The Sound of Sirens

There is a sound that stops a country.

The siren is a raw sound, piercing, unadorned, impossible to ignore. In Israel, it does something remarkable: It creates silence. Twice within the span of a week, the siren wails across the land - on Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron. Highways halt. Conversations cease. An entire nation stands suspended between past and present, between memory and motion. And then, almost without transition, that same nation rises into the celebration of Yom Ha’atzmaut.

The emotional whiplash is real, but perhaps the siren is the thread that holds it all together.

The practice of a siren to focus attention traces its roots back to World War I, when a businessman in Cape Town proposed a moment of silence to honor fallen soldiers. The idea spread across the British Empire and eventually made its way to pre-state Israel, where British-installed air-raid sirens became, after independence, instruments not only of warning but of memory. At first, they were used sparingly: when the remains of Herzl were brought to Israel, after a significant tragedy struck a kibbutz. But over time, something profound took shape. The same sirens once meant to signal danger were transformed into a national language of remembrance.

On Yom HaZikaron, the siren sounds for one minute at night, and two minutes the next morning. During those moments, Israel becomes still. Cars stop in the middle of highways. People stand at attention. Tears flow openly. It is not orchestrated; it is instinctive, communal, sacred.

But the story of sirens in Israel is more complicated today.

They are no longer only ceremonial. They are also urgent and sound far too often. Red alert sirens send families running to shelters. Ambulance sirens signal crisis. In recent times, the sound of the siren has become frighteningly routine. So much so that the tones of ambulance sirens had to be changed to avoid confusion.

For adults, the distinctions are painful but manageable. For children, they blur. A young boy hears a siren in his kindergarten on Yom HaShoah and is terrified, convinced it means danger, that he must run and hide. Only later does he learn that this siren is not about present fear, but past horror. Not about what might happen, but about what did.

Perhaps that confusion is not something to dismiss too quickly. Because in truth, the sirens of Israel are meant to hold both meanings at once. They are about danger and memory. About fear and dignity. About what has been lost and what still must be protected.

A siren is loud, but what it creates is silence. And in that silence, something begins to emerge.

This week, we read about tzara’at, the spiritual skin condition often translated as leprosy. It is a halakhic paradox that feels, at first glance, almost incomprehensible. A small patch of afflicted skin renders a person impure. But if the affliction spreads to cover the entire body - if it becomes total, the person is declared pure. How can this be?

The Maharal explains with a principle that feels almost counterintuitive: Sometimes, total collapse is not the deepening of brokenness; it is the end of it. When something is partially broken, it still clings to its previous form. It can be patched, perhaps, but it is still defined by its dysfunction. When something collapses entirely, however, when the old structure dissolves, it creates a kind of emptiness. And that emptiness is not void; it is possibility.

The Maharal reminds us that creation itself begins this way. Darkness precedes light. Tohu va’vohu, chaos, comes before creation. A seed must decay before it can grow. Redemption emerges not from stability, but from rupture.

This is what the siren captures. It is not a gentle sound. It does not comfort. It does not solve. It breaks. It pierces the routine of daily life and leaves, in its wake, a kind of emotional and spiritual exposure. For those two minutes, there is no distraction, no buffer. Just memory. Just loss. Just the unbearable weight of what has been.

Those moments do not end in silence alone. They lead somewhere. From the siren of Yom HaShoah, we carry the memory of absolute devastation - the kind that seemed total, consuming, and final. From the siren of Yom HaZikaron, we feel the ongoing cost of existence, the lives lost in defense of a state. Then, almost impossibly, we arrive at Yom Ha’atzmaut. Celebration does not erase the sirens; it emerges from them.

Like the metzora whose affliction has covered his entire body - who stands not as a deeper expression of impurity, but at the threshold of renewal, the Jewish people have known moments when brokenness felt complete. Those very moments, however, became the clearing from which something new could grow.

The siren is not only a memorial. It is a transition point. It forces a pause, a confrontation with the fullness of pain. And in doing so, it creates the conditions for something else to follow. Not immediately. Not easily. But inevitably. A people who can stand still together in grief can also rise together in hope.

The siren creates silence. But silence is not emptiness. It is an invitation for us to choose what to place inside those two minutes. Perhaps this year, when the siren sounds, we can be a little more intentional about what fills that stillness. To teach our children not only not to fear the sound, but to understand it, to know that this is what it means to belong to a people that remembers. To take a moment to say a name or to recall a story, a face, or a life that might otherwise blur into history. To reach out to someone for whom these days are not symbolic but personal, someone who carries loss not as memory but as daily reality. Perhaps most of all, we must allow the siren not only to stop us, but to shape us, to ask what it means to build a life, a community, a State worthy of the sacrifices we remember.

The siren will sound whether we are ready or not. When it fades, will we simply return to life as it was or will we carry something of that silence forward, and let it shape the way we live?

Let’s listen closely and choose wisely.

I Mourn Among the Joyful & Turn the Beat Around

This week, ahead of Yom Ha’atzmaut, two images of the handwritten diary of David Ben-Gurion from the evening of May 14, 1948 were released. The original diary has not yet been located, but copies exist. The journal is a fascinating insight into the mindset of one of Israel’s founders in “real time” as Israel was created.

Ben-Gurion is far from jubilant:

“We approved the text of the Declaration of Independence. Independence declared at 4 p.m. Across the land, there is joy and profound happiness, and again I mourn among the joyful, as on November 29…”

Ben-Gurion cannot celebrate Israel’s momentous milestones. Similar to his feeling on May 14, 1948, he recalls his reaction to November 29, 1947, when the United Nations approved the Partition Plan that called for a Jewish State to be created in Israel once the British Mandate ended 6 months following. That night, there was rejoicing in the streets of Tel Aviv and throughout the Jewish world. Ben-Gurion, however, could not join in the joy of that night or even after declaring Israel’s independence. As Eitan Donitz, CEO of the Ben-Gurion Heritage Institute, put it, “While the country celebrates, he is dealing with the question of the existence of the young state and is very anxious about it.”

