Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzma’ut. This duality of marking Israel’s Independence Day, the somber prelude of first pausing and remembering the soldiers who gave their lives for having an Israel, is part of being an Israeli.
Most years, I tune in from abroad to the official ceremony held at the Kotel, the Western Wall.
This year, I was mesmerized and so very moved by the words of the Chief of Staff of the Israel Defense Forces, Aviv Kochavi.
He crafted a masterpiece of a speech. I believe it will go down in the annals of Jewish history as one of the seminal speeches of modern day Israeli history. Please try and listen to it if you can.
As the saying goes, “words that stem from the heart, penetrate the heart.” I believe many hearts were penetrated in those moments at the Kotel when Kochavi spoke so very deeply from the heart. Even the famous birds and pigeons of the Wall, even their chirping and tweeting, seemed to recede, as Kochavi’s words unfolded.
His eloquent words of wisdom were so healing. So powerful. So insightful.
He spoke of faith, determination, destiny, the ancient exodus of the Jewish people and the modern day exodus bringing the Jewish people to the land of Israel. Of course, he spoke of the heavy price in blood paid by Israeli youth for Israel.
He spoke of the miracle of it all. Yet with the words of Yehuda Amichai, he gave the bird’s eye view versus the grind of daily reality of what living miracles can entail. “From afar, everything can be perceived to be a miracle. But up close, even a miracle doesn’t look like a miracle. Whoever crossed the Red Sea, all he saw was the sweaty back of the person walking before him.”
Kochavi illustrated his thoughts by painting a mental picture of three mothers.
The first, the Biblical matriarch Rachel.
He spoke about Rachel’s bitter weeping for her displacement, for her own alienation and failure to reach the land in her lifetime, instead arriving only as a corpse, to be buried. He spoke about her pain, yet also her promise to her future kin. “Refrain from weeping,” she said, “for you shall once again return to live within the boundaries of the Land of Israel.”
He spoke of the miracle of Rachel’s words coming to life in our lifetime. How modern Zionism did in fact bring the descendants of Rachel to once again live within the boundaries of the Land of Israel. How we, the generation of the children of Rachel, have in fact returned home.
But at a price.
The second mother, Nechama, from the Ukraine. She married her Austrian husband Yosef, who escaped the Nazis. They changed their last names and called themselves “Yisraeli.” Together, they had five children. Among them two sons, two brothers, who were bound to each other in heart and soul. Effi and Dedi.
The Yom Kippur War broke out, Dedi was wounded. But undeterred, he still set out to release fellow platoon members from danger. He was then rushed off to the hospital.
Effi, also, despite being wounded, continued to fight. Then he was wounded once more. This time, fatally.
The Yisraeli family sadly became a family like so many others, who had to absorb the emotional pain of receiving that haunting knock on the door. The knock bringing devastating, crushing, bitter, painful news.
This knock, this defikah, Kochavi said, is part of the dofek, the pulse of Israel. The knock of crisis and pain for the precious families who have lost their most precious of all. The heartrending price of independence.
Back to the two brothers. Dedi was isolated in the hospital, valiantly fighting for his life, then fighting to regain his ability to function, ignorant of the fate of his beloved brother. One day, his father visited him and Dedi had good news. He told his father he succeeded in writing Effi a letter. His bereaved father stood there, silent, shocked, before he told Dedi: he’s not here to receive the letter. Efraim, Effi, is gone. Dedi heard this and immediately his condition began to worsen. He deteriorated, until finally he too, died.
Here are two mothers weeping over the destiny of their children, Kochavi went on to say. One, homeless, without a land, but her children returned to their land. The other, a mother who lives in her land, but who paid for it with the price of burying her two sons.
“Who am I to dare to tell this mother to ‘refrain from weeping,’ but I can say, as the matriarch Rachel said, there is reward for your actions and choices.’”
That is the third mother, who lives because of those choices. Who is this third mother? Kochavi doesn’t know her name. Because this third mother is the mother who fills this land of Israel. She is secular. She is religious. She lives in the village. In the city. She is Jewish. She is Druze. She is protected and secure.
Because of mothers and fathers like Nechama and Yosef Yisraeli.
May all the memory of all those lost for the sake of Israel be a blessing and never forgotten.
And may we embrace the gift of modern day Israel with the mindfulness of how very fortunate our generation is.
Copyright © 2021 by the Intermountain Jewish News
