(no subject)
I think I had one of the best Yemei Zikaron LeChalalei Tzahal and Yamei HaAtzmaut this year. It was the first time I really felt that they were connected and really flowed into each other.
We started the Yom HaZikaron things on Sunday when an older couple came in and told about the two sons they had lost - one at 13 to cancer and one at 20 during his army service in a jeep explosion near Dugit. They split it up very interestingly; the father told all about the family (including their third son who's 22 now) how they had to deal with their first son's desease and then his death, how their second son went to a combative unit in the army and was killed in the line of duty. The mother sort of told the after-story that was really the begining of another story. She told us, without holding anything back, how devastated she was after her older son's death and how she thought she was finally getting getting back on track when her second son was killed. She told us how she withdrew from her husband, her remaining son, the world, and eventually tried to kill herself. Luckily, she was found in time and brought to, but her survival made her start thinking differently. She was depressed, had lost two sons, was grieving, had tried to commit suicide; what was she going to do with all this now? She decided to start volunteering at the Jerusalem office of OneFamily, she just walked in one day and asked:"What can I do?" They let her answer phones. She realized during her listening to the many bereaved mothers and fathers and siblings that it no matter in which direction you read in the word 'natan' spells 'natan' both ways - that as she was giving to these bereaved families, so she was recieving herself. Today, she is one of the head directors at the Jerusalem branch of OneFamily.
That night (for the first time), I watched the national rememberance ceremony with the rest of my gar'in and the Americans. We stood when we were told to listened to Dalia Itzik and Gabi Ashkenazi and listened to the siren both from outside and from the television. What I find as a small curiosity is that I didn't manage to diferentiate between the two sirens. Food for poetry.
After the televised ceremony we (the Israelis) had our own little 'informal'/alternate ceremony. Girls read things they had been given in advance, we sang songs and anyone who wanted to could tell about someone they knew who had fallen. It reminds me of what my Rav said about Yom HaZikaron: "There was a time it was our friends fathers, then it was our friends, then it was our friends children." Girls told about people they had known for one or two years in Bnei Akiva, people years older than them, who had still managed to leave a lasting impression. Stories were told about bothers' friends, cousins, madrichim. My madricha told about the man (boy) whom her pluga in the army was named after. So many stories and you are reminded that you are hard pressed to find someone who didn't know someone or doesn't know someone who knew someone.
In the morning, we all went to the national ceremony at the military cemetery on Har Hertzel. There, on the hill named for the man who dreamed of this state and where he is buried, we, that is, all of Israel, commemorated the people wo made it possible for us to have this state. Speaches were made (I heard Ehud Olmert 'in person', nothing inspiring there), wreathes laid and 'El maleh rachamim' read. The thing that made me realize the magnitude of the sacrifice this year wasn't some song with pretty lyrics and manipulative music or an great oration either, but a certain sight. When the representatives of the orginization of people crippled by war were asked to come forward to lay their wreath at first I only saw a man pushing forward another man in a wheelchair. But then I saw coming from the side the other representative of the orginization, a man, a boy really, no older than my brother, come forward. He was dressed informally, unlike most of the representatives, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt and he was walking with a cane. The sight nearly broke my heart; the simple symbol of weakness, aging and dependance being held by someone not a day over 21. It made me realize all over again how much has been sacrificed by so many so that I could live here. So many who would have gladly traded the walking-stick for what they got.
Every song we heard on the radio that day was written about a group of people and one specific someone. We even heard a new song written about a soldier who was killed in the war this past summer. It made me think of all the rumors going around that there may be another war this summer. I thought of my brother. My sweet, blond, older brother who looks so sharp in his uniform. I prayed fervently. I pleaded with God. I told Him over and over: "I don't want to be the oldest...I don't want to be the oldest..." I asked Him to watch out for him, just for him. And then I thought to myself; every family has a someone they want God to look out for - just for him. Just 'him'. When you see a group of soldiers every one has a story, a home, a family, every one of them is a 'just him' to someone. I changed my prayer then. I prayed to God to watch out for and keep every single 'him' out there, that way every family would be happy and so would all of Am Israel.