It’s understandable.

From its birth as a state and until today, Israel’s existence is marked by joy and pain, celebration and solemnity, confidence and trepidation. We experienced this range of reactions this week in the transition from Yom Hazikaron to Yom Ha’atzmaut and have especially felt this whirlwind of emotions more viscerally since October 7.

How do we rejoice while feeling such contradictory emotions? Jews are very good at knowing how to “turn the beat around.” We are good at accentuating the positive. We can be grateful even when we are lacking and can celebrate even when there is also reason to mourn. It’s why God chose us.

The Talmud (Berachot 20b) recounts a conversation between God and the angels. The angels ask how God can favor the Jews if God is described as “showing no favor and taking no bribe” (Devarim 10:17). God responds:

“How can I not show favor to Israel? I wrote for them in the Torah: ‘And you shall eat and be satisfied and bless the Lord your God’ (Deuteronomy 8:10), meaning that there is no obligation to bless the Lord until one is fully satiated. Yet Jews are exacting with themselves to recite Grace after Meals even if they have eaten a smaller amount of food that is only the size of an olive or an egg. Since they go beyond the requirements of the law, they are worthy of My favor.”

God loves us because we thank God for food even when we might still be hungry. We are grateful for what we have even when we don’t have all we want or need. We can rejoice even when the situation is not completely jubilant. We know how to serve God even when things are not perfect. We know how to make the most out of an imperfect world.

Ben-Gurion mourned among the joyful. He was realistic. He bore the heavy responsibility of leadership of a newborn country surrounded by enemies. At the same time, we rejoice. We know how to be grateful for what we have however imperfect it may be. We can celebrate the miracles we experience even with dark clouds surrounding us.

We turn the beat around every Friday night.

There is a widespread custom to change the melody of “Lecha Dodi” midway though the song. There are numerous variations of the custom, but the change involves a shift from a somber, slower tune in the beginning to something festive and joyous for the conclusion of the prayer.

Why? As with many Jewish customs, there are a variety of answers. The renowned musicologist Velvel Pasternak said, “I spent a year researching this … got all kinds of explanations. The only one that was plausible was given to me by the Pittsburgher Rebbe of blessed memory. He said in Yiddish: ‘Shoyn genug genidzet mit dem ershtn nigun - they got tired of the first tune.’ This is most probably the correct reason.”

Classic.

I believe this practice is just one more expression of our ability to “turn the beat around.” God loves us. God chose us because of our ability to be grateful despite what is lacking and to rejoice despite there being reason to mourn. Knowing how to do this gives us the confidence to keep praying, striving, and fighting for a time when we have all we need and only have reason to rejoice.

Yom HaShoah Song Selection & Understanding the Week Ahead

The post-Pesach “Yom”s” are a lot.

Just days after Pesach ends, we observe Yom HaShoah. Just one week later, we commemorate Yom Hazikaron and celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut. First, we try to properly capture the magnitude of the Holocaust – the trauma, horror, and heroism. Then, in what is very different than our American experience, Israel transitions in a mere 24 hours from somberly remembering those killed establishing and defending the State to joyously celebrating her independence. Talk about a busy week!

Each year, I try to find a new insight, a different emotional or spiritual approach to a week of sadness, anger, inspiration, memory, and exultation. This year, I found meaning in the song selection of the Communal Yom HaShoah Commemoration.

The ceremony featured a very familiar structure. There is a candle lighting ceremony by survivors and descendants of survivors. A cantor chants an emotional Memorial Prayer and Tehillim is recited. Of course, the children sing. A choir is key to any commemoration. Music is a powerful tool for remembrance. Plus, the participating children develop a deeper appreciation of the importance of participating in Shoah remembrance. (It also means more people attend.)

As I listened to the songs sung, I felt a range of emotions. First, there was sadness and longing. The opening song was a Yiddish song recounting the past. We were taken back to the Old Country as the horrors of the Holocaust shocked the Jews from their everyday lives. Next was “Ani Ma’amin, which recalled the many who still believed in redemption even as they were about to be murdered. While a testament of faith, those words were, ultimately, a desperate, final, doomed plea.

The next songs transitioned to faith. The choir sang Shlomo Carlebach’s “Gam Ki Eilech” based on Psalm 23. The beautiful melody elevated the classic declaration: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, because You are with me.” For You are with me. We seek comfort and security in the knowledge that God accompanies us even in dark times. God’s presence was also the theme of the next song. It was another “Ani Ma’amin,” but not the one about Moshiach. The words to the lovely tune sung by Dveykus were from Rambam’s first declaration of faith: “I believe with perfect faith that the Creator creates and rules all creatures; and that God alone made, makes, and will make all things.” God is in charge – past, present, and future. We are no longer oppressed and doomed with nothing to look forward to except the Messianic era. We regain our “faith footing” and find comfort in God’s omnipresence and omnipotence. God runs the world.

The children concluded their performance with a version of “Im Eshkacheich Yerushalayim.” No matter what, we carry with us a vision of Jerusalem.

The songs captured the Yom HaShoah, Yom Hazikaron, Yom Ha’atzmaut emotional roller coaster. From darkness and desperation to comfort and confidence to restoration and redemption.

Most importantly, the Yom HaShoah commemoration featured a survivor sharing his story. Especially as the number of survivors declines, we must take advantage of every opportunity we can to listen to them in person. Paul Gross was born in 1937 in Hungary. He was 7 years-old when the Jews were rounded up and put on a train. Luckily, his train did not go to Auschwitz. He and his family were taken first to a makeshift camp in Austria before they ended up in Theresienstadt until liberation.

