I was looking at my book collection in my little office in the JCC to find some awesome text I could use in this column about Yom Ha’atzmaut when I was struck by a realization: Yom Ha’atzmaut is not a holiday about texts. There is nothing in the Talmud about Yom Ha’atzmaut. There is no Torah portion about the celebration of the State of Israel. This is obvious for historical reasons, but when you consider that books and text is such an important part of Jewish life and identity – and that Israel is central our Jewish identity – you would think that there would be something about this joyous day.
Of course, we have beautiful poetry about the State of Israel. We have amazing music, we have government documents and political statements. But Yom Ha’atzmaut isn’t found on a page of text. It is about the Jewish people – and for American Jews (maybe all diaspora Jews), there is a word we use to describe this esoteric feeling: Peoplehood. Yom Ha’atzmaut may not be Halacha, but it is woven into the Jewish narrative. Its story is transmitted through our experiences. So, in my first entry in the Kibbutz newsletter, I want to share my first experience of Yom Ha’atzmaut. In 2008, I took my first trip to Israel. I was working for the Jewish United Fund in Chicago and I was pulled into an office and asked if I could travel with a group of donors for the 65thanniversary of the State of Israel. I don’t think I even let them finish their sentence before saying yes. Fearing that they wanted a more seasoned Israel traveler, I did not tell them it would be my first journey to the Holy Land. I thought “I have been studying for years. I have been a Jewish communal professional for years and I’ve been a Zionist since I was old enough to walk in the annual parades as a child. I can do this.” It was only after I arrived in Israel that I realized that you cannot understand Yom Ha’atzmaut through study and text. I got off the plane at Ben Gurion with 400 others from Chicago and the music of Hatikvah filled the air. Of course, for maximum impact, we had arranged for a band to be on the tarmac playing the anthem as our donors arrived on the runway. The sun was shining bright in my eyes, the sky blue above. I watched as young people I knew got off the plane and smiled joyfully, old people stepped slowly off the stairs and cried, telling everyone around them about the last time they had arrived in Israel in the 60’s – and oh how it feels the same, and completely different at the same time. I watched as an observer, not sure of what to call the tight feeling in my chest. We spent that first day exploring Tiberias (on a side note, I thought it looked strangely similar to where I grew up in San Diego.) We went back to our hotel and we got ready for dinner and a special ceremony for Yom Hazikaron. In the US, we celebrate Yom Ha’atzmaut – we have celebrations at our synagogues with little plastic Israeli flags and hummus and pita. There is always a quick mention of Yom HaZikaron, but at least where I grew up in a military town with parents in the Navy, it was a quick mention before observing a moment of silence for our American soldiers. And so, I expected something similar in Israel. A siren, a few words of prayer, before retreating to our hotel to plan for the festivities the following evening. We travelled by bus to observe Yom HaZikaron with the Golani Brigade in the Golan Heights. As it got dark, a damp wind blew through our group, huddled together on the grass, overwhelmed by the experience. The siren was louder than I expected and the air was more still than anything I had experienced before. I don’t remember much of what I was thinking about that night as we listened to the mourners Kaddish and soldiers stepped up the microphone to tell us their stories. But I very clearly remember thinking one thing: I wondered if these soldiers knew how much I (we) loved Israel. Do they think we are just like tourists, here for a few days to travel historical sites and buy little trinkets and then head home to our safe little country? Do they feel connected to us the way we feel connected to them? The next night we travelled to Kiryat Gat, our “sister city”, to celebrate Yom Ha’aztmaut. I reconnected with an old friend who had made aaliyah the year before and drank way too much, waving sparklers in the air with the children from the local schools (this is a very unsafe thing that American’s would NEVER let their children do ;)) and enjoying the cool air and the stories from a small group of old women who told me about their pioneer days in the early 1940’s. This was a magical evening for them, to see the state and their own lives come full circle – dusty kibbutzniks to grandmothers with grandchildren in the army. As we rode home in the bus that night, dizzy from the party and exhausted from the jet lag, I sat quietly in front while everyone slept. I looked out the window as we passed celebrations and Israeli flags flapping in the night air. This was a dream come true – I had thought about visiting Israel ever since I could remember. I felt connected to the land and the people and I wanted to be part of it all. Yom Ha’atzmaut became much more than the little plastic flags I remembered from my childhood. It became a very tangible experience. It became part of my Jewish identity in a completely different way. We traveled throughout Israel for the next two weeks, visiting holy sites, climbing Masada, celebrating Shabbat in Jerusalem. I left knowing I would be back someday, that I would bring my husband and that someday, my children would know Israel and that I would teach them to love it the way I do. All these years and two kids later, I find myself in a new role at the JCC. Finding this community has been a homecoming of sorts. I met Israelis through my son’s preschool experience and I’ve been so lucky to get to know the Israeli community in Rockville. As I begin my new role as the Director of Arts, Culture, and Jewish life here at the JCCGW, I hope we get to work together to build a community together. A community based on a shared story and common goals. Shabbat Shalom.
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