Commemorate then Celebrate

So it's been an interesting month here in Israel. It feels like every two seconds it's a chag again, kind of similar to how April is back home actually. Except instead of Easter and ANZAC Day, it's Pesach and Yom Hashoa, Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha'Atzmaut. By the way, I've since been told that the sirens on Yom Hashoa and the minute's silence I wrote about last time actually goes for two minutes.

Last Sunday night was the start of Yom Hazikaron, which is the national memorial day for those who have died in combat or as a result of terrorist attacks. The number is a staggering 22,684 since Israel's establishment in 1948. Our group went to Jerusalem for the MASA ceremony which was being held on Ammunition Hill; the site of one of the fiercest battles in Israel's campaign to recapture Jerusalem in the Six Day War in 1967. Close to 2000 people were there at the MASA Yom Hazikaron Ceremony and it was amazing to see so many young, international Jewish people there in one place. There were shnat and machon groups from all the different youth movements (year-long programs in Israel for school leavers), and all around you could hear a cacophony of languages; French, Spanish, Russian, English, Hebrew.



There was an air of excitement, and possibly nervousness, as we didn't know what to expect. In true Israeli fashion, not enough chairs had been set out so in the minutes leading up to the start of the ceremony, chair were being passed along conveyor belt style and set down quickly so everyone would have a seat.

We were then told that in a couple of minutes at 8pm the siren would start and when that happened would everyone please rise. Everyone noted this announcement and continued talking amongst themselves. Then at precisely 8pm, the siren commenced. Without a word, everyone stood up and solemnly observed the minute's silence (this one was definitely one minute and Israelis have not been able to explain to me why there's a difference). As the siren died down, you could hear other sirens in the distance echoing off Jerusalem's hills.

The ceremony then began with a speech from Natan Sharansky who is the chairman of the executive of the Jewish Agency for Israel. He told us of his personal story, of how he was a prisoner in Serbia 30 years ago and how he dreamed of coming to Israel. The father of a soldier who was kidnapped and murdered almost 20 years ago recited kaddish (the mourner's prayer) on behalf of the group which was followed by a beautiful rendition of El Malei Rachamim (a traditional memorial prayer recited at funerals in which God is asked to gather up the soul of the departed for eternal life).

The concept for the ceremony was Life Circles, and the theory that every person in the world is connected by only six other people. A woman came on stage and started telling us about her friend Nir, who was killed in the Second Lebanon War. She spoke about his kind and loving nature, and how he loved his work with young adults here on programs from America, sharing his passion for Israel. The Leonard Cohen song, Hallelujah was sung and a slide show of photos from Nir's life was shown on screen. Once the song was finished, she said a final word about Nir and then said "May his memory be a blessing".

This was the format for each of the seven featured in this ceremony. I won't tell you about each one because it is too hard emotionally for me to go through it again, but what I can tell you is this: there were those who died in the old battles, from the Yom Kippur War or the First Lebanon War, and there were those who died in the recent conflicts, from the Second Lebanon War, and then there was the 24 year old woman who was killed on the 5 bus in Tel Aviv by a suicide bomber. Some of them were Israeli-born, some of them were Olim (the name given to those who make Aliyah). But ALL of them died here. They were all somebody's child. They were all loved, and they are all missed.

When I was on Taglit we went to the military cemetary on Mt Herzl. This is the resting place for Israel's dignitaries; David Ben Gurion (the first Prime Minister of Israel), Golda Meir (Israel's first female Prime Minister and fourth overall) and Theodore Herzl for whom the mountain is named after are all buried here. The Israeli students and soldiers in our group were very emotional after this visit, and they explained to us that when a soldier dies, the whole country grieves. Everyone knows someone who has died, it is inescapable in this country. This is why Israel continues to fight for the release of Gilad Shalit, who was kidnapped nearly four years ago.



When we were at the military cemetery we stopped at one of the graves. We didn't know why we were stopping and then Arie (one of our soldiers originally from the US) came to the front and started speaking. He told us about a friend of his from back in Philadelphia, who he met when he was 14 at a summer camp. His friend's name was Michael Levin. Michael was the only American Israeli soldier to die in the Second Lebanon War. Arie told us about what Michael was like as a teenager, and the things he enjoyed doing, and about how Michael wanted nothing more in the world than to be a paratrooper. He smiled as he spoke about his friend, remembering the happy times they shared, and we all felt like we knew Michael a little bit by the end.

The final person they featured during the Yom Hazikaron ceremony was Michael Levin. I couldn't believe that I was seeing his face on the screen and that I was actually recognising someone. We truly are all connected via six degrees of separation in this world and living here in Israel has only highlighted that. To illustrate this and to bring the ceremony full circle, we were then told that on Mt Herzl, Michael Levin and Nir (the first fallen soldier mentioned) are buried next to each other. The whole time during Nir's presentation I had felt like I had seen his photo before, and I had. After Arie finished talking about Michael we had a few minutes at the cemetery before we had to return to the bus. I looked at the graves next to Michael's and had been looking at Nir's.







Everyone rose again as Hatikva (Israel's national anthem) was about to be played. I have sung this countless times in my life, at school assemblies and other events, but this time was different. I was still crying from watching the presentation about Michael when the opening chords of Hatikva started and when I tried to join in and sing, I found that I couldn't. I was overcome by the emotion of the ceremony and of hearing some 2000 young Jewish adults sing the anthem for the Jewish State. I tried to regain some composure and managed to sing along to the second verse, but I was still shaken by the experience.