After the ceremony on Har Hertzel we went on a tour of part of the graves in the older sections of the cemetary. Mostly graves of people killed during the Independance War or even beforehand: we saw the graves of the Lamed Hei, the grave of Avshalom Feinberg (of Nili from WWI), the grave of Chana Senesh, the people who fought and were killed in trying to capture the Jewish quarter, the memorial of the Dakar submarine and some more I do not recall at this moment in time. What touched me most, and was echoed again in my celebrations that night, was the diversity of the people there. We walked past a ceremony for the people killed defending the Gush - mostly skirts and kippot there and we walked past a group of HaBonim chanichim - a nonreligious youth group. I saw army uniforms and berets of all cuts and colors and heard many different languages. A microcosm of the phrase 'kibbutz galuyot'.
Later that evening, we went to the shul were we would be praying that evening and took part in yet another memorial ceremony. Apart from the one I had in tenth grade, I think it was the best tekes I have ever been to. It wasn't anything rational, just a feeling I got from the people in that tiny shul. Maybe it was because we all sat in together in one room and you couldn't tell from were the voice reading the next peice would come from - it was well spread out among us. We sang the songs together and the resonance was beautiful, it wasn't something real music enthusiasts would appreciate but the purity in which it was sung was beautiful.
Gradually, it got darker and darker. The end of one day, the start of another. The end of one thing the start of another. Such is the connection between Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut, closely knit, feeding off each other. Maybe that's why I liked that tekes so much in retrospect; it was right up until dark, so that I was still thinking about it during daven ing. We went downstairs and davened one nusach of the Yom HaAtzmaut Maariv - no tehilim, Lecha Dodi or even 'Shir HaMaalot' to the tune of HaTikva, but we said Halel. The prettiest Halel ever. I felt the 'Ki leolam chasdo's coming out of my socks. After davening we went to our Rav's house for dinner and we watched a movie called 'MiSafa LeSafa' ('From Lanugage to Language') that had him in it. It was a documentary about several people who had each grown up with a different language before learning Hebrew and who now 'create' in Hebrew - there was an actress (Russian), singers/song writers (Moroccin, Arabic), poets (German, Hungarian, Polish) and writers (French, Arabic). They each told about where they grew up, how they first encountered the Hebrew language and started to learn it and how they percieve it today. I think the discussion after the movie was more interesting than the movie itself, but then it was with HaRav Epstein, so you can't blame me ;).
After dinner, a handful of friends and myself made the 45 minute trek across town to Kikar Safra where every year starting at around midnight they have rikudei am (folk dancing). We even managed to catch one of the many fireworks shows on the way over. Dancing rikudei am when you have no idea what the steps are, is one of the funniest things in the world. Especially the couple dances. There we were, Shikma and I, trying to keep an eye on the couple ahead of us (who knew what they were doing), trying to keep straight how was supposed to be the guy and who the girl and all the while trying (and not particularly succeeding) not to step on people and not to get stepped on. I laughed so hard the entire time. The circle dances were ok, except when we had to turn around and then I couldn't see what was going on behind me, but I got on ok. The line dances were the best though. Everyone, stayed more or less in place so I could see them and finally get the hang of something. Though, I really liked the fact that, like on Har Hertzel, I could see representatives from all walks of life. Older couples and mechinistim, a girl who was obviously a ballet dancer and a man who looked mighty funny as he wiggeled along with the best of the girls. I 'danced' for nearly two hours before we had to start our hour and a quarter-long walk back to midrasha. I fell into bed at 4:10, and slept.
I awoke four hours later to catch a bus to Efrat so that I could have a barbeque there (kemitzvat hayom ;)) with my family and some friends of ours. We had a grand old time eating and yakking up a storm before my younger brother (repeatedly) reminded us that we had another party to go to. So we packed ourselves up and somehow managed to squeeze the four of us into the three seats in the back. Naturally, Azaria sat on me.
When we got home everyone when to one family's barbeque and I headed off to Rose's. But not before I got a real big hug and thank you from my mom for making time to be with everybody today, iot was really nice that all six of us were together, that doesn't happen to often, what with Rafael in the army, me in midrasha and Elisheva and Azaria always off on their own thing. That's partly why I stay over motzei Shabbatot instead of going back to midrasha right after Shabbat is over and getting a good night's sleep - I know it gives my parents nachat just knowing I'm home for one extra night. Even if they don't see me that much in the morning, or sometimes not at all, it does them good, so I stay.
Anywho, I went to Rose's and had a grand old time with her and Vivi; got my toes tickled, was read ballet stories, watched Aida clips, Buffy clips, got annoyed at Jake somewhere in the middle and talked to my cousin's cousin.
