The Big Transition...

Israeli Independence Day by all means trumped Purim on the scale of out of control celebration throughout the country. Although I only saw the excitement and festivities in Tel Aviv, I spoke to friends in various locations who said the same. Streets were blocked off, fireworks lit up the sky, people sprayed foam on one another at a rally at Rabin Square, and it was nearly impossible to hail a taxi because everyone hustled and bustled to and from. The Big Transition that I anticipated really happened and the logic began to make sense. While I wondered how people could switch from mourning loved ones to partying, I see it. These people died fighting for Israel’s independence. We were honoring what they died for.

Palestinians call Israeli Independence Day “The Nachba,” The Tragedy, but millions of Jewish Israelis and tourists danced their way through the streets last night wrapped in Israeli flags, and filled bars all over the city celebrating Israel’s 60^th birthday. We also celebrated Nikki’s birthday on the same night with a large gathering at Academia on Montefiore. I finally had an occasion to wear my white and blue print bubble skirt with pride. People inevitably partied throughout the night, and woke up just in time to pack up goods to barbeque outside.

Since we weren’t allowed to grill on the beach, we setup camp on a park by the Hilton just above the beach. Our skewers, salads and pita looked wimpy and amateur compared to the elaborate smorgasbords that filled the blankets and grills around us. These people have transportable grilling down to a T! Smells of gourmet burgers, spreads and fresh breads filled the park and put us to shame, but we enjoyed the sunshine and our first experience joining the masses of people “making fire” (grilling) on Independence Day as it is The Thing To Do.

Again the sidewalks spilled over with people coming to and from the beach, parents taking kids to get ice cream, or passersby just enjoying the lovely day. Something special really circulated in the air. Police blocked off the streets that lead to the beach, and I’m guessing that was more for safety precautions than to prevent traffic jams... Knock on wood, so far so good.

The Siren Rang, Life Paused

Apparently, in about half an hour I will experience The Big Transition. At sundown Israel will shift from enduring the saddest day of the year in Israel to celebrating the happiest in approximately one minute. Israelis and tourists alike will go from mourning the death of thousands upon thousands of fallen soldiers and hundreds of victims of terror attacks to celebrating Israel’s 60^th birthday in a matter of seconds. The talk on the streets revolves around The Big Miracle: that Israel has existed for 60 years while surrounded by millions of neighbors who wish that she didn’t. One Hell of a miracle? Or many little miracles… plus a lot of planning… many tragedies… and years of sacrifice by the generations before me?

This morning I went with the Duvdevani family to Har Herzl, the military cemetery in Jerusalem for a Memorial service and to pay respect to her grandfather, her friends, and fellow soldiers who died in war or on missions. It was on honor to be with Michal and her family which is so entrenched in and emotionally connected to the IDF. When I first entered the cemetery, if I didn’t know better, it might have seemed a bit like a celebration because masses of people clogged the walkways and crowded the gravestones. Although all of the radio stations played sad war songs and TV stations aired documentaries on soldiers, victims and their families to observe the day, people were reuniting after periods of time apart. I guess they are making good of something so awful. Thousands of soldiers in uniform came to honor friends and represent their units. Family and friends came to grounds to put down rocks and flowers, say prayers and remember their loved ones. Israeli Scouts and youth volunteers stationed themselves throughout the cemetery armed with thousands of bottles of water to dispense to mourners from near and far.

Just before the two minute siren and screeching halt of life, Michal’s father recounted the mystery of his father’s life and disappearance at the time of the War of Independence. He told the story of his father, Moshe Duvdevani, whose whereabouts were unknown for 50 years. Moshe was wounded in 1948 during the Battle of Latrun in both legs, but when a fellow soldier tried to carry him out Moshe, as an officer, threatened the man and ordered the soldier to leave him behind. After retrieving all the injured on the field, he was kidnapped by the Jordanian legion. This is possibly linked to the fact that this battle was the first to be fought in uniform and his markings as an officer made him a desirable goal to obtain information. Yehuda, Michal’s father, grew up anticipating the day that his father would be returned, but in 1998 intelligence pieced it together that Moshe’s body was buried in the military cemetery in Tel Aviv. He has since been properly buried in Har Herzl with other soldiers from the Battle of Latrun.

