I went to the regional cemetery in Kfar Etzion on Sunday. Except for the gardeners, I was alone, though there were many people there whom I knew. The newly expanded military section is already full. It includes the grave of Roi Weiser. We visited his mother Naomi on the One Israel Fund’s women’s mission in February.
This year, I feel that we don’t have two separate days, one of remembrance and the other of independence. One of sadness and one of joy.
It’s a 48-hour day interrupted by a sunset and a sunrise. It’s not a “Remembrance Day” because it’s not in the past. We are feeling it every minute: The loss of our sense of security, the hostages, the terror victims, the hubris, the bravery, the grief, the faith, the evil, the resilience, the peoplehood, the miracles both hidden and open, the prophecies, the headlines, the fallen soldiers, policemen and special forces, the suicides, the trauma, the loving-kindness, the inhumanity, the courage, the pain that’s always present. None of this and more has to be “remembered.” It’s palpable.
As for “Independence,” we are still fighting for our sovereignty while we celebrate it, though this year there’s the added element of understanding that we need to be free of so-called allies who betray us on a whim.
For shame.
So, it’s hard for me to put into words what’s happening here in Israel.
To explain that I cry every single day for many reasons and ultimately only for one.
That I’m overwhelmed with the greatness of my people who live in Zion.
That I only now understand what living the Torah means.
That I now understand the שמע.
That I can’t be anywhere else despite and because.
That there’s much to be done and no guarantees that we will succeed, but we may not desist for a second from trying.
That this is non-negotiable.
על הניסים ועל הנפלאות.
May the memories and the realities be a blessing for the future.