And I was crocheting a blue and white kippa the entire time ;) .
We started the Yom HaZikaron things on Sunday when an older couple came in and told about the two sons they had lost - one at 13 to cancer and one at 20 during his army service in a jeep explosion near Dugit. They split it up very interestingly; the father told all about the family (including their third son who's 22 now) how they had to deal with their first son's desease and then his death, how their second son went to a combative unit in the army and was killed in the line of duty. The mother sort of told the after-story that was really the begining of another story. She told us, without holding anything back, how devastated she was after her older son's death and how she thought she was finally getting getting back on track when her second son was killed. She told us how she withdrew from her husband, her remaining son, the world, and eventually tried to kill herself. Luckily, she was found in time and brought to, but her survival made her start thinking differently. She was depressed, had lost two sons, was grieving, had tried to commit suicide; what was she going to do with all this now? She decided to start volunteering at the Jerusalem office of OneFamily, she just walked in one day and asked:"What can I do?" They let her answer phones. She realized during her listening to the many bereaved mothers and fathers and siblings that it no matter in which direction you read in the word 'natan' spells 'natan' both ways - that as she was giving to these bereaved families, so she was recieving herself. Today, she is one of the head directors at the Jerusalem branch of OneFamily.
That night (for the first time), I watched the national rememberance ceremony with the rest of my gar'in and the Americans. We stood when we were told to listened to Dalia Itzik and Gabi Ashkenazi and listened to the siren both from outside and from the television. What I find as a small curiosity is that I didn't manage to diferentiate between the two sirens. Food for poetry.
After the televised ceremony we (the Israelis) had our own little 'informal'/alternate ceremony. Girls read things they had been given in advance, we sang songs and anyone who wanted to could tell about someone they knew who had fallen. It reminds me of what my Rav said about Yom HaZikaron: "There was a time it was our friends fathers, then it was our friends, then it was our friends children." Girls told about people they had known for one or two years in Bnei Akiva, people years older than them, who had still managed to leave a lasting impression. Stories were told about bothers' friends, cousins, madrichim. My madricha told about the man (boy) whom her pluga in the army was named after. So many stories and you are reminded that you are hard pressed to find someone who didn't know someone or doesn't know someone who knew someone.
In the morning, we all went to the national ceremony at the military cemetery on Har Hertzel. There, on the hill named for the man who dreamed of this state and where he is buried, we, that is, all of Israel, commemorated the people wo made it possible for us to have this state. Speaches were made (I heard Ehud Olmert 'in person', nothing inspiring there), wreathes laid and 'El maleh rachamim' read. The thing that made me realize the magnitude of the sacrifice this year wasn't some song with pretty lyrics and manipulative music or an great oration either, but a certain sight. When the representatives of the orginization of people crippled by war were asked to come forward to lay their wreath at first I only saw a man pushing forward another man in a wheelchair. But then I saw coming from the side the other representative of the orginization, a man, a boy really, no older than my brother, come forward. He was dressed informally, unlike most of the representatives, wearing jeans and a black t-shirt and he was walking with a cane. The sight nearly broke my heart; the simple symbol of weakness, aging and dependance being held by someone not a day over 21. It made me realize all over again how much has been sacrificed by so many so that I could live here. So many who would have gladly traded the walking-stick for what they got.
Every song we heard on the radio that day was written about a group of people and one specific someone. We even heard a new song written about a soldier who was killed in the war this past summer. It made me think of all the rumors going around that there may be another war this summer. I thought of my brother. My sweet, blond, older brother who looks so sharp in his uniform. I prayed fervently. I pleaded with God. I told Him over and over: "I don't want to be the oldest...I don't want to be the oldest..." I asked Him to watch out for him, just for him. And then I thought to myself; every family has a someone they want God to look out for - just for him. Just 'him'. When you see a group of soldiers every one has a story, a home, a family, every one of them is a 'just him' to someone. I changed my prayer then. I prayed to God to watch out for and keep every single 'him' out there, that way every family would be happy and so would all of Am Israel.
