Yom HaZicharon 5772

Yom revi'i, 3 Iyar 5772, Yom HaZicharon.

My son (Yeshiva Bochur, aka Exiled Warrior) stands at a soldier's grave, and shares his thoughts.  I can add nothing but my usual prayer: May our dear soldier sons all live to be really old men, with interesting but mostly joyful stories to tell their great-grandchildren.

Memorial Day for the Fallen IDF Soldiers. Three years ago, I didn't even know this day existed. Today I stand on Mt. Herzl dressed in an IDF uniform with a red beret on my head. I stand before a gravesite of a soldier who died in 1977 in a tragic helicopter accident. I am soon overwhelmed by family members of all ages. His elderly sister, I believe, was telling stories about her brother, and about the day they heard the news. Her eyes are filled with tears. Wounds like that never seem to heal. All around me are graves surrounded by families. At exactly 11:00, the piercing siren goes off. 

As a soldier I stand at attention, hands by my sides and my feet pressed firmly together. My eyes are set ahead, my head is raised. I feel the strength, the pride, to be a defender of my people. 

The siren washes around in my head, cutting through my thoughts. I think of all my brethren, but mostly the smiling face of Major Roi Klein burns into my mind. He is my definition of a hero. He was just as much a hero in life as he was in death. A true soldier for God, these were his final words as he threw himself on the grenade to save his fellow soldiers: "Hear O Yisrael, Hashem your God, Hashem is One." To have that focus the moment before death can only be brought about by conscience preparation. A constant dedication and readiness to sacrifice for his God, his people, his Land. 

It is upon this Land that I stand now. The nation freezes, no one moves. The siren wails and it is as if life itself is paused. The past, present and future seem to melt into one entity. A woman weeps. Maybe a mother mourning her son? A girlfriend? A wife? A daughter? The whole nation feels the pain, the loss. These young men and women were taken from us far too young because they decided to put everything on the line, because they know, as the words of the country song go: "Freedom don't come free."

What a strong people! I believe there must have been a time that America stood in silence honoring their fallen soldiers, but that spirit has long since withered if not all together vanished. My father being a retired Major from the US military took his sons to the wall in Washington D.C. honoring the soldiers who fell in Vietnam. He took us to Arlington, and other such monuments, but how many people my age can claim that? 

But here, in Israel, everyone from young to old feels the heaviness of the moment. The grandmother standing by her husband’s grave, patting it softly, says with tear-filled eyes: "You were right Yossele. It was worth it. You see your grandson, he just drafted. He says you’re his hero. You would be so proud. I love you, my Yossele." 

This is our secret. This is why we are indestructible. This is why we are eternal. I am so proud to serve you, my dear Nation. To stand with you, cry with you, laugh with you -- and tomorrow we will barbecue together, as we celebrate our freedom! And Roi Klein, Michael Levin, Yoni Netanyahu, and Yossele will rejoice with us! May their sacrifice on behalf of Am Yisrael merit us the bringing of Moshiach and the final Redemption. 

This post is dedicated to all the heroes who have fallen protecting their nation, their Land. We will never forget you. 

Another thought or two on Yom HaZikaron

Yom sheni, 5 Iyar 5770.

I remember arriving at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport for a business seminar, after I had lived for several years on the East Coast.  A large number of US soldiers were returning from Afghanistan; and as they stepped into the terminal from their plane, the crowd spontaneously began to applaud.  As random passersby became aware of what the commotion was all about, they added their applause.  I started to cry, overcome by the communal patriotism I remembered from my small-town youth, forgotten in the sea of big-city sophistication.

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At 10:51, the bus lingered at a bus stop to give a woman with a cane time to find her seat.  When it seemed that she was not able to sit without assistance, a young woman rose and came to her aid.  A short discussion ensued.  Apparently, the woman could not sit, or felt she would not be able to get up again when she wanted to.  In any case, people in the rear of the bus who could not see what was going on began "encouraging" the bus driver, loudly, to move on.  Unruffled, the driver continued to wait, while passengers in the middle of the bus (also loudly) suggested patience to the people in the back.  Shortly, the situation was resolved.  The young woman stood with her hand on the older woman's back, to steady her.  A few minutes later, it became clear that their was reasoning behind the handicapped woman's actions.