Mr. Gross recounted that when the Jews were being marched to the train, he imagined he was soldier. All the Jews were wearing yellow stars, and he viewed his as a “badge of honor,” a military insignia, and he marched swinging his hands back and forth. Despite the horrors he faced, he remembered the Jewish pride he felt.

On one lapel, Mr. Gross was wearing the yellow “Jude” star that he had worn 80 years ago. On the other, he wore the IDF pin he wore as an Israeli soldier 10 years later. A Holocaust testimony spanning from darkness to determination and, ultimately, defense of the Jewish homeland.

In Parshat Shemini, we read of the tragic death of Aharon’s two sons. Nadav and Avihu. Afterwards, Aharon responds twice. The first is through silence – “Vayidom Aharon.” In the second response, Aharon pushes back against Moshe’s accusation that the Kohanim made a mistake. Aharon progresses from passive acceptance to active engagement. These two responses are two different ways we respond to tragedy. Sometimes, we are silent. We don’t know what to do. Other times, we take a stand. We question, we challenge, or maybe we fight.

During the week of Yom HaShoah through Yom Ha’atzmaut, we go through both responses. We are silent, lost, bewildered, sad and despondent, and then we are transformed through the actions and heroism that created the State of Israel.

On Wednesday night, I experienced this journey through the songs of Jewish children. It’s the Jewish journey past, present, and future. We must encounter the horrors of the Shoah to fortify ourselves against the enemies of today, to feel that God is always with us, and that our future is in Jerusalem.

Paul Gross concluded his remarks with two powerful declarations:

“Netzach Yisrael lo yeshakeir – The glory of Israel endures forever.” (1 Shmuel 15:29)

“Am Yisrael Chai!”

Chevron: City of Connection

Have you ever been to Chevron for Shabbat Chayei Sara?

This Shabbat, thousands of people will converge on Chevron (Hebron) to have a “front row seat” as we read how Avraham purchases the land in which he buries Sara, which becomes the Me’arat HaMachpela, the burial place of Avraham and Sara, Yitzchak and Rivka, and Yaakov and Leah. The Midrash teaches that Chevron is one of three places – together with Jerusalem and Shechem - that the nations of the world cannot protest against Israel and say, “You stole the land.”

How has that worked out for us?

The three places purchased to avoid any dispute over Jewish ownership – Jerusalem, Shechem, and Chevron – remain flashpoints of controversy between Israel and the world.

Maybe that’s exactly the point.

The Midrash is not predicting that the nations of the world will not protest. The Midrash is reinforcing for us our right to these places. No matter what the world says or does, Jews have an unbreakable connection to Jerusalem, Shechem, and Chevron.

Chevron, in particular, hasn’t been easy. In addition to the exiles and displacement of Jews throughout history, Chevron has been a challenge as Jews returned to Israel in the last 100 years. The low point was the 1929 massacre which took place on Shabbat, August 24 and claimed the lives of 69 Jews with hundreds injured. 

On that tragic day, as the news of the violence emerged, Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook, together with other Jewish leaders, went to Harry Luke, the acting British high commissioner, to urge him to take action and protect the Jews of Hebron. “What can be done?” Luke asked.

Rav Kook's response was straight to the point. “Shoot the murderers!”

Luke responded, “But I have received no such orders.”

“Then I am commanding you!” Rav Kook roared. “In the name of humanity's moral conscience, I demand this!”

Luke did nothing, and Rav Kook never forgot or forgave him. Not long after this heated exchange, an official reception was held in Jerusalem, and Mr. Luke held out his hand to greet the Chief Rabbi. To the shock of many, Rav Kook refused to shake it. With quiet fury, the rabbi explained, “I do not shake hands defiled with Jewish blood.”

Six months after the massacre, grieving crowds filled the Yeshurun synagogue in Jerusalem. Rav Kook gave a powerful speech about our connection with Chevron.

“[W]e must remember and remind the Jewish people not to forget the city of the Patriarchs. The people must know what Chevron means to us…When the weak-hearted spies arrived at Chevron, they were frightened by the fierce nations who lived in the land. But Caleb…said, 'We must go forth and conquer the land. We can do it!' Despite the terrible tragedy that took place in Chevron, we announce to the world, 'Our strength is now like our strength was then.' We will not abandon our holy places and sacred aspirations. Chevron is the city of our fathers, the city of the Cave of Machpela where our Patriarchs are buried. It is the city of David, the cradle of our sovereign monarchy.

Those who discourage the ones trying to rebuild the Jewish community in Chevron with arguments of political expedience; those who scorn and say, 'What are those wretched Jews doing?' Those who refuse to help rebuild Chevron are attacking the very roots of our people. In the future, they will have to give account for their actions…That proud Jew, Caleb, announced years later, 'I am still strong... As my strength was then, so is my strength now' (Joshua 14:11). We, too, announce to the world: our strength now is as our strength was then. We shall reestablish Chevron in even greater glory, with peace and security for every Jew. With God’s help, we will merit to see Chevron completely rebuilt, speedily in our days."

Very famously – some say prophetically, Rav Kook’s son, Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Kook, spoke about the importance of Chevron on Yom Ha’atzmaut 1967. Rav Tzvi Yehuda emotionally recalled his inability to fully celebrate when Israel declared its independence in 1948 since holy places such as Jerusalem and Chevron were not included. Just weeks later, during the Six Day War, Jerusalem was reunited, and Israel captured Chevron

This Shabbat, Chevron is attracting thousands of visitors – including many students (like our daughter, Aviva). They are not going for geo-political reasons. They are going because Chevron is the burial place of the patriarchs and matriarchs, the city of King David, and the city which radiates a sense of Jewish authenticity, perseverance, and continuity.

