(Independence Day) יום העצמאות

On Wednesday evening, as Israel's Memorial Day came to a close and its Independence Day began, flags were returned to full mast and the mood changed from somber to festive. The transition is an abrupt and jarring one for a visitor, but the sharp contrast serves to remind people of the cost of independence and what the country's fallen soldiers have achieved and preserved. Israel is not perfect, of course, and there are many worrisome aspects of Israeli society and politics (see the superb article by Leonard Fein in the spring 2008 issue of Dissent magazine), but there are also many admirable and impressive accomplishments here that provide ample reason for celebration. To paraphrase Barack Obama's recent remarks about the United States, it would be a profound distortion to elevate what is wrong with the country above all that we know is right with it. This Independence Day was celebrated with special enthusiasm because, as The New York Times put it, "the Jewish people are marking the 60th anniversary of their national rebirth, the founding of Israel." As The Forward noted in 1948, "it is already the third time that Jews have made a Jewish state in the Land of Israel."

In Tel Aviv, the Independence Day festivities began Wednesday night with fireworks and a big light and music show in Rabin Square. Among the thousands of people filling the square were A. and me. Here we are wearing the colors of Israel's flag, blue and white, to get into the holiday spirit.

The sign below reads "Independence Israel."

The celebrations continued Thursday afternoon with a sea and air show by Israel's navy and air force. A. and I were again on hand to take a few pictures (the last one is an AP photo).

The Israeli press reported that the Independence Day celebrations were "held under tight security, due to warnings received on terror organizations' plans to carry out attacks." Happily, the tight security ensured a safe holiday for everyone. The only thing we saw that marred the occasion was an accident during the air show, when a paratrooper missed his landing spot and collided with spectators.

So what is the state of the nation in 2008? As part of its coverage of Israel's 60th anniversary, The Jerusalem Post carried an interesting story about "The Demise of Ideology" in the country. "What we're seeing," it quoted Israeli sociologist Oz Almog as saying, are indications "that Zionism is waning. The whole Zionist ethos no longer resonates for Israelis, with the exception of the religious nationalist camp." As evidence, Almog and The Jerusalem Post pointed to changing attitudes about aliyah (immigration) and yerida (emigration). Chaim Waxman, another sociologist, disagreed: "I don't see these changes as an ideological post-Zionism. It is a natural course of events. To a large extent, Israel has become a normal country. That was the goal of Zionism. In a normal country people travel and some will leave." Judging from the enthusiasm and the multitudes of flags that A. and I witnessed on Israel's Memorial Day and Independence Day, I'm inclined to think that reports of Zionism's demise have been exaggerated. Emigration has indeed been rising, but the number of emigrants each year remains lower than the number of immigrants and returning Israelis. Moreover, as The New York Times noted in a story about a special conference capping this year's Independence Day festivities: "Today Israel’s Jewish population of 5.5 million is the world’s largest, just ahead of that of the United States, which is slowly declining through low birth rate and intermarriage. Israel has in fact become the center of Jewish life and is increasingly being asked to act like the older brother to Jewish communities elsewhere." This sounds to me less like the demise of Zionism than the fulfillment of Ahad Ha'am's vision. He never envisioned Israel as a home for all of the world's Jews, but rather as a cultural center for the Jewish people that would reinforce Jewish life in the Diaspora. I look forward to returning to that center again for Israel's 100th anniversary.

(Memorial Day) יום הזכרון

The past week has been packed with holidays, both solemn and festive. Last Thursday was יום השואה (Holocaust Remembrance Day), followed this Wednesday by יום הזכרון (Israel's Memorial Day) and this Thursday by יום העצמאות (Israel's Independence Day). This Independence Day was an especially big deal because it marks the sixtieth anniversary of Israel's founding in 1948 -- but more about that in my next post.

Here, as in the United States, Memorial Day honors the men and women who have died in military service to the country. In Israel, that includes members of pre-state military organizations (like the Haganah and Irgun) and civilians murdered by terrorism. This year, Israel commemorated 22,437 lives lost in the line of duty (65 of them in the past year) and 1,634 civilian terror victims.

In accordance with the Jewish calendar, the day began Tuesday evening. At 8:00 p.m., sirens sounded throughout the country for one minute. As on יום השואה (Holocaust Remembrance Day), people stopped whatever they were doing during that minute to stand in silence in honor of the dead. I was walking home from the laundromat when the siren sounded, and I put down my load of laundry and stood silently on the sidewalk, head bowed, along with other people on the street. There was an official ceremony afterwards in Rabin Square; A. and I did not attend, but we watched it on television. The next morning at 11:00, sirens again sounded for two minutes; I stood on the balcony of our apartment, below which traffic came to a stop and drivers stood beside their cars. Throughout the day, from Tuesday evening till nightfall on Wednesday, the mood was somber.

For most people in this tiny little republic, where nearly everyone knows someone (a friend, a sibling, a child, a spouse, or a parent) who was killed in the line of duty, Memorial Day has a deeply personal meaning. In that respect, it seems to me, it's different from the United States, with its far larger population and its all-volunteer army, where nowadays many people have no direct connection to military service or sacrifice.

