Yom HaZikaron is the memorial day in Israel. This is a day where we remember fallen Israeli soldiers who lost their lives in the fight to establish the State of Israel. By observing Yom HaZikaron, we realize that Israelis and Jews around the world owe the independence we have in Israel, directly to the soldiers who gave up their lives to have the state.
Overall, Yom HaZikaron is very different from the Memorial Day we have here in the U.S. First, everything on that day, (from sunset to sunset) is closed. Whether it is the movie theater or a night club, it is closed for respect of the holiday. In addition, a siren is sounded twice, where the entire nation has a stand-still for two minutes to remember the soldiers. During the stand-still, traffic is stopped and all daily activities stop to respect the day. Radio and television broadcasts are entirely devoted to music and programs that portray the mood of the day, or specific stories from surviving soldiers. However, similar to our own Memorial Day, Yom HaZikaron is not only observed by religious groups, but recognized by the entire nation.
With that said, last Tuesday, Diller 5 had an amazing opportunity to recognize Yom HaZikaron with our very own community at the Federation in West Orange. The service began with opening remarks from one of our very own Diller parents, Lisa Lisser, and shortly after we watched a short film in Hebrew with English subtitles about a soldier’s story. The short film set the tone of the night. By watching, I started to further understand the struggles Israeli soldiers go through even to this day, which just proves the courage and ruach that Israelis have to fight whole heartedly for their country. Following this, the scouts, (one of which, being our very own Nitay Caspi,) lit the memorial candle, while Cantor Menachem Torem chanted Yizkor and El Male Rachamim. Next, I got my own chance to participate in the service by reciting a poem by Avraham Halfi, entitled First You Cry.
This was an extremely special and proud moment for me personally. After the Israelis left, I started to feel an extremely strong tie to Israel, so being able to participate in the service and read the poem in front of my fellow Dillers and Jewish community, was an amazing experience. It’s funny when I compare myself as a Jew to the Jew I was last year at this time, without Diller. Yes I was Jewish and I went to Hebrew School and got confirmed and went to temple, but I had a lacking connection to Israel, which at the time, I’ll admit, didn’t seem like a very important part of Judaism to me. Now, with Israel as a daily part of my conversation with anyone I speak with, I wonder how I ever felt Jewish without this major part of me that I never knew was missing, until Diller.
Following this poem, the Golda Och Academy Choir, (including our favorite Diller member, Eric Lederman,) sung When the Heart Cries. Following this, a participant from Peoplehood shared her story of Yom HaZikaron, which brought her to tears. The service continued with much more singing from solo artists and choirs, but was concluded with the Hatikva, Israel’s national anthem.
After the service, Leah brought us all together to discuss what we had just witnessed, and brought up a very true point; the Israelis we had just met a month ago, would soon be in the army. Although they seemed excited and committed each time the subject came up, Yom HaZikaron reminds us all that the army is a dangerous place, and the soldiers we had just heard about, would soon be the very Israelis we hosted in our homes just last month.
Overall, Yom HaZikaron was a special time for us, and I know personally I felt honored to be able to be a part of the service. Singing Israeli songs and remembering the fallen soldiers reminded us of the Israelis who were just here and how much we miss them. As the Israelis recognized Yom HaZikaron in Israel, we recognized it here in America, and were able to feel a strong connection to Jews around the world, and especially to our sister group in Israel.
First You Cry by Avraham Halfi
First you cry.
Then the weeping becomes stone.
Then you remember only on thing:
The fall of the son.
And you do not say a thing.
Or you talk about rain and about “how do you do?”
And about something else. And about something more.
And the ear cannot hear anyway.
And you are silent.
And you get up from the chair.
And sit down. And get up, again.
And you know one single thing: He won’t be back.
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