The name Chevron comes from the same root as the word chibbur, which means connection. The importance of Chevron lays in how its origins, history, past, present, and future connect us with our experience as Jews. We are connected to our ancestors and their trials and tribulations. We will succeed – as they did – if we keep that connection strong.

What Are You Doing on Monday?

What comes to mind first when you think of Memorial Day?

Many people respond barbecues, beach, or a long weekend that marks the beginning of summer. This is no accident. In 1971, Congress passed a law to schedule four national holidays on Mondays to give federal workers a three-day holiday weekend. 

While Memorial Day in the US may have morphed into a day more known for parades and pleasure, it has a long history of reflection and commemoration. Did you know that Congress authorized a national moment of remembrance to take place at 3:00 pm?

Personally, I have vivid memories of watching the scenes from Arlington National cemetery including the laying of a wreath at the Tomb of the Unknowns. There is something powerful about the formality, dignity, and gravity that mark these memorial ceremonies. We encounter the sacrifice of those who allow us to live freely, and we have the chance to ponder those events and ideals which are greater than ourselves. Even if we did not serve to defend our country or even know people who did, we are clearly the beneficiaries of their sacrifice.

Such is the power of memory. Memory connects us with the past and unites those with a shared experience or history. Think of a conversation you may have had that brought to mind something from the past. All of a sudden, you are transported back to that place or time to relive a formative experience or reconnect with people who made an impact on you.

As Jews, memory is not only a function of the mind; it is a sacred obligation. We invoke memory in our religious observances and to connect with our past. We recently observed Yom HaShoah and Yom Hazikaron, two modern days of memory and purpose. We channel that exercise in memory to celebrate Israel’s independence more meaningfully on Yom Ha’atzmaut. America would benefit from a more meaningful Memorial Day.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks captures the power and essential role of memory:

“There is a profound difference between history and memory. History is his story – an event that happened sometime else to someone else. Memory is my story – something that happened to me and is part of who I am. History is information. Memory, by contrast, is part of identity. I can study the history of other peoples, cultures and civilizations. They deepen my knowledge and broaden my horizons. But they do not make a claim on me. They are the past as part. Memory is the past as present, as it lives on in me. Without memory there can be no identity.” 

(The Chief Rabbi’s Haggadah, p. 29)

At its core then, Memorial Day is a time to rededicate ourselves to who we are and the values that are important to us.

In the Washington Post, historian Howard Mansfield considers the meaning of Memorial Day, using as an example an “invisible” Holocaust memorial in Germany. The Platz des Unsichtbaren Mahnmals, the Place of the Invisible Memorial, is a memorial to Jewish cemeteries destroyed by the Nazis. Located in Saarbrücken, capital of the German state of the Saarland, the memorial is completely invisible to the visitor. There is nothing noticeable there other than a sign identifying the place.

In April 1990, art professor Jochen Gerz and several of his students began to secretly dig up cobblestones from the plaza in front of the Saarbrücken castle. The underside of the stones was then engraved with the names of thousands of German Jewish cemeteries, and afterwards they were returned to the place with the inscription facing downwards. How exactly, then, is this a memorial?

James E. Young, a Holocaust historian, explained in a talk at Yad Vashem, “[Artist Jochen] Gerz hoped they would realize that such memory was already in them. The visitors would become the memorials for which they searched.”

We are the memorials.

Memorial Day does not require anything external. The parades and ceremonies are meant to reinforce the values and ideals for which those who came before us were willing to sacrifice their lives. Memorial Day is about our commitment to live by those values and not let them be forgotten.

These days, values like truth, justice, and sacrifice have lost their meaning. Instead, protestors, the media, and even international courts of justice forget about the crimes of the terrorists and describe defensive wars as genocide. Last night, I helped our daughter with an assignment relating to “Newspeak” as portrayed in 1984. Orwell describes a society that limits language to control people and their thoughts. I thought a contemporary application of “Newspeak” is how the chant “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” has been transformed from a declaration to eliminate Jews from Israel into a pithy, catchy slogan of supporting Palestinians by students who don’t know which river or sea they’re even talking about!

We need a true Memorial Day more than ever. We need to become memorials dedicated to the values that built America and sustain the free world. Thank God, we are part of a community that “gets” all this, but it’s not enough. We need to make more friends and allies. We need to speak about this with colleagues and neighbors. We need to stand up for these values as Jews and Americans whenever and wherever we can.

We are blessed to live in the United States. On Monday, we have an opportunity to honor the sacrifice of so many in shaping and maintaining this great country and to reflect upon the need for us to channel and elevate those values to a world so desperately in need of them.

God bless America!

The Message of 5 Iyar

When is Yom Ha’atzmaut?

Like every other Jewish holiday, it has a date on the calendar: 5 Iyar.

As Rabbi Meshulam Roth (1875-1962), one of the prominent rabbinical supporters of celebrating Israel’s independence, noted:

“Indeed, there is no doubt that the 5th of Iyar, which was established by the government and the members of the Parliament, who are the elected representatives of the people, and the majority of the great Rabbis to celebrate through the land, to commemorate our salvation and our freedom – it is a mitzvah to make it a day of happiness and Yom Tov and to recite Hallel.” (Kol Mevaser 1:21)

This year, though, we will celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut on 6 Iyar.

The Knesset decided that the national commemoration and celebration of Yom Hashoah, Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut should never begin or end in proximity to Shabbat. This was to ensure no preparations or arrangements would ever take place in a way that would violate Shabbat. In the event that any of these days would fall on Friday or Sunday, then the holidays would be pushed off a day or moved earlier. While the dates are significant, in a Jewish State, Shabbat must come first.

The commemorations of Yom Hashoah and Yom Hazikaron don’t engender any significant discussion of Jewish Law. They’re “easy” to move. Celebrating Yom Ha’atzmaut, however, involves religious rituals like reciting Hallel as well as festively celebrating during the Omer period, when such celebrating does not take place. Doesn’t the day matter?

