There is something special about being in Israel.  For those of you who have been here, you know.  For those of you who have not been here yet, I can’t explain it.  It’s the air, the sounds, the smells, the energy that exists.  Even in the middle of a war, I feel peaceful.

I got my frozen Aroma (the best coffee drink ever) and went to get a taxi to my hotel.  My driver was former military (like most people in Israel).  As we discussed the war, he shared that when he was on active duty and reserves, his unit was like the one in the TV show Fauda.  If you haven’t seen the show, it is a must, especially with what is going on now with the Hamas-Israel war.  It might provide some insight into the challenges that exist to finding peace.  He showed me a picture of him undercover.  It was incredible to see.  As we pulled up to the hotel and got out of the car, the 8 pm siren went off.  I have been here for Yom HaZikaron two other times and know what the siren is like, however this year was different for me.  As I stood outside my taxi with everybody else around, standing proud, silent, and thinking about all those who have lost their lives in defense of the Jewish people and Israel, I got emotional, and tears came to my eyes.  The minute was over far too quickly, and it made me long for the two-minute siren today and to be in a large group like I will today.  There is something about being a Jew and being the majority especially during significant times like this that is indescribable until you experience it.  It is something that you can’t comprehend and can’t even imagine until you experience.

I went for my walk on the beach, sat there enjoying the sound of the Mediterranean Sea, the fresh Israeli air, and the sand between my toes.  My friend Matthew finally arrived after spending 30+ hours traveling after United cancelled his flight a few days ago and we hung out before crashing for the night.

Monday was the full day of Yom HaZikaron.  It also meant Israeli breakfast.  For those of you that have never been here or had Israeli breakfast, it is simply the best meal of the day.  The options are endless, the fruit and vegetables fresher than anywhere at home other than your own garden, the dairy product incredible, and the best way to start the day.  The hotel had one of the best breakfasts I have had and I sat with friends eating and drinking coffee (lattes and cappuccinos not Nescafe like my first trip in 1989!) 

We left the hotel for the ceremony with the Machal soldiers.  I didn’t know we were going to be with Machal soldiers, and this was very meaningful to me.  When I was running UF Hillel, I learned about Machal and Aliyah Bet from Ralph Lowenstein z’l, who in 1948 was the second youngest North American to volunteer to fight in the war of independence.  Those who volunteered from other countries were part of Machal.  The museum for Machal and Aliyah Bet was included when we constructed Norman H. Lipoff Hall, the home of the Hillel the University of Florida.  Ralph would regale me with stories of his time on the boat traveling to Cypress to immigrate to Israel, his time driving a halftrack in the war, and the conditions they had to fight in.  When we dedicated the museum in 2005, most of the living members of Machal from 1948 came.  They kept thanking me for my part in the museum happening.  I told them that all I did was say yes to a great idea and that they were the true heroes.  It was one of the most humbling moments of my life as these true heroes, who risked everything including being arrested and losing citizenship to fight for Israel and the Jewish people. 

I had been asked to bring some things with me to give to individual soldiers that I met during the trip and was able to hand them out before the ceremony.  I shared this opportunity with some friends on the trip so they could share in the joy of doing something nice for the soldiers.  As I spent time talking to them, most of them from France, I was struck by a few things.

1. How young they are.  These were babies.  They were younger than my own children. 
2. They shared how bad it is in France for Jews.  I knew it was bad from reading the news, but they shared much more. 
3. How happy they were to be in Israel, serving in the IDF, protecting Israel and the Jewish people.  In the middle of a war where they could lose their lives at any moment, they were happy to be able to serve.

