A photo gallery for Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut

Because today, 13 May 2024, is Yom HaZikaron (Israel’s Memorial Day), and tomorrow, 14 May 2024, will be Yom HaAtzmaut (Israel’s Independence Day), I decided to share some of my photos illustrating what these holidays mean, and the history behind them.

Above are some of the graves from Mount Herzl Cemetery in Jerusalem, honoring fallen soldiers. Just about everyone goes to at least one cemetery to pay respects on Yom HaZikaron, and there are databases of soldiers with no family (e.g., Holocaust survivors who died in the War of Independence after losing their entire families), so everyone will be remembered by someone.

The grave of Hannah Senesh (Chana Szenes), who was born in Budapest on 17 July 1921 and immigrated to Pre-State Israel in 1939. She enlisted in the British Women’s Auxiliary Air Force in 1943, and on 14 March 1944, the day the Nazis invaded Hungary, she and two other servicepeople parachuted into Yugoslavia.

Though her companions decided to bail on the mission as too dangerous, Chana continued on the journey to Hungary, where she hoped to make an effort to help with rescuing her mother and brother. The parachutists were captured by Hungarian gendarmes (who were in league with the Nazis) and discovered as members of the British armed forces.

Chana was taken to prison and severely tortured for days, but she refused to name names, even when her mother was arrested. The fascist Arrow Cross murdered her on 7 November 1944 after a show trial.

To this day, she’s lauded as a great shero of the Jewish people.

The above four photos show what little of the Jerusalem War Cemetery I was able to see from the outside on my Birthright trip in June 2005. We didn’t go in, but we were sitting a short distance away for a discussion. It’s obviously not a Jewish cemetery, but we have great respect for our sincere friends and allies.

Buried here are British Commonwealth servicemen who were killed during the Sinai and Palestine Campaign of the Middle East Theatre in WWI. Some Germans and Turks are also interred here, as well as a large memorial to 3,300 soldiers with no known graves.

And just to remind people, Syria-Palestina was a name coined by Hadrian in 135 as a humiliating punishment, to try to sever the indigenous Jewish connection to our land. It was revived as the Anglicized “Palestine” by British Christians in the late 19th century. Never was that ever the native Jewish name of our homeland, and Arabs didn’t begin calling themselves that till 1964!

Mount Herzl Cemetery is right next door to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust memorial museum, because they’re so intrinsically linked, just like Yom HaShoah and Yom HaZikaron. Yom HaShoah is a reminder of what happened because we didn’t have Israel as a safe haven, and Yom HaZikaron reminds us of the cost of having autonomy and self-determination in the world’s only majority Jewish country. Freedom is never really free.

I’m a pacifist because of my deeply-held beliefs, but I have the greatest of respect for those who made the ultimate sacrifice. The Arab world has launched so many sneak attack wars against Israel, there’s no choice but to have mandatory conscription. We need a large, strong military able to fight back at a moment’s notice.

In addition to honoring war dead, Yom HaZikaron also remembers victims of terrorist attacks. It makes me so angry to see these woke brats in their little tent cities on college campuses chanting for intifada. They weren’t even alive during the Second Intifada, when over 1,000 Israelis were murdered in suicide bomb attacks in buses, malls, discos, cafés, restaurants, stores, hotels, outdoor markets, bus stations, and streets.

My senior year of university was during the height of the Second Intifada, and it was absolutely terrifying to hear about all these deadly attacks, often multiple times a week. We were warned not to go on any buses during my Birthright trip because that potential danger still existed in June 2005.

Independence Hall in Tel Aviv was originally the home of the city’s first mayor, Meir Dizengoff. On 14 May 1948, David Ben-Gurion proclaimed our reborn independence eight hours before the British were due to finally leave. It’s very moving to listen to the recording of this meeting, which includes Rabbi Yehudah Leib Maimon (né Fishman) saying the Shehecheyanu, a blessing thanking God for preserving our lives and enabling us to reach this joyous occasion.

This building was chosen for declaring independence because it had bomb shelter-like features, such as small windows high up on the walls. Almost as soon as the British left, Egypt starting bombing Israel, and was soon joined by Iraq, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, and Yemen.

Israel’s Declaration of Independence. The last surviving signatories were Zorach Warhaftig (1906–2002) and Meir Vilner (1918–2003).

The proposed U.N. partition plan of 1947, which would’ve given the Arabs a state in the yellow areas. They rejected this plan and instead launched a genocidal war against us.

We’ve triumphed over our enemies so many times, and stubbornly insist on surviving despite everything. This latest attempt to destroy us won’t succeed either.