Some rabbis say the date matters.

If 5 Iyar is the date of Yom Ha’atzmaut, then that is the only day to celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut. This means there are some communities who will celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut this year on Monday, while Israel – and most other communities - celebrate on Tuesday. Sounds pretty Jewish, no?

Rabbi Shlomo Goren noted that Yom Ha’atzmaut is bigger than a date on the calendar. We have a religious responsibility to celebrate the miracle of Israel in our time. That’s not about a date. It is about the fact that we have a State of Israel.

What exactly happened on 5 Iyar in 1948?

That is when David Ben-Gurion and the Provisional Council declared a State of Israel. It was an exhilarating moment, but it was immediately followed by war. Why did the Rabbis declare this date the holiday? Why not celebrate the end of the War of Independence?

5 Iyar marks a miraculous moment in Jewish history.

The declaration of the State of Israel was a display of courage that transformed the Jewish people. It was the moment – just three years after the destruction of the Shoah – that facilitated an ingathering of the exiles and triggered the building of a country that boggles the mind to this day. It was also the unleashing of a spirit that we still use today that can never be extinguished.  

Celebrating the events of 5 Iyar - regardless of whether we celebrate on 4 or 6 Iyar – is an annual reminder that we need bravery, perseverance, and faith. Especially after October 7, in the midst of the fighting, pain, heartbreak, and despair, we need to recognize and, yes, celebrate, that the courage needed to declare a state is the courage that will ensure we prevail and always have a state.

Rabbi Yehuda Amital, founder of Yeshivat Har Etzion, would often speak about people’s impatience as reflected in various movements and slogans with the word “Now.” Peace Now. Moshiach Now. He advised some perspective from his own personal experience of surviving the Holocaust and then fighting in Israel’s War of Independence. Have some patience. During the Shoah, he would never even have dreamt he’d be fighting in the army of a Jewish State. That miraculous transformation, that powerful ability to transcend is only possible with 5 Iyar.

On Monday, President Biden gave a strong speech condemning antisemitism and supporting Israel. He decried people forgetting the Holocaust and already even forgetting the horrific events of October 7. Then, on Wednesday, he said he will stop sending bombs and artillery shells to Israel if it launches a major invasion of Rafah. It’s outrageous and betrays the sentiments of the first speech. Thankfully, many members of Congress have pushed back against the President’s speech, and we must all encourage our leaders to support Israel having what it needs to defeat Hamas.

These days, it can feel like one step forward; two steps back. But nothing can undo what happened on 5 Iyar. Thank God, we have a State of Israel. There is no turning back. There is only going forward.

When we celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut on Tuesday, it will feel different. We feel weighed down by the current situation in Israel and by what seems like less support and stability for Israel and Jews here in America. Nevertheless, when we celebrate, we should think back to the incredible courage and strength unleashed on 5 Iyar in 1948. The genie is out of the bottle. We have that power, and, with God’s help, Israel and the Jewish people will keep moving forward to better times and even greater redemption.

Happy Jewish Heritage Month! (Did You Even Know?)

“For centuries, the perseverance, hope, and unshakeable faith of the Jewish people have inspired people around the world. During Jewish American Heritage Month, we celebrate the immeasurable impact of Jewish values, contributions, and culture on our Nation’s character and recommit to realizing the promise of America for all Jewish Americans… NOW, THEREFORE, I, JOSEPH R. BIDEN JR., President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim May 2024 as Jewish American Heritage Month. I call upon all Americans to learn more about the heritage and contributions of Jewish Americans and to observe this month with appropriate programs, activities, and ceremonies.”

Did YOU know May is Jewish American Heritage Month in the US?

Most Jews pay little attention to this annual occurrence. It was initiated by President George W. Bush in 2006 following Congressional resolutions for such an annual commemoration to be created following the successful celebration of the 350^th anniversary of American Jewish History in 2004.The rich Jewish American experience deserved such recognition, and each May, hundreds of organizations and Americans of all backgrounds join together to discover, explore, and celebrate the vibrant and varied American Jewish experience from the dawn of our nation to the present day.

That is everyone except Jews, who mostly ignore the month.

We’re busy! May is always filled with Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron commemorations and Yom Ha’atzmaut and Yom Yerushalayim celebrations. There’s Shavuot, graduations, and summer preparations. I’m not complaining that the powers that be chose May. It’s just that they can’t expect the Jewish community to add more to our busy calendars.

With everything going on in America right now, a Jewish American Heritage Month is helpful in raising the profile for what Judaism is and how Jews have contributed – and continue to contribute – to America. Just because we Jews will be busy with our Jewish events in May doesn’t mean we shouldn’t welcome events that draw attention to the positive role Judaism plays in America. Thankfully, there are numerous programs all around the country – from Congress to museums to local towns – that will allow Americans to encounter Jews and Judaism.

Anyone who has watched or listened to some of the campus protestors knows how much ignorance exists. Students don’t know which river or sea they are chanting about, and, beyond the protests, it is scary how little people (especially millennials) know about Judaism or the Holocaust. We can try to educate America, but a little boost from a national effort supported by our government can do more.

Are we Jewish Americans or American Jews? I have always felt that our Judaism should play the primary role in shaping who we are. Accordingly, my Judaism shapes my being American. My Judaism isn’t modified by my being an American. Whether you agree or not, too many Jews do not take their Judaism seriously enough. I cringe each time I see the Jewish names of the anti-Israel protestors and those Jews who support enemies of the Jewish community in Congress.

Jewish Americans can use more Jewish Heritage.

This month – and particularly during the next two weeks, we will have an intense encounter with Jewish heritage and Jewish history. We will recall the darkest, deepest depths of the Shoah and speed directly into marking the establishment – three short years later – of the State of Israel by remembering the sacrifices of those who allow us to celebrate an independent Jewish homeland today.