(Holocaust Remembrance Day) יום השואה

Today was יום השואה (Holocaust Remembrance Day) in Israel. All day the television stations showed films and shows about the Shoah, radio stations played somber music, and flags on public buildings were lowered to half staff. But the most poignant and powerful moment came at precisely 10:00 a.m., when air-raid sirens were sounded throughout the whole country for two minutes. During these two minutes people stop whatever they are doing -- even cars stop -- and they stand silently to commemorate the six million Jews murdered in Europe. Those two minutes are consecrated time, set apart from the ordinary routines of profane time; they burst in upon it and shatter it.

When the sirens sounded, I was still in my Hebrew class, which was just finishing up. Our teacher, in the middle of explaining something, stopped in mid-sentence and said quietly, "We need to stand up." As I stood together with my classmates in silence, I thought of Psalm 38 ("my sorrow is continually before me"); I thought of my grandmother, who escaped the Nazis by immigrating to America but lost a brother who stayed behind; I thought of my synagogue in Wisconsin, which I learned was defaced with swastikas last week; I thought of the remarkable and courageous woman whose story we had just read, Hannah Szenes; and I thought of the poem we had read the day before, which ends abruptly in mid-sentence like the lives of so many who perished.

כתוב בעפרון בקרון החתום / דן פגיס

כאן במשלוח הזה
אני חוה
עם הבל בני
אם תראו את בני הגדול
קין בן אדם
תגידו לו שאני

Here is my rough translation:

Written in Pencil on the Sealed Train Car / by Dan Pagis

Here at this transfer
I am Eve
With Abel my son
If you see my big son
Cain son of Adam
Tell him that I

It was extraordinary and profoundly moving to take part in this public commemoration together at the same time with millions of others throughout the country. Perhaps Emile Durkheim explains it best. "The basis of mourning," he wrote, "is the impression of enfeeblement that is felt by the group when it loses a member. But this very impression has the effect of bringing the individuals close to one another ... and from all this comes a sensation of renewed strength.… To commune in sadness is still to commune, and every communion of consciousness increases social vitality, in whatever form it is done."

A. Day

א. (האישה היפה הגאונה שלי) מגיעה בישראל היום! ברוכים הבאים לישראל, א

Welcome to Israel, A.!

On Parle Français Ici

Cette semaine il semble qu’il y a beaucoup de juifs français à Tel Aviv pour Pâque. J’ai entendu Français à la plage, dans la rue, et dans le supermarché. Aujourd’hui, pendant que j’étais à la laverie, un Français a entré avec ses deux enfants (un garçon et une fille) et demandé comment utiliser les machines à laver. Après j’ai expliqué, il est allé au supermarché pour acheter du savon, et j’ai parlé un peu de Français avec ses enfants (qui ont resté à la laverie). Après j’ai lu la biographie nouvelle d’Emile Durkheim par Marcel Fournier en Français, c’était facile de parler avec des enfants, et très amusant.

This Year in Jerusalem (or at Least in Israel)

On Saturday night I attended a Passover seder in Israel for the first time, thanks to the kind invitation of my new friends Shlomi and Orna. I was afraid that I might feel a little lost, since the seder was conducted entirely in Hebrew and I was surrounded by mostly new and unfamiliar faces, but in fact I had a wonderful time. That was in part because of the warm welcome I received, and in part because of the fascinating people I met. Orna's mother came to Palestine from Poland in 1944, so I told her about my grandmother who came to America from Poland in the 1930s. Asher, the brother of Orna's mother's first husband (who was killed in Israel's War of Independence), described himself as coming from a Communist background. I asked whether he was a follower of Ber Borochov, the great theoretician of Zionist Marxism, but he scoffed with a wave of his hand, saying Borochov was the theoretician of the Poalei Zion ("Workers of Zion"), Ben-Gurion's party. I took that to mean he had been to the left of Ben-Gurion and Poalei Zion. (I later learned that after Poalei Zion split into left and right factions in 1919-1920, the left faction became the Jewish Communist Party in 1921, which split in 1922, reunited as the Palestine Communist Party in 1923 and became an official section of the Communist International.) I also discovered that one of Asher's sons was a founder of Peace Now in 1978 and signed the famous "Officers' Letter" to Menachem Begin. Left-wing politics runs like a thread through the whole family.

Many things were familiar, including the traditional songs that are sung at the meal, but some things were different: no cup for Elijah the Prophet (whose return will herald the coming of the Messiah in Jewish tradition -- Shlomi gave me a long exposition about why he doesn't like Elijah), no yahrmulkas, and, most perplexing for me, they still said "Next year in Jerusalem" not (as I expected) "This year in Jerusalem." Since Gev, the host of the seder, was a kibbutznik, we used a special hagadah from the kibbutz movement. Also, Jews in the Diaspora have two seders (on the first and second nights), but for historical reasons Jews in Israel only have one seder on the first night.

All in all, it was a thoroughly enjoyable and utterly fascinating experience for me.

Passover

"The revolution was declared on Mount Sinai." - Nachman Syrkin

חג שמח, everyone!