They thanked me for coming from the depths of their soul.  I have had this happen in Israel two other times.  The first was during the second intifada when Jews weren’t coming to Israel. The only ones coming were Christians.  When a Jewish group came, they thanked us profusely because they hadn’t seen American Jews coming to Israel in a long time.  It made me sad then and makes me sad now.  The other time was when I came in 2021 just before Israel was reopened due to Covid.  Tour groups hadn’t been allowed to come until ours and the looks we got wearing our badges were incredible.  People came up to talk to us, ask questions, and thank us for coming.  We brought a sense of relief and support once again that had been missing.  It reminds me of our obligation as diaspora Jews to come to Israel, to support of brothers and sisters all the time.  How much they need us even though they appear to be tough and can take care of themselves.  They need to see us, to hug us, to talk with us, and to laugh and cry with us.

During the ceremony, which was very moving, there were a few things that stuck out to me.  First, as Jews we always live with hope.  We always have.  We always will. Hope for the future.  Next year in Jerusalem at every Seder for generations.  My Ethiopian Israeli friends often talk about their hope when living in Ethiopia to one day return to Jerusalem. 

Secondly, the impact of North American Jews in the creation of the State of Israel in 1948.  Ralph would always share the role we played with the air force in 1948, with getting the planes, weapons, and equipment needed to fight the war.  It was illegal for Americans to help provide Israel with any of this at that time, yet so many brave people did.  My friend Ann Bussell would tell me stories about her father, Shepard Broad, and how he provided the funding to retrofit the ships in the Miami river.  She loved telling me stories about how as a little girl she would play on the deck of the ship, Exodus, in the Miami River.  How American Jews took incredible risks to give Israel a chance to survive.  If they could risk everything on a state fighting with an army that was overwhelmed in numbers and equipment, what are we prepared to risk today for the incredible State of Israel.  It made me think deeply.

As the ceremony ended and we gathered for lunch, our trip leader, Saul Blinkoff, shared some wisdom with us.  I took three things to heart.

One, “if you don’t stand up, you can’t survive.”  It sounds so simple, yet it is very true.  We are not the Jews of the 1930s and 1940s who went to the gas chambers.  We are not the Jews who stood by during the pogroms in eastern Europe.  We are not the Jews who converted during the Spanish Inquisition to avoid prison, deportation, or death.  We stand up today.  We fight back today.  After Hamas violently invaded Israel and murdered 1200 people on October 7^th, we didn’t sit back and apologize for existing.  Those days are no longer.  As Jews we are proud of who we are and will fight for our survival.  NO MATTER WHAT.  We have Israel to thank for that.

Two, one of the reminders of the horrors of October 7^th was that the Sukkahs were still standing for a long time afterwards.  The attack came on the Jewish holiday of Simchat Torah, the end of the holiday of Sukkot.  There wasn’t time to take the sukkahs down as people were reporting for reserve duty immediately.  Many had been murdered in the Gaza envelope so there was nobody to take those sukkahs down.  The sukkah, a reminder of the temporary nature of life, designed as temporary structures, stayed up for weeks after they should have been taken down.  Temporary had become more permanent.  But they were temporary and came down.  Just like the horrors we are dealing with right now are temporary and will end.  The IDF will succeed.  Israel will be kept safe.  We won’t be in Gaza forever, just longer than anybody would have hoped to ensure Israel and the Jewish people are safe. 

Third, time is the one thing we can’t get more of.  We never know how much we have, and we can’t make more.  Yet on Yom HaZikaron, time stops.  This was my third time being in Israel for Yom HaZikaron and time does stop.  Things are much slower.  It’s a day of thoughtfulness, of mourning, of reflection.  The contrast between Memorial Day in America is profound.  There are no sales.  There are no barbecues.  Stores and restaurants are closed.  The siren goes off for a minute at 8 pm as the holiday begins and then for 2 minutes at 11 am the next morning.  The nation stops and stands at attention. 

When we got back to the hotel after the ceremony, we had some free time, which was greatly needed.  My friends Matthew, Michael and I went to the beach to sit, talk, relax, connect, and then go for a swim in the Mediterranean Sea.  The water felt incredible, the wind making us a little cold, but it was refreshing.  In some ways it was like a dip in the mikvah (ritual bath) that refreshes and renews you.  We headed back to the hotel for some time in the steam room to relax before getting ready for our final speaker and then dinner.