WeWriWa—A spiritually muted Easter

Welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors and Snippet Sunday, weekly Sunday hops where writers share 8–10 sentences from a book or WIP. The rules have now been relaxed to allow a few more sentences if merited, so long as they’re clearly indicated, to avoid the creative punctuation many of us have used to stay within the limit.

Since today, 5 May, is Orthodox Easter (quite late this year!), I’m sharing an Easter-themed snippet from A Dream Deferred: Lyuba and Ivan at University. In the snippet I shared for the Western Easter on 31 March, 22-year-old Yustina Yeltsina-Baronova made an Easter basket for a handsome former Marine named Nestor Ugolnikov. The year is 1949.

Though Nestor hasn’t been to church in years, he caved to Yustina’s invitation to spend the holiday with her family. Nestor’s parents disowned him in shame and disgust after he lost his leg at Iwo Jima.

Khristos voskrese (Christ is risen) is the traditional Russian Easter greeting. Father Timofey is a crossover character in my Atlantic City books, as Cinnimin attends his church during her 1940 birthday trip to New York and again during graduate school.

All the votive candles around the church are simultaneously lit by a special spark, and the ikonostasis doors are flung open. Father Timofey reappears, having changed his dour black robes for silver and white, embroidered with tiny gemstones sparkling in all the candlelight.

“Khristos voskrese!” Father Timofey proclaims.

Nestor sits and daydreams as the service wears on. Every so often, he crosses himself and mutters, “Indeed he has risen” in response to the constant parade of “Khristos voskrese!” so as not to seem too tuned-out. After the interminable Easter Matins and Easter Hours, Father Timofey invites all the faithful to come up for Communion. Nestor mindlessly crosses himself when Communion is brought to him. He closes his eyes and swallows the wine and bread on the spoon, feeling as spiritually detached as he usually does.

Divine Liturgy then begins, and Nestor goes back to half-heartedly paying attention. Finally, Father Timofey delivers the closing benediction and entreats everyone to forgive one another.

The ten lines end here. A few more follow to finish the scene.

Nestor stands up as quickly as possible, his candle by now having burnt down about an inch and a half. On his way to temporarily depositing it in one of the sand-filled containers used for this purpose, he averts his eyes from all the people hugging and kissing in the traditional end of Easter services custom.

Yustina approaches him, an Easter basket on either arm, right after he’s placed his candle among all the others still flickering away. “Khristos voskrese!”

Before Nestor has time to react or realize what’s happening, Yustina has set both of the baskets on chairs, jumped up on another chair, and hugged him. Before she jumps back off the chair, she kisses him on the cheek.

“Now look who’s being too friendly with men she barely knows,” Milada whispers.

Yustina hands Nestor one of the baskets, with a dark blue bow on the handle. “I made this just for you yesterday. Please don’t try to refuse it.”

Zachor, Zikaron, Zecher (זכור ,זיכרון ,זֵכֶר)

The Hebrew words related to memory derive from the shoresh (root) זכר (zayin kaf resh). Thus, zachor (remember), zikaron (memory), and zecher (remembrance). When there’s no dot in the middle of kaf, it’s pronounced like a guttural CH.

Shabbat Zachor, which immediately precedes Purim, is one of ten Special Shabbatot in the year. The Maftir aliyah (read after the weekly parashah), Deuteronomy 25:17–19, tells the story of how Amalek cowardly attacked us from behind when we were wandering in the desert.

“Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt—how, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all the stragglers in your rear. Therefore, when your God YHVH grants you safety from all your enemies around you, in the land that your God YHVH is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget!”

According to tradition, Amalek was an ancestor of Haman, the villain of the Purim story. Not only that, but each new generation has a new descendant or incarnation of Haman who tries to destroy us and miserably fails.

Yom HaZikaron is Israel’s Memorial Day, honoring both fallen servicepeople and victims of terrorism. It falls on 4 Iyar, the day immediately preceding Yom HaAtzma’ut (Israel Independence Day), and begins with a nationwide memorial siren that lasts for a full minute. All the cars on the road pull over, and people stand at full attention the entire time the siren sounds. Since Hebrew days begin at sunset, the siren starts at around 8:00 at night.

Another siren, two minutes long, sounds at 11:00 the next morning. Many people visit cemeteries to pay respects to the dead. A 24-hour TV broadcast lists the names and ranks of all fallen servicepeople and terrorism victims, and all entertainment venues like movie theatres and video game parlors are closed for the day.

There are lists of soldiers with no family, so everyone is remembered by someone.

