Our local supermarket closed early this evening.
So too did the coffee shop, the natural food store, and just
about every other store on the block.
At first it wasn’t clear why, but then it was: with
nightfall, Yom Ha-Zikkaron la-Shoah
v’la-G’vurah—Israel’s “Holocaust and Heroism Memorial Day” (the day that
many colloquially call, “Yom HaShoah”) began.
It isn’t as if every Israeli feels the loss of the six million as a
personal loss, but here people don’t just relate to the Shoah as a personal or
a religious event. Rather, it is
considered to be a national catastrophe.
So it would make sense that the stores would close early tonight.
Right now, I’m watching one of the national commemorative
gatherings on TV. I am listening to an army
hazzan chant the El Malei Rachamim in
memory of the six million. A few minutes
ago, six very frail survivors rose to light six torches in memory of the
victims. In the paper the other day there was a very sobering story: in Israel today, holocaust survivors are
dying at the rate of 1,000 per month. In fact, one of those who had been selected to light a torch this evening died a few weeks
ago. (A younger relative agreed to take his place.)
What was most moving to
me was seeing each of those survivors being assisted by young male or female IDF soldiers. Those soldiers appear to come from a variety
of backgrounds, including Ethiopia, Russia, and North Africa. Somehow, thinking about how far we Jews have
come in seventy years, brought tears to the surface.
In our apartment, we have cable TV, and there are usually
many channels to choose from—but not tonight. Tonight, except for the three main
Israeli channels that are broadcasting holocaust memorial ceremonies from around
the country and a few foreign channels, the TV is silent.
(The caption reads: "Our broadcasting will resume at the conclusion of Yom HaShoa.")
Not everyone is watching, of course. In fact, in the past
several years, newer, different commemorations have been created to be
responsive to the needs of the “third generation,” i.e., the grandchildren of
survivors. One such program taking place this evening here in Jerusalem is called
“Zochrim v’Sharim,” “Remembering Through Song.”
When it was first offered a few years ago, 70 people attended. This
year, hundreds are expected.
A moment ago, I was trying to find Reshet Gimel, the channel
on the radio where Zochrim v’Sharim will be broadcast. As I was turning the dial, I realized that,
except for the Arabic language stations, all I could hear, on station after
station, was the Mourners Kaddish.
Which reminds me: Do
you say Amen to a brachah you hear on
the radio?
Earlier in the day, I read that pro-Palestinian/anti-Israel
hackers had shut down several governmental websites today, including those of
the Knesset. The Defense Ministry was
apparently targeted, but it repelled the attack. (You can read the story here.)
No long-standing damage was reported. Was the choice of Yom HaShoah intentional? If
so, what does it signify? (One amusing
memory I have of reading that story: when I first saw the headline, “Mitkefet Siber”, I thought for a moment
that the article was about “saber rattling.”
It took a moment or two for me to realize that the title referred to a
“cyber attack.”)
Tomorrow morning, I hope to go to the Conservative Yeshiva
to hear Rabbi Pesach Schindler speak about his family’s escape from Nazi
Germany. Later that morning, at 10:00 am, the sirens will sound for two
minutes. Two minutes is an awfully long time for people, cars, trucks, busses
and trains to stop—try it, and see for yourself--but stop they will. Here's one of several Youtube videos that demonstrate the power of that moment:
Then, at noon, there will be a ceremony at Machon Schechter
(the Schechter Institute) where I will be attending class. As I said above, it is impossible to ignore the day.
I am now listening to Zochrim v’Sharim, and its very
affecting collection of songs and reminiscences. A few minutes ago, Lu Yehi, a poignant Israeli song, was sung. And then Rabbi Benny Lau, a learned, articulate and engaged community leader, read a beautiful letter he had written to his son on the eve of his son's journey to Poland. Rabbi Benny Lau's uncle, Rabbi Israel Meir Lau, accompanied President Obama on his visit to Yad Vashem a few weeks ago.
You can read about the elder Rabbi Lau and his extraordinary experience during the Shoah here.
One of the blessings of being here in Jerusalem is the privilege of studying with Rabbi Benny Lau, which I've been doing on
Shabbat afternoons during the past several weeks.
I am thinking about the joint Temple Aliyah/ Temple Beth
Shalom holocaust memorial service this evening, and the Mens’ Club’s yellow
candle project. I hope that through
activities such as these, wherever we are, we can feel some of what is
so palpable here in Israel: that sense that what happened in the Shoah isn’t a story
about something that happened to other people some place else a long time ago; it’s a story
about what happened to us, not very long ago--a story that we don't want to see happen to us or to anyone else ever again.
