Thoughts on Yom HaZikaron and Yom Haatzmaut

---

Love is what remains after you know the truth" Anat Hoffman in a quote about marriage in reference to religion and Israel.





Last night as I stood during the tekes at Kikar Rabin, I couldn’t help but choke back a tear or two. The stories were gut wrenching. Mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers who lost sons and siblings. They were a beautiful testament to the sacrifice involved in living here, in creating a safe haven for Jews, in the national project that is known as a Jewish state.





And yet how different from the conversation that occurred as I was walking to the tekes with two friends – one a sabra and the other an olah. The conversation developed from the sight of an Israeli flag displayed on the mirror on someone’s car, and my sabra friend saying how she would never display one because she was ashamed of her country. The olah vehemently disagreed that this was a reason not to display the flag on a day commemorating the soldiers and people who lost their lives in the creation and defense of the state.





This conversation stuck with me, and I have thought about it constantly over the past 24 hours.





As much as I argued with my sabra friend, I couldn’t help but understand what she was saying. In a country where we treat the outsider still very much like an outsider (whether they be Arab, sometimes Ethiopian, sometimes Druze, sometimes haredi, sometimes secular, sometimes special needs), how can she (or I)– as a thinking, feeling, humane person – feel proud of her country today enough to put up a nationalistic symbol of pride such as a flag?





And yet, this day, a day where a siren goes off twice – once for a minute, and then again for two – is a day when so many of us stand in silence, beyond appreciative for the sacrifice someone else has made so that I can be here, live here, work here, play here, love here, sing here.





This dichotomy is not an easy one – not as a Jew, and not as a humanist. This country I live in is far from the ideal that Jewish values would tell us to hold up. It is rude, blind and sometimes even racist.<span> And yet, streams of light pierce through the clouds, and there is a constant battle to do better, be better, struggle for better and yearn for better.





When I was 16, I “fell in love” with Israel. Today I have a mature love with this place.





It is one that is far from blind, does not usually cause me to become overcome with emotion. It comes in waves – when I get off of a plane and feel “at home.” When I walk through the streets of Jerusalem and smell the aroma. When I walk through my local “makolet” and he greets me like I’m him daughter (and then sells me overpriced cheese.) This love is calm, quiet, and usually (unless its Yom HaZikaron), collected.





As we transition this evening from a day of remembrance to a day of independence, I will feel proud as I look at the flags marching down the street, knowing as I do that we’ve come a long way…and we have so much farther to go.





The “truth” is that I love this place, these people, and this nation…even after I know the truth. And because of this, I know that it is love.







**Dedicated to the men, women and children who have lost their lives in defense of this country or at the hands of terror. May your memories be for a blessing, and may we continue to work to create a country you would be proud of.

---