How are this year’s “Yom’s” different from other years? The answer is, of course, October 7.

The horrors of that day, and the subsequent 200+ days of war, uncertainty, hostages, pain, and suffering have been historic, life-altering events. I remember during the worst of COVID thinking of the verse (Shemot 12:30): “For there was no house where there was not someone dead.” There were so many families affected that there was, at most, one degree of separation from the disease. In the aftermath of 10/7 and during the first months of the war, I thought the same thing. We all knew someone or were one degree removed from someone impacted by October 7. Each of our lives has changed.

Yet, as is the story of our people, we move forward. We double down as best as possible on tradition, on family, on community, on each other, on faith, and on life.

Rabbi Moshe Isserlis, known the Rema and the source for much of Ashkenazi practice, teaches a little-known piece of shiva visit etiquette. One is not allowed to tell the mourner “What can you do? You couldn’t have changed anything” since this is akin to blasphemy.

What’s wrong with such a sentiment? Many of us have found ourselves at a shiva wondering what to say next. “Nu, what can you do? God is in charge” has come to mind. It’s actually true! What CAN we do?

Rabbi Isserlis is teaching that it is wrong to despair of being able to do something. There is always something to do. To say, “Oy! What can you do?” is to say that, in reality, our lives don’t really make any difference to what goes on in this world and that there is nothing we can do to change it. Judaism rejects this kind of thinking.

There is always a way forward. Jews believe that even death is not the ultimate end. In our daily prayers, we invoke techiyat ha-meitim, resurrection of the dead. It is one the Rambam’s thirteen fundamentals of Jewish faith. How do we understand such a complex principle? Keeping the memory and legacy of the Jewish past alive is techiyat hameitim. We are the resurrection. I can think of no clearer expression of this than the week between Yom HaShoah and Yom Ha’atzmaut. We, the generation after the Holocaust, are witnessing the Jewish people moving forward despite any difficulties and setbacks.

This month is Jewish American Heritage Month, and we should recognize and celebrate what Jews have contributed to America. This month, Americans and the Jewish community will focus on commemorating and celebrating the Jewish Heritage of Jewish survival and accomplishment. As a colleague likes to note, “The response to antisemitism is semitism.” Living Judaism is the response to those who hate us.

Here’s to a month of Jewish heritage, solidarity, pride, accomplishment, progress, healing, relief, redemption, and resurrection!

We Need Israel: Thoughts from Jerusalem

Israeli and German Air Force planes fly over Knesset on Yom Ha'atzmaut

Why did our generation deserve Israel?

On Yom Ha'atzmaut 1968, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik asked why was it that the generation of 1948 - his generation - merited a State of Israel? Why not the generation of the Rambam or the Vilna Gaon? The Rav answered, "Because we needed it."

The Rav described the dark spiritual mood in the aftermath of World War Two and the Shoah. One-third of World Jewry was murdered. The future of the community looked bleak. Some Christians said to Jews, "See, God is sending you a message." How would Judaism survive?

Then came 1948. Everything changed. Israel saved Judaism. It gave Jews a purpose, a mission, renewed confidence, hope, and optimism. After spending Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha'atzmaut in Israel, it is clear the Rav is still right. We need a State of Israel.

These are turbulent times with hundreds of thousands protesting for and against the government and disagreeing on a host of issues. Nevertheless, being here is a reminder that Israel is the glue that can bind the Jewish people together and serve as an indispensable foundation for Jewish identity. 

As Yom Hazikaron began, I attended the memorial ceremony at Ammunition Hill, the site of a brutal battle in the fight for Jerusalem in 1967. Alon Wald, whose father, Rami, fell in the battle when Alon was just ten months old, spoke movingly to his father during the event. I'll never forget what he said:

"Abba, I forgive you for choosing your country over your family."

While his words were personal, they remind each of us with a reminder that Israel is the most important aspect of our Jewish identity. Whatever our politics may be, the State of Israel matters more. 

Today, I attended the World Orthodox Israel Congress, a gathering of rabbis, educators, and lay leaders from around the world. At a session on Diaspora Jewry's connection to Israel, several leaders noted, "Ein umah Yisrael b'lo Medinat Yisrael - There is no Jewish nation without the State of Israel." With so many Jews not affiliating, and a diminishing consensus on how to be Jewish, Israel represents a point - a place - of convergence. 

Israel is a young country, and it's just getting started. I spent several days participating in the Jewish National Fund - USA's Israel at 75 Mission. We saw the Negev and JNF's efforts to develop the south of Israel and make it a place more people will live and visit. The group brought together Jews from around the country of different backgrounds, denominations, and affiliations. The common denominator is that Israel is the home of the Jewish people, and we can make a difference in making it better. 

Speaking of Israel as a place of convergence, I never visit without a crazy, chance encounter. Today, it was a former colleague who lives near the Windmill. I was coming back to the area by bus and was unsure where to get off. I chose a stop I thought was closest and started heading to my destination. One block later, we meet. Think of all the variables involved - his schedule, my schedule, my timing his timing. Israel is home, so it's the place we can expect to meet the people in our extended family. 

Israel is the place in which being Jewish is natural. That's part of its greatness. Just one month after Israel was created, the Rav spoke at a Mizrachi convention about the spiritual benefits of the Jewish State.

"With regard to redemption...life in Israel will to a certain extent be completely Jewish. I read in the press that the kitchens of the Israeli army are strictly kosher. When, on that fateful Friday, the establishment of the State of Israel was proclaimed, the ceremony was held eight hours early so as not to desecrate the Sabbath...I can assure everyone that Shabbat in Eretz Yisrael will be holier than it was in the Jewish neighborhood in Berlin, in the Frankfurt Ghetto, or even on Bedford Avenue in Brooklyn...I also believe that in Israel, Santa Claus will not have as white a beard, and the radio will not play 'Silent Night, Holy Night...'"

