In Israel, at Yizkor, the national is personal
Returning home to Israel is filled with incredible joy, but tinged with an element of sadness. Joy because one is returning to home, to family and friends, to the land of our people, the place chosen for us by G-d Himself. It’s land filled with Jews of every stripe and background, surrounded by a cacophony of noises, voices, smells, most wonderfully exhilarating, some irritating, but always ours.
Yet a sadness occupies the periphery, because we remember the evil and hatred that has been and continues to be visited up upon us.
This is most acutely felt at Pesach, when we spend a good portion of the Seder recalling our persecution at the hands of others, from Lavan to Pharaoh. We eat matza — which simultaneously represents the bread of affliction and freedom; we dip and eat maror — bitter herbs to recall the pain and tears, and we then recline and drink cups of wine like kings.
After Pesach comes Yom haShoah, then Yom Hazikaron that is followed immediately, jarringly, by the jubilation of Yom Haatzmaut.
But never before have I felt this bipolar dichotomy of being a Jew as powerfully as this year.
Though markedly reduced, we are still engaged in a war with Hamas in Gaza in the south; while Hezbollah in Lebanon has been subdued, it’s only because of the vigilance of the IDF presence there; Syria has changed but who knows to what end, with a hostile Turkey sending in large masses of troops and armaments that threaten Israel; and of course, the head of the snake, Iran, once again threatened Israel with destruction (even as it supposedly “negotiates” with the United States).
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On an individual level, the pain of the push and pull of joy and sorrow is even more extreme. On the last day, the seventh day of Pesach, Shvii shel Pesach, we celebrate Hashem‘s miraculous rescue of the Jewish people with His splitting of the Red Sea. The spectacle of all spectacles, one the whole world knew about, including our enemies; a true cause for celebration. We chant the “Az Yashir” (the Song by the Sea) and as on all the days of Pesach, we recite the Hallel prayer, giving thanks to G-d for our salvation.
As Yitz Weiner, the wonderful baal shacharit in my shul, Nitzanim in Yerushalayim, approached Yizkor, I remembered being in another shul in Yerushalayim on October 7, 2023, Shmini Atzeret, the happiest day of the Jewish year when, paradoxically, we say Yizkor. Of course, that day of happiness turned to despair, when not only did we not have time to say Yizkor, but some of us could not even complete davening Musaf because we had to evacuate due to the repeated sirens.
In America, children and young people fortunate enough, Baruch Hashem, to have their parents, and customarily leave as the Yizkor service is about to begin. Not in Israel, where everyone is urged to stay as the entire kehila says Kel Maleh and other prayers for the loss of our fighting men and women. Only afterwards do those who, thank G-d, have no need for personal remembrance choose to leave. But those numbers are few, because virtually everyone has been affected by the loss of someone they know or is close to someone who has sustained such a loss.
The bonds and connections to one another in this tiny country are vast and mysterious.
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The remarkable Rabbi Avi Goldberg, hy”d, who fell on October 26, 2024, would daven periodically in Nitzanim and I recognized him from his picture. Just before his shloshim, I met his mother-in-law in the Macabbi medical office we both go to, and found out she is best of friends with our former rebbetzin of the Young Israel of Great Neck, the outstanding Abby Lerner.
Hersh Goldberg-Polin, hy”d, killed by Hamas in August 2024, who became the symbol of American and Israeli hostages held in Gaza. I never met him, but his grandmother Leah is my neighbor in Florida and I’ve met his parents, sadly previously at gatherings pressing for his release and then most recently, two weeks ago with thousands of others recalling his memory.
Himmelfarb High School, a prominent high school in Jerusalem, where Rav Avi Goldberg taught and Hersh attended as a student, lost nine graduates since October 7. While I did not meet these individuals, I attended some of the funerals and shivas, and heard about them from those who knew them. My good friends, Michal and Moshe Natan, especially Moshe who taught at Himmelfarb for many years, made the stories of these holy neshamot come to life.
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Imagine, chas v’Shalom, a local yeshiva high school in your community, rachmana Iitzlan, losing so many in such a way, in so short a time — how could you not feel it personally? And this is just in Jerusalem. Multiply that in communities across the country and you might understand the depth of the feeling of loss.
Our cantor, Yitz Weiner, chanted in Hallel, “Ana Hashem, hoshea na … Ana Hashem, hatzlicha na (Please, Hashem, save us, Please, Hashem, make us successful)” to the tune of Israeli musician and songwriter Naomi Shemer’s “Al Kol Eleh,” in which she sings, “Al had’vash v’al haoketz, al hamar v’hamatok (the honey and the sting, the bitter and the sweet).”
It’s an ostensibly secular song, which redounds with such deep meaning of the paradox of the Jew, especially in the land of Israel, which always brought me close to tears; this year, it made me actually weep. Even as I was thanking Hashem for His miraculous beneficence I was crying out: “Please Hashem, save now! Please Hashem bring success now!”
Too often when we sing about the d’vash and the oketz (the honey and the sting), we dwell on the sting. We must remember the honey, for there is so much to be grateful for.
Another song that we sing on Pesach, “V’Hi She’amdah,” recounts the promise of Hashem that despite the many “who are in every generation to destroy us,” HaKadush Baruch Hu, Hasham Himself, “saves us from their hand.”
These two songs — Naomi Shemer’s “Al Kol Eleh” (a secular song that has become religiously influenced) and “Vehi Sheamda” (a religious song which, sung to Yonatan Razel’s amazingly moving melody, that has become a secular national anthem) — define the paradox of being a Jew in Israel, and are cause for both painful reflection and tearful rejoicing.
Just as tears are shed when we are sad, they also flow when we are happy. Paradoxes, by definition, defy logic and rationality. That is why we, who believe ultimately in Hashem‘s guiding hand, conclude our Hallel that, no matter what, “Hodu L’ashem Ki Tov, Ki L’Olam Chasdo (Give thanks to Hashem for He is Good, His Kindness Endures Forever”).
Shabbat shalom
Dr. Alan A. Mazurek is a retired neurologist, living in Great Neck, Jerusalem and Florida. He is a former chairman of the ZOA. To reach him, write: Columnist@TheJewishStar.com