While hearing Yehuda tell his story was moving, the most powerful part was the twist that I knew was coming... Any good teacher or speaker who tells about an experience ties it in to a big picture or lesson. Right? Why is it important? What can we learn from it? Well Yehuda linked it directly to the group of Americans visiting the cemetery standing before him. To Yehuda, these students were living out Moshe’s dream, and the cause for which he died, by supporting Israel and the Jewish people. Overwhelmed by the same question that’s been looming overhead since August I put myself in the moment of Yom HaZicharon 2008 in Har Herzl: What am I doing here?

While on the one hand I feel more myself in Tel Aviv than anywhere else and completely a part of the Israeli people, this day reminded me of what I see as the largest barrier between me and Israelis. I did not serve in the IDF. I didn’t lose childhood friends or siblings in war. I never sat anxiously awaiting loved ones return from a special mission. Although my little brother and a few good friends of mine are in the American Army and I do know what it feels like to wonder if loved ones are in danger or safe… I still feel this barrier. In the meantime I’ll continue to ask all the questions I can and understand where people are coming from.

The siren rang, life paused, a ceremony consisting of speeches by important people ensued, and everyone on Har Herzl sang Hatikvah together. Chills enveloped my body like never before during Hatikvah did yesterday morning. The anthem took on a whole new meaning on Har Herzl.

So, The Big Switch from the saddest to the happiest moment in Israel is creeping up… I’m off to prepare!

A Week of Mourning

This past week has been a heavy week on Israel’s shoulders. In a matter of seven days Israel honors Yom Hashoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), Yom HaZicharon (Memorial Day), and Yom Ha’atzmaut (Independence Day).

Since August I’ve had Israelis and Americans alike telling me how special it will be to be here in Israel during this time. In August all the rage was to talk about how special it feels during the High Holidays, but once they passed the anticipation for May began.

Last Thursday we paid tribute to the Holocaust. Wednesday evening everything shut down. All restaurants, shops and stores are mandated by law to shut down that evening, and the day of remembrance was marked by a minute long siren that rings throughout the country. Even soldiers training in the middle of the desert can hear this dull gnawing sound. The following morning stores operated as normal, but at 10am a two minute long siren rang and everything stopped for a moment of silence.

It was the most true moment of silence I’ve ever experience. People stopped walking on the sidewalk and cars pulled over on the side of the road so that passengers could climb out and join everyone else. For that two minute period everything ceased to exist. It felt like I was in a movie that paused the present. As if that is actually possible. As the siren ends, it fades slowly and gnaws a little bit more. As silence approached people began to reactivate and return to normality. Such a bizarre sensation. Very Big Brother like.

Almost all television programming revolved around World War II and the Holocaust, and most radio stations played music to match the tone of the day. It definitely drew attention to a strong connection between the catastrophe of the Holocaust and the creation of the state of Israel and made it very poignant how the aftermath strongly affects the identity of Israelis.

Fast forward to yesterday… the eve of Israel’s Memorial Day, which could not be more different from Memorial Day Stateside: a long weekend and excuse to pack coolers and hit the beach. Here, the entire country goes into mourning. By entire country, I obviously mean all Israelis who support Israel… Traditionally it has been a day dedicated to all soldiers who have fallen during wars or attacks, but in recent years it has added another category of people: victims of acts of terror.

Last night was also marked by a minute long siren which caught me on my way to Rabin Square for a Memorial Service. Again everything stopped. I continued my walk and accidentally (honestly) slipped into a VIP section of seating for the ceremony and waited for the flames to light all around the stage. It was an evening of singers, instruments, words by family members, and mourning. After that I trained out to Modiin to experience today with Michal’s family, my family away from home. I feel lucky to have spent the day with the Duvdevani family, a family deeply passionate about the Israeli Defense Forces and the existence of Israel. Hearing Michal’s father tell the story of her grandfather firsthand in front of his grave helped me tie together a few more loose ends regarding where Israelis are coming from. Especially Michal.