At a few seconds before 11:00, the bus driver turned up the radio, and came to a full stop when the siren sounded, along with almost every other vehicle on the city street.

Everyone stood who was able.  A young woman in a colorful mitpachat swayed as she recited Tehillim.  More than one mother wept; more than one older man gazed stoically into the middle distance.  There was silence on the radio for a tiny eternity, as nearly everything froze in place.

I looked out the windows, and felt the familiar lump in my throat as I looked at all of those people, also frozen in place.  I felt sorry for the few who did not stop.  Either they were oblivious, or they had what they felt were strong reasons not to honor Israel's dead.  Even in America -- not my country, except by Esav's sufferance -- I was permitted and permitted myself to have some American pride.  Hey!  If I was going to accept her largesse, I thought I should support her in return...

A former soldier, I thought, "These people, standing here in prayer or simple silence -- these are my people.  These are people to fight for.  These are people I could defend."  I thought of Soldier Boy, who fought his war, who now tenderly fathers his nearly one-year-old daughter.  I remember when he sang to her, "Ani mavtiach lach, yalda sheli k'tana, sheh'zot tihiyeh hamilchama ha'achrona..."  I promise you, my little girl, that this will be the last war...

I thought of Stunt Man, who will enter the army in two weeks.  Hashem, please protect all of our holy soldiers.  Let the day come when my son can keep his promise.

This is a very sad song about war, and about the hope for war one day to finally end...

Glossary:
Yom HaZikaron: Israel's national memorial day to fallen soldiers, and in recent years also to victims of terror
Mitpachat: head scarf
Tehillim: Psalms
Esav: Esau, here referring to the non-Jewish and non-Muslim western nations

"Od lo avda tikvateinu..."

Yom sheni, 5 Iyar 5770, Yom HaZikaron.

When I was a little girl, American flags would be displayed proudly on Flag Day and Independence Day.  Older people even had them flying on their homes on Memorial Day and Veterans' Day.  And, of course, there were people who flew the American flag all the time -- some taking it down at night, and none that I remembered allowing it to touch the ground.

Times changed.  Fewer homes flew flags.  Fewer people knew it was Flag Day or Memorial Day.  It was hard to completely forget Veterans' Day, because invariably there would be some old fellow with watery eyes shining  with an old doughboy toughness from beneath his military cap, his jacket covered with medals of heroic campaigns forgotten.  The Fourth of July was easy to remember, because it was a day of sales and fireworks and barbecues with the neighbors.  There might still even be parades...

We stand for the Yom HaZikaron siren.  The country stands still to remember our fallen heroes -- those in uniform, and those whose heroism was earned over pizza or ice cream, or just because they chose to ride the bus our enemies targeted.  We will concentrate on these losses as we travel through this very sad day.  And tonight, we will build up for the joy that is Yom Ha'Atzma'ut, the Day of Israel's Independence.

Yom HaZikaron flows into Yom Ha'atzma'ut as a perfect metaphor for the life of a Jew. It is not unusual to go to a brit milah in the morning, followed by a vort, followed by a shiva visit, and end the day at a wedding or bar mitzvah celebration. The rollercoaster life of one who is privileged to be embroidered into the tapestry of others' lives...

As we have prepared for these twin days of abject sorrow and joyful pride, my neighbors in Neve Daniel have been showing their true colors.

 Flags are flying all over town in honor of our dear departed, who fought and died for this soil we call Home.

Flags dance in the Neve Daniel wind to celebrate the honor of being raised over the country that is the closest thing we Jews have had to something of our own in thousands of years.

And here and there, an old soldier will still see a flag that has blown to the ground, and pick it up, to preserve the honor it represents.

As more than twenty neighboring Arab nations manipulate the Western world's negative feelings toward our people, trying to wrest this tiny piece of land from us, piece by piece, we celebrate Israel -- the first flowering of our redemption.  May we see the complete redemption of the Jewish people and G-d's world, speedily and in our days.

Glossary:
"Od lo avda tikvateinu..."  We have not yet lost our hope..." -- a line from "Hatikva," the national anthem of Israel
Yom HaZikaron:  Day of Remembrance (of those who have fallen in battle to defend our nation; of those who were killed in terrorist acts, may Hashem avenge their blood