I'm not going to launch into a political spiel now but I will say that if the rest of the world could be witness to a Yom Hazikaron ceremony in Israel, then perhaps they would have more compassion. It is not about "us" and "them". It is about Israel maintaining its right to defend itself from hostile enemies. Enemies who do not support the existence of the State of Israel and who want to wipe it off the map. Each of the 22,684 people who have died were real men, women and children. They had lives, they had families, and most of them were just too young, which is the saddest thing of all.

The juxtaposition of this national day of mourning against the celebrations of Yom Ha'Atzmaut which occur the next night is incredible. They shake off the sadness and get ready to celebrate the anniversary of the declaration of Israel's independence. It's amazing how much one country can sustain in 62 years. Israelis are resilient, and it's only after living here for the past three months that I get it. I get it.

Always remember, never forget.

I don't know if one could say they've "felt" a minute's silence, but just seconds ago, I'd say that I did. Today is Yom Hashoa, the day of remembrance to commemorate the Holocaust and remember those who perished. 

Israelis recognise that their country may not have come into existence had it not been for the Holocaust. The desecration, and attempted annihilation, of the Jewish people certainly expedited the creation of the State of Israel - no one can deny that - and it is not a coincidence that Yom Hashoa, Yom Hazikaron (Day of Remembrance) and Yom Ha'atzmaut (Independence Day) all occur within the same week of each other.

At 10am a siren commenced, I walked to the window of my apartment and stood still. From there I could see that even in my small street, Israel had come to a standstill. Men and women who had been sitting on benches a minute earlier were now on their feet, cars had stopped in the middle of the street with their drivers standing next to their vehicles, engines still running. It was an incredible thing to see and I definitely felt that minute.

Hayom Yom Huledet!

Well, it's not my birthday today, but it was two days ago. Good on the Israelis for not being the same as the rest of the world and having their own version of "Happy Birthday to You". While there is a Hebrew version of the tune we all know, they also have a song that is more commonly sung here with lots of clapping. I much prefer it actually! I don't know this family...it's just a good example of the song :)

So yes, it was my birthday. For interest's sake, I've now celebrated my birthday in 5 countries; South Africa, Australia, Belgium, England, and now Israel. Yay for me.

I had a great day, complete with cocktails, dancing and cake - yes it was KLP (Kosher le Pesach). Which brings me to my point. Oh the joys of having a birthday smack bang in the middle of Pesach (Passover). It is something to be lamented, topped only by having your birthday and Yom Kippur (Day of Atonement - a day where Jews will fast for 25 hours. No food, no water, nada) fall on the same day. This is a less regular occurrence though, so I wish those Yom Kippur birthday people would stop whinging. My birthday is during Pesach about once every four years, thanks to the festival lasting a whole week, meaning the odds are increased. My poor sister's birthday is in Pesach about three times in five years. That's pretty unlucky.

You'd think that Pesach in Israel would be more holy, right? Wrong. Apart from some establishments being closed for the duration of the holiday, and supermarkets/convenience stores covering their chometz (non-KLP stuff) shelves, you wouldn't really even know it's Pesach. Restaurants are still busy, bars still sell beer and whiskey, and...people still eat bread!

What the? Did I miss something here? Israel, the Holy Land, the land to which our ancestors came to because it was promised to them, is distinctly less holy when it comes to keeping Pesach. My theory as to why this is, is because Jews living in the Diaspora are not in Israel (duh Lauren), they feel they have to practise their religion more devoutly than their HL-dwelling counterparts. And the Israelis, purely because they live in Israel, feel they have to do less "Jew-wise" because they're already fulfilling the mitzvah (blessing) of living in Israel. Perplexing, isn't it?

One of the major benefits of being in Israel for Pesach is the fact you only have to do one seder (ritual meal where the story of Exodus is retold). Nobody needs to eat that much food two nights in a row. And, unless you're religious, your seder is substantially shorter than what us Diasporans are used to. I'll drink four cups of wine to that!

The first day of chag (festival) is comparable to Christmas Day. Everything is closed (except AM PM which is like 7Eleven). Even the famous Shuk Ha'Carmel (Carmel Market) is closed and Meital and I were walking back from the beach when I noticed this. This major junction in Tel Aviv, which is normally bustling and packed with people, was almost completely void of people. It was like a ghost town and was very eerie. Melbournians, I guess you could compare it to the Flinders/Swanston intersection not having anyone there, no one outside the station, no one in Fed Square...it's odd, trust me.





Only a few more days left of Pesach before it's done and dusted for another year. How time flies. It was pretty cool doing the seder when I've only just been to Egypt. Look at that, I relived the Exodus ;)

Final thought for this blog...
It goes without saying that a seder in Israel with an Israeli family will be conducted in Hebrew. I am still learning and while I'm progressing, I'm still a novice when it comes to the language. So I could follow the proceedings thanks to having done this twice a year, every year, since I was born, but I was still a bit lost. Until they started singing the songs that accompany the story. I could sing every song, as most had the same tune that we use in Australia, which left me with the biggest smile on my face. While we were singing and clapping, I was thinking to myself, "this is what binds us". So while my smile was partly due to me enjoying the festive nature of the seder, it was also because I was loving the fact that no matter where you come from, no matter how you've been brought up, no matter what your background, be it Ashkenazi ( Eastern European) or Sephardi (Spanish/Middle Eastern), a Jew is a Jew. And we all celebrate these chagim (festivals) around the world, on the same day, with the same rituals. And that's a beautiful thing.

http://www.ynet.co.il/articles/0,7340,L-3867776,00.html