friend and honoree Shari Greenwald Mendes, an architect in her day job, who was called to IDF reserve duty after Oct. 7 to prepare for burial the bodies of the many female soldiers who had been murdered at the Shura base.
Shari later testified at the UN and to global media about the torture and abuse the women suffered. Among the other 76 honorees, 16 were venerated posthumously. Their families represented them. Several honored soldiers had lost limbs. Other honorees were civilians who took on tasks of leadership and compassion.
The sheer number of honorees or their families on stage was overwhelming, but I realized there could have been many more. We’ve experienced so much suffering, but so much heroism.
Nearby, in Safra Square, hundreds of Israelis were gathering for song and prayer to honor the memory of the “Beautiful Six,” the six hostages murdered last August. And, on the same Sunday, at the Sha’ar Hagai entrance to Jerusalem, some thousand Israelis attended the annual AACI ceremony honoring American and Canadian Israelis who had lost their lives this year. Yes, Sunday was a workday, too.
Likewise, there were so many families who wanted to visit their loved ones’ graves, that radio announcements urged them to go on the days before Tuesday night and Wednesday, when nationwide sirens, for which traffic and conversations stop, would mark Yom Hazikaron. All day Wednesday there were public and private ceremonies, at schools, at places of work, at homes, and at cemeteries.
On Wednesday evening, as Yom Hazikaron yielded to Independence Day, synagogues created transitional prayer services. In my own synagogue, in previous years congregants stood up to name their late friends and family members. This year, there were so many names, that they were displayed with photos and explanations in a silent digital presentation that took eight minutes to screen. Tragically, another name was added this week as the war continues. Tuesday was a workday; Yom Hazikaron, a half-day.
Also, on Wednesday night at Mount Herzl, where 12 torch-lighters traditionally start Independence Day, the number of honorees was increased to 35, three for each torch, except the one for the hostages, which was lit by two people. The live ceremony itself was replaced with a recording of the rehearsal because of raging wildfires in the lovingly planted forests at the entrance to Jerusalem.
The Ten Days this year seemed harder even than last year. Although there had been predictions that the war would go on for two years, I couldn’t internalize that we wouldn’t have finished the fighting or brought home the hostages in the first year.
I had also expected the tsunami of anti-Zionism/antisemitism sweeping the world to have passed. I assumed that Israeli scientists would once again be welcomed on international committees, that university campuses would return to being welcoming to Jewish students, and that we wouldn’t have to worry that international firefighters wouldn’t come to help put out the uncontrollable fires.
They did come. The highways to Jerusalem reopened. We had a family barbecue, with a Zionist playlist and even dancing. Independence Day is a full day off. Shopping malls, by the way, are closed.
The Hebrew date of Independence Day, the fifth of the Hebrew month of Iyar, was on Shabbat, so all the above-mentioned events were pushed forward so as not to impede Shabbat observance.
Early on Shabbat morning, a warning siren woke us to a missile heading our way from Yemen, a country where only one woman in three knows how to read. We walked to synagogue as usual. A visiting scholar was speaking on an Independence Day theme about women’s successful fight for suffrage in 1920, which was 105 years ago, 28 years before statehood.
This is where we want to live. We remain resilient, proud, and optimistic.
We’re back to a regular work schedule. Just a reminder: We have Lag Ba’omer and Jerusalem Day coming up in May.
The writer is the Israel director of public relations at Hadassah, the Women’s Zionist Organization of America. Her latest book is A Daughter of Many Mothers.