There is a unique soul to being in Israel. I can also feel the specialness of Israel in the US, but it's not the same. I get chills watching videos of Yom Hazikaron, but it doesn't compare to being on Har Herzl when the two-minute siren goes off and speaking to bereaved families at the graves of loved ones. A blue and white cookie with some Israeli music and dancing are wonderful ways to celebrate Yom Ha'atzmaut in America, but it doesn't compare with watching people of all ages celebrate late into the night. These feelings, emotions, and experiences can't be replicated in the diaspora. 

I realize the situation in Israel is complicated. There are internal challenges and external threats. Being here the last few days, though, reminds me that Israel is unstoppable.

I met with a member of Knesset from the Yesh Atid party, Moshe Tur-Paz. He is a Religious Zionist educator turned politician, and we have a lot of mentors in common. He is obviously opposed to the current government. At the same time, he remains optimistic because you can't stop Israel and the Jewish people. 

One has to have heart. 

Rabbi Dov Zinger, a noted educator and spiritual guide, introduced the musical Hallel at the Yom Ha'atzmaut outdoor service attended by 1,000 participants (and interrupted by an Israel Air Force jet flyover) by encouraging everyone to engage with Israel using the heart of Israel. He invoked the words of Yeshaya HaNavi (40:2) "Dabru al lev Yerushalayim" as a call to connect to Israel on a heart and soul level. 

There is the external Israel, and then there is the inner, deeper Israel. On an external level of headlines, politics, and challenges, it is hard to feel secure. From a "lev," internal vantage point, we have nothing to fear and everything to celebrate. 

The Emotional Rollercoaster of the Yom’s

There is something overwhelmingly emotional about Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut just a week after Yom Hashoah. First, we try to properly capture the magnitude of the Holocaust – the trauma, horror, and heroism. Then, in what is very different than our American experience, Israel transitions in a mere 24 hours from somberly remembering those killed establishing and defending the State to joyously celebrating her independence. Talk about a busy week!

We’re on a rollercoaster ride of emotion with a lot to process. Here is a story that touches all the bases.

Rabbi Yisroel Zev Gustman may have been one of the greatest rabbis of the 20th century that nobody ever heard of. His meteoric rise from child prodigy to the exalted position of religious judge in the Rabbinical Court of the famed Rabbi Chaim Ozer Grodzinski at the age of 20 was the stuff of legend - but nonetheless fact. While a long productive career on the outskirts of Vilna could have been anticipated, Jewish life was obliterated by the pain of World War II. Rav Gustman escaped, though not unscathed. He hid among corpses. He hid in caves and under bushes. He hid in a pig pen. He somehow survived.

After the war, and a brief sojourn in America, Rav Gustman became the head of a yeshiva in the Rechavia section of Jerusalem, Netzach Yisrael. He taught a small group of loyal students six days a week. But on Thursdays at noon, the study hall would fill to capacity: Rabbis, intellectuals, religious court judges, a Supreme Court justice and various professors would join along with all who sought a high-level Talmud class. When Rav Gustman delivered a lecture, Vilna was once again alive and vibrant.

One of the regular participants was a professor at the Hebrew University, Robert J. (Yisrael) Aumann. Once a promising yeshiva student, he had eventually decided to pursue a career in academia (and was awarded the Nobel Prize in Economics in 2005) but made his weekly participation in Rav Gustman's class part of his schedule. The year was 1982, and, once again, Israel was at war. Soldiers were mobilized, reserve units activated. Among those called up for duty was a university student and young father who made his living as a high school teacher: Shlomo Aumann, Professor Aumann's son. On the eve of the 19th of Sivan, in particularly fierce combat, Shlomo fell in battle.

Rav Gustman mobilized his yeshiva to participate in the funeral and burial of the fallen soldier. After the burial, he told his driver, "Take me to Professor Aumann's home."

The family had just returned from the cemetery and would now begin the week of shiva mourning for their son, brother, husband and father. Rav Gustman entered and asked to sit next to Professor Auman. He spoke, first in Yiddish and then in Hebrew, so that all those assembled would understand:
 

I am sure that you don't know this, but I had a son named Meir. He was a beautiful child. He was taken from my arms and executed. I escaped. I later bartered my child's shoes so that we would have food, and I gave it away to others. My Meir is a kadosh - he is holy. He and all the six million who perished are holy.
 

I will tell you what is transpiring now in Gan Eden. My Meir is welcoming your Shlomo into the minyan and is saying to him “I died because I am a Jew, but I wasn't able to save anyone else. But you, Shlomo, you died defending the Jewish People and the Land of Israel.

 

My Meir is a kadosh, holy, but your Shlomo is a Shaliach Tzibbur -- a Cantor in that heavenly minyan."

Rav Gustman continued: "I never had the opportunity to sit shiva for my Meir; let me sit here with you just a little longer."

Professor Aumann replied, "I thought I could never be comforted, but Rebbi, you have comforted me."

Rav Gustman and his wife would attend an annual parade held in Jerusalem before Pesach. They would join their fellow spectators and excitedly watch the children march through the streets. When asked by a colleague why he participated in this annual event, he replied, “We who saw a generation of children die will take pleasure in a generation of children who sing and dance in the streets of Jerusalem.”        

Rav Gustman experienced firsthand the horrors of the Shoah, appreciated the heroism and sacrifice of those who defend Israel, and rejoiced in the miracle of Israel’s rebirth. He and those with similar experiences lived the rollercoaster of the days we commemorate and are the perfect guides for our generation. We need to remember. We need to acknowledge the murder of the innocent and the sacrifice of brave warriors, and then we need to celebrate God’s gift of the State of Israel. Am Yisrael Chai!