After the ceremony on Har Hertzel we went on a tour of part of the graves in the older sections of the cemetary. Mostly graves of people killed during the Independance War or even beforehand: we saw the graves of the Lamed Hei, the grave of Avshalom Feinberg (of Nili from WWI), the grave of Chana Senesh, the people who fought and were killed in trying to capture the Jewish quarter, the memorial of the Dakar submarine and some more I do not recall at this moment in time. What touched me most, and was echoed again in my celebrations that night, was the diversity of the people there. We walked past a ceremony for the people killed defending the Gush - mostly skirts and kippot there and we walked past a group of HaBonim chanichim - a nonreligious youth group. I saw army uniforms and berets of all cuts and colors and heard many different languages. A microcosm of the phrase 'kibbutz galuyot'.
Later that evening, we went to the shul were we would be praying that evening and took part in yet another memorial ceremony. Apart from the one I had in tenth grade, I think it was the best tekes I have ever been to. It wasn't anything rational, just a feeling I got from the people in that tiny shul. Maybe it was because we all sat in together in one room and you couldn't tell from were the voice reading the next peice would come from - it was well spread out among us. We sang the songs together and the resonance was beautiful, it wasn't something real music enthusiasts would appreciate but the purity in which it was sung was beautiful.
Gradually, it got darker and darker. The end of one day, the start of another. The end of one thing the start of another. Such is the connection between Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut, closely knit, feeding off each other. Maybe that's why I liked that tekes so much in retrospect; it was right up until dark, so that I was still thinking about it during daven ing. We went downstairs and davened one nusach of the Yom HaAtzmaut Maariv - no tehilim, Lecha Dodi or even 'Shir HaMaalot' to the tune of HaTikva, but we said Halel. The prettiest Halel ever. I felt the 'Ki leolam chasdo's coming out of my socks. After davening we went to our Rav's house for dinner and we watched a movie called 'MiSafa LeSafa' ('From Lanugage to Language') that had him in it. It was a documentary about several people who had each grown up with a different language before learning Hebrew and who now 'create' in Hebrew - there was an actress (Russian), singers/song writers (Moroccin, Arabic), poets (German, Hungarian, Polish) and writers (French, Arabic). They each told about where they grew up, how they first encountered the Hebrew language and started to learn it and how they percieve it today. I think the discussion after the movie was more interesting than the movie itself, but then it was with HaRav Epstein, so you can't blame me ;).
After dinner, a handful of friends and myself made the 45 minute trek across town to Kikar Safra where every year starting at around midnight they have rikudei am (folk dancing). We even managed to catch one of the many fireworks shows on the way over. Dancing rikudei am when you have no idea what the steps are, is one of the funniest things in the world. Especially the couple dances. There we were, Shikma and I, trying to keep an eye on the couple ahead of us (who knew what they were doing), trying to keep straight how was supposed to be the guy and who the girl and all the while trying (and not particularly succeeding) not to step on people and not to get stepped on. I laughed so hard the entire time. The circle dances were ok, except when we had to turn around and then I couldn't see what was going on behind me, but I got on ok. The line dances were the best though. Everyone, stayed more or less in place so I could see them and finally get the hang of something. Though, I really liked the fact that, like on Har Hertzel, I could see representatives from all walks of life. Older couples and mechinistim, a girl who was obviously a ballet dancer and a man who looked mighty funny as he wiggeled along with the best of the girls. I 'danced' for nearly two hours before we had to start our hour and a quarter-long walk back to midrasha. I fell into bed at 4:10, and slept.
I awoke four hours later to catch a bus to Efrat so that I could have a barbeque there (kemitzvat hayom ;)) with my family and some friends of ours. We had a grand old time eating and yakking up a storm before my younger brother (repeatedly) reminded us that we had another party to go to. So we packed ourselves up and somehow managed to squeeze the four of us into the three seats in the back. Naturally, Azaria sat on me.
When we got home everyone when to one family's barbeque and I headed off to Rose's. But not before I got a real big hug and thank you from my mom for making time to be with everybody today, iot was really nice that all six of us were together, that doesn't happen to often, what with Rafael in the army, me in midrasha and Elisheva and Azaria always off on their own thing. That's partly why I stay over motzei Shabbatot instead of going back to midrasha right after Shabbat is over and getting a good night's sleep - I know it gives my parents nachat just knowing I'm home for one extra night. Even if they don't see me that much in the morning, or sometimes not at all, it does them good, so I stay.
Anywho, I went to Rose's and had a grand old time with her and Vivi; got my toes tickled, was read ballet stories, watched Aida clips, Buffy clips, got annoyed at Jake somewhere in the middle and talked to my cousin's cousin.
And I was crocheting a blue and white kippa the entire time ;) .