So far one of the happiest days in my life is Yom HaAztmaut (Israeli Independence Day). However, it's preceded by the saddest day in Israel's History: Yom HaZikaron (lit. Rememberance Day). That's when we remember all the soldiers and police officers killed from 1948 until our days. On this day, a siren is sounded and, if you live is Israel, you happen to get used to this sound. Sirens are there either to announce when Shabat starts or that rockets are flying over our heads. But this one is different and also quite polemic, as most of other things in this country are.
Some religious people, who are against the State of Israel due to many different reasons, do not stand when Yom HaZikaron siren sounds. They have their own reasons for their attitude. And I'll not discuss here why people take such an attitude. What I'd like to share with you is why I stand and why I cry for people that I didn't even know. I don't pretty much care about what other people don't do. I care about what I feel it's right to do.
I think about the bereaved families, about the lives taken from more than 23,000 people. And I praise and thank them for all they did in their duty to protect my country. But also I ask for their forgiveness, since we couldn't do enough to keep them alive. In a certain sense, I feel indebted to them. And I would like to ask for their forgiveness that their families had to suffer such a pain that NO family should be exposed to, so that I would live safely in Israel.My question is if we are worthy of living on their merits. I'm not asking if we would die for the country. What I ask is, in fact, a little bit more complex. Are we meritorious to exist in the land where these people lived, died and are buried? Honestly, I have no final answer, but I tell you that I live my life trying to be.
Whenever the siren sounds, I stop whatever I'm doing and give them kavod (honor). I stood for them, for all of them. I stand for the ones who were religious and for those who weren't. Because they stood for all of us, Haredi, Dati Leumi, Conservative or Secular. They didn't choose which of us they would protect. How can we think we should select who we should honor? I don't care if a fallen IDF soldier didn't keep Shabat or ate pork with shrimp while drinking milk-shake. As observant Jew, I obviously feel sad. But I acknowledge that they were human beings that must be respected as such, regardless any political or religious bias.
On this day, I remember people like Dov Indig, whose Letters to Thalia were a very sweet reading; Esther Cailingold, who made Alyiah alone in 1946; Michael Levin, just a couple years older than me who is a hero in my generation; Yoni Netanyahu, whom I admire beyond anything words could express; Roi Klein, who jumped on a grenade to save his fellow soldiers. I don't understand how someone would not be proud of them, how someone wouldn't want to honor people like these. I ask myself who these people do honor. Since they are unable to show gratitude to someone who died making sure that their lives would be safe, I doubt if they would honor anyone to whom they owe much less than their own lives. But once again... I can only be responsible for the things I do. And, on Yom HaZikaron, I remember their life stories and visit the graves at Har Herzl (Jerusalem Military Graveyard), weep and share their amazing deeds. That's how I'm able to celebrate Yom HaAtzmaut so much, because I know that I'm doing my best to make their effort worthwhile.
Some religious people, who are against the State of Israel due to many different reasons, do not stand when Yom HaZikaron siren sounds. They have their own reasons for their attitude. And I'll not discuss here why people take such an attitude. What I'd like to share with you is why I stand and why I cry for people that I didn't even know. I don't pretty much care about what other people don't do. I care about what I feel it's right to do.
I think about the bereaved families, about the lives taken from more than 23,000 people. And I praise and thank them for all they did in their duty to protect my country. But also I ask for their forgiveness, since we couldn't do enough to keep them alive. In a certain sense, I feel indebted to them. And I would like to ask for their forgiveness that their families had to suffer such a pain that NO family should be exposed to, so that I would live safely in Israel.My question is if we are worthy of living on their merits. I'm not asking if we would die for the country. What I ask is, in fact, a little bit more complex. Are we meritorious to exist in the land where these people lived, died and are buried? Honestly, I have no final answer, but I tell you that I live my life trying to be.
Whenever the siren sounds, I stop whatever I'm doing and give them kavod (honor). I stood for them, for all of them. I stand for the ones who were religious and for those who weren't. Because they stood for all of us, Haredi, Dati Leumi, Conservative or Secular. They didn't choose which of us they would protect. How can we think we should select who we should honor? I don't care if a fallen IDF soldier didn't keep Shabat or ate pork with shrimp while drinking milk-shake. As observant Jew, I obviously feel sad. But I acknowledge that they were human beings that must be respected as such, regardless any political or religious bias.
On this day, I remember people like Dov Indig, whose Letters to Thalia were a very sweet reading; Esther Cailingold, who made Alyiah alone in 1946; Michael Levin, just a couple years older than me who is a hero in my generation; Yoni Netanyahu, whom I admire beyond anything words could express; Roi Klein, who jumped on a grenade to save his fellow soldiers. I don't understand how someone would not be proud of them, how someone wouldn't want to honor people like these. I ask myself who these people do honor. Since they are unable to show gratitude to someone who died making sure that their lives would be safe, I doubt if they would honor anyone to whom they owe much less than their own lives. But once again... I can only be responsible for the things I do. And, on Yom HaZikaron, I remember their life stories and visit the graves at Har Herzl (Jerusalem Military Graveyard), weep and share their amazing deeds. That's how I'm able to celebrate Yom HaAtzmaut so much, because I know that I'm doing my best to make their effort worthwhile.
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