Our final speaker of the night was my friend Yaron.  He was a commander in the IDF in Gaza for the first 4 months.  He responded on October 7^th.  He had an incredible military career and I have written about him many times.  He is a true hero and a real badass.  He is also one of the nicest and humblest people you will every meet.  He and I gave each other big hugs and caught up a little before his presentation.  Brothers.  Friends.  Judaism is so much more than a shared religion; it is a shared family.  Yaron is like a brother to me and I worry about him during this war. 

Hanging with my brother Yaron

As he talked about October 7^th, ‘a day of hell’ as he described it, the day came to life for me in a way it never had before.  His commander ended up at the Nova festival by accident, fighting terrorists and trying to save lives.  Yaron had to defend his military base which was under attack.  He had to defend another military base that was under attack.  He had to fight his way to get from one place to another as terrorists were controlling the area.  The frustration in his voice as he talked about all the phone calls he was getting from people who needed the IDF to save them was palpable.  For some reason, his cell number was given out to people, and he was getting calls from all over, trying to figure out logistics and how to attempt to save people from the terrorists that were committed to murdering, raping, and kidnapping Israeli civilians.  When Yaron decided that he was going to go back to the main base to better help defend Israel, he was questioned about the risk to his own life in trying to get there.  He responded that he had to do it to save lives.  As he went to go alone, one of his friends who served under his command jumped in the jeep with him.  When Yaron told him to get out and not risk his life, his friend told him that he was in the reserves, so Yaron wasn’t really his boss, and he was going.  Two young female soldiers in their early 20s jumped in the back. Yaron ordered them out and they gave the same answer his friend did.  That’s Israel.  Saving lives was most important, even at the risk of their own lives.  When they got back to the base, they began searching for people to save.  I’ll never forget Yaron telling us that ‘there was nobody to save’. 

One of the things that tied together the sadness of October 7^th and the way the Jewish people focus on the future and on hope was a picture and story Yaron told us.  He has 7 children and not too long ago his 6^th child had his Bar Mitzvah.  They held his Bar Mitzvah at Kibbutz Be’eri, one of the places that was devastated by Hamas terrorists on October 7^th.  Despite the death.  Despite the sadness.  Despite the loss.  The Jewish people will live on.  We will celebrate joy.  We will not just survive, we will thrive. 

Yaron had to leave after the presentation because he had to back to Gaza.  He said it to me the way I would have said, “I have to go back to the office” or “I have to go to the grocery store.”  That struck me as well.  He was going back into harm’s way as if it was no different than going to the store.  He understands what is at stake is the future of the Jewish people. I’m hoping to see Yaron again today or tomorrow before he has to fly to the US but neither of us in charge of that.  It depends on what is needed in Gaza.  What a strange sentence to type and thought to have. 

The group of us went out to dinner at a great meat restaurant.  They fed us like at a Brazilian steakhouse and we ate and talked.  The sun set over the port of Tel Aviv and we shifted from Yom HaZikaron to Yom Ha’atzmaut (Israel’s Independence Day).  Normally this is an incredible transition with sadness erupting into incredible joy.  I’m still processing how different it was last night and will write about that in my next blog post.  It’s too much right now, especially with the entire day of Yom Ha’atzmaut ahead. As Saul was talking to us about the transition, he talked about pain and suffering and the difference between them.  He told us a story about a woman giving birth and her husband was there with her.  As she was in excruciating pain, he began making faces of pain.  She stopped, mid push, and asked why he was making faces when she was in pain. He told her he didn’t like to see her suffering.  She took a deep breath, paused again between pushing, and told him she was in pain, not suffering.  Saul, and the story, reminded us that suffering leads to nothing.  Pain leads to growth.  As we deal with the pain of October 7^th, the pain of the war in Gaza, the pain of the loss of life, we can also grow.  Suffering is useless.  It leads to nothing. 

Today was filled lots of pain but no suffering. I’m so glad to be here in Israel, my homeland, with my brothers and sisters. I can feel the healing beginning.