Avraham Carmi as Our Guide Through the Yom's

It is very hard to fully internalize the power and significance of the 7 days that include Yom HaShoah, Yom HaZikaron, and Yom HaAtzmaut.

I feel such a whirlwind of emotion as we remember the greatest evil and hatred we have known, and commit to carry forward the legacy of those murdered during the Holocaust. It is a day of sadness, resolve, and even anger. Then, a few days later we are celebrating the greatest miracle in our time – Medinat Yisrael. In just three years, the Jewish people rose from the ashes! Celebrating Israel’s independence combines two very different elements – memory and celebration. First is Yom HaZikaron, on which we remember those who were killed making the State of Israel policy. Then, we rejoice in the existence of Israel. The two days, contradictory in tone, are marked side by side to remind us of the price of the freedom that they celebrate each year.

As amazing as it is for us to celebrate this week on the Jewish calendar, I can only imagine what it was like to live through this period in history and, even more so, to live through both the Shoah and the establishment of the State of Israel.

Avraham Carmi did.

Carmi was born in Poland in 1929. When World War Two broke out, he and his mother fled their hometown for Warsaw. They stayed with his uncle, the manager of a Warsaw Jewish cemetery. They remained in his flat at the cemetery for three years, and then spent a month hiding inside a dug grave.

Avraham and his mother subsequently spent seven months hiding in basements and underground bunkers in the ghetto, until in April 1943, at the height of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, soldiers discovered them and took them to Treblinka and shortly thereafter to the Budzyn labor camp in Eastern Poland. There, they were separated – never to see each other again.

In Budzyn, Avraham worked as a slave laborer in an airplane factory. The factory was managed by Poles, and one day - out of the blue - a foreman approached him and said he wanted to "do something" for Carmi. With a boldness that still bemused him years later, he asked the foreman to go to the Jewish cemetery in Warsaw and retrieve his mother's jewelry, which she had buried there. The foreman did it. Avraham used the jewelry as currency to keep himself alive until the end of the war. (It turns out that the Polish foreman was actually a Jew, who looked Aryan enough to pass as a non-Jew to survive the war. The two reunited in Israel in the 1960s.)

After the war, Avraham took the circuitous journey through Europe and then a British detention camp for illegal immigrants to Palestine. He arrived in time to fight in Israel’s War of Independence. He was captured and spent 11 months in a Jordanian prison camp. Following the war, Avraham became a teacher and then an inspector for Israel’s teacher training colleges. (See HERE for more about this special individual.)

Avraham Carmi’s story is an inspiration and a challenge. In his lifetime, he and so many others have experienced mei’avdut l’cheirut, from slavery to freedom. They went from the lowest depths of horror, in which they had no control whatsoever, to rise from the ashes to seize the day and literally bring about redemption with their own hands.

What about us? Obviously, we need to learn, know, and tell the stories of those who traversed the road from Holocaust to a Jewish State. For me, the lives of those like Avraham Carmi help me appreciate where we have been as a people these last 100 years and to resolve to rise to the challenge to do what it takes to ensure we thrive as a Jewish nation far into the future.

P.S. See HERE for my class on “How Should We Celebrate Yom Ha’Atzmaut?” with sources HERE.

 

Meira is in the East and We Remain in the West

What is it like to see one’s daughter off as she makes aliya?  Yesterday, I found out.

 

Our oldest, Meira, flew to Israel yesterday.  After the mandatory 14-day quarantine, she will join Garin Tzabar, a kibbutz-based program that supports lone soldiers.  She will be adopted by Kibbutz Yavneh, which will become her home away from home before and throughout her IDF service.

We are very proud as we get used to this new reality. 

Just think: We teach our children about Israel and encourage them to be Zionists.  And they listen!  Does it get any better than that?

Fifty-five years ago, Rabbi Norman Lamm gave a sermon devoted to Yom Ha’atzmaut.  He said aliya could not be just an ideal; it must be a principle that governs our behavior and conduct.  If we cannot move there, we can encourage and assist those who can.  Rabbi Lamm warned, though, that this was not enough.  “Such an approach may lead to the position of the two Zionists who express their Zionism by deciding that a third Zionist must go on aliya.”  

Rabbi Lamm suggested a more proactive approach.  Our children, he says, must be encouraged to go.  If not all of our children, then pick one and prepare them for the move.  Ensure that their Hebrew is excellent, help them choose a career that will be useful in Israel.

Well, Meira did go to Moshava for years and loved it…

As we observe Tisha B’Av, we will recount destruction.  I can’t help but incorporate the miracle of the State of Israel into the sadness of the day.  Tisha B’av post-1948 is a significantly different day even if the rituals remain the same.  This Tisha B’Av, I will be thinking about what it’s like to have a daughter who will, please God, be defending Israel and actively participating in its future.  Rabbi Yehuda Ha-Levi wrote,“Libi ba-mizrach va'anochi b'sof ma'arav - My heart is in the East, but I am in the far edges of the West.”   My heart – and our daughter – is in the east, and it’s the beginning of a whole new relationship with Israel.

I often describe myself as a “Wanna wanna.”  This means I want to want to be living in Israel.  I have strong desire to live in Israel, but I am just not ready.  At the same time, I like being reminded that Israel is where Jews belong.

Rabbi Doron Perez (Leading the Way, p. 48) records a story of a person who was visiting Israel and who came to Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach to discuss the mitzvah of living in Israel.  He noted to Rabbi Auerbach that the topic seems to be quite complex.  Rabbi Auerbach responded to the man, “In truth, it does not really matter what kind of mitzvah it is, because one thing is clear; this is definitely the place that Hashem wants the Jewish people to live.”

Why aren’t we all there?  It’s a question with various and personal answers.

Maybe we can’t be there, but it’s not so bad to be made to feel a little guilty about it.

Or maybe just follow Meira...