Collective memory is extremely important in Judaism and Jewish society. Many holidays are observed in remembrance of past events (Purim, Chanukah, Lag B’Omer, Shavuot, Pesach, Sukkot, Yom HaZikaron, Yom HaAtzma’ut, Yom HaShoah, Yom Yerushalayim, Birkat HaChamah, Herzl Day, Jabotinsky Day, Day to Mark the Departure and Expulsion of Jews from the Arab Countries and Iran), and all seven fast days commemorate a specific event. In the case of Tisha B’Av, many tragic events which fell on or close to the same day are remembered.

Destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem, by Francesco Hayez

We’re also commanded to observe and remember Shabbos. Not only do we follow the laws associated with it, we observe it in remembrance of how Hashem rested after six days of creation. (Reading every word of the Bible literally has never been a part of mainstream Jewish tradition. We believe the days of creation represent much larger blocks of time.)

God Blessing the Seventh Day, William Blake, 1805

Though I’m too much of a name nerd to go for this, and amn’t from a family with this custom, it’s common for many Ashkenazim to name their kids after dead relatives and for Sephardim to name after living relatives. They’re not just carrying on a name, but a legacy of what that person was all about.

We also carry the collective memory and trauma of being a persecuted, disenfranchised minority in so many different places. Hence, social justice (the old-school real type, not the blue-haired, virtue-signalling TikTok type) is an extremely important value to us, and why we’ve always stood shoulder to shoulder in solidarity with other oppressed groups.

History isn’t something mistily distant that happened long ago and is now regarded as an irrelevant fossil relic, but a living, breathing, integral part of our contemporary fabric. The link to the past is never nearly so remote as we think. There are always chains of connection.

Through our long Diaspora, we never forgot our longing for our indigenous, ancestral homeland Eretz Yisrael. So many of our prayers and rituals are bound up with the land, and many mitzvot can only be observed in Israel. The national anthem, HaTikvah (“The Hope”), speaks of this longing to once again be free and autonomous in our own land.

It took almost 2,000 years, but finally we regained our independence and successfully decolonized our homeland after countless foreign occupiers (Ottoman, British, Mamluk, Byzantine, Roman, Crusader, Abbasid, Seljuk, Umayyad, Fatimid, Rashidun) who tried to erase our connection to the land.

We’ve outlasted so many enemies whose empires have long since crumbled, enemies who tried and failed to destroy us. We’ll outlast the latest enemies with their blood libels, historical revisionism, and watermelon emojis too.

Yom Kippur (יוֹם כִּפּוּר)

Jews Praying in the Synagogue on Yom Kippur, Maurycy Gottlieb, 1878

Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, is my favourite holiday besides Halloween. Though it’s a sombre fast with many restrictions, it’s nevertheless traditionally seen as the happiest, most spiritually high day of the year. I love the euphoric feeling of being so empty, and the heightened, intense spiritual feeling it creates.

Normally fasts are pushed off a day when they fall out on Shabbos (and in the case of Ta’anit Esther, moved up to Thursday), but Yom Kippur is so holy and important, we fast even if it’s on Shabbos. In fact, the day is even holier when they coincide. It’s called the Sabbath of Sabbaths no matter what day it falls on.

Yom Kippur is not only a 25-hour fast (though I’ve gone longer many times!), but a day when all work and pleasure cease so we can focus solely upon self-reflection and atonement. Forbidden activities include bathing, wearing leather, applying perfume and lotion (except for medically-indicated ointments), doing anything sexual (with oneself or a partner), using electricity, driving, writing, and carrying in the public domain.

The obligation to fast begins at bar or bat mitzvah age. Many children gradually build up to fasting all day as they get older; e.g., a preteen might skip breakfast and have a very light lunch. Since health comes before everything, we’re not only permitted to eat if we have a medical condition which would make fasting dangerous, but required to.

Drinking is also forbidden during Jewish fasts, though if you need to take medication, you’re absolutely allowed to swallow water for that purpose.

It’s customary to wear all white, as a symbol of spiritual purity. There’s a special white robe called a kittel, which is mostly worn by rabbis and cantors, but can also be worn by regular congregants. Because of the prohibition against leather, many people wear sneakers. This is also the only time a tallit (prayershawl) is worn at night.

Before Yom Kippur starts, congregants are invited to light candles, our final act of work for at least the next 25 hours. It’s best to drink a lot of water and eat hearty meals in preparation for going without food for so long.

Yom Kippur begins with the beautiful Kol Nidre prayer in Aramaic, which is chanted thrice. It releases us from all vows, obligations, oaths, prohibitions, and consecrations we’ve taken upon ourselves since last Yom Kippur, so we can start the new year off with a fresh slate.

In Italian and Romaniote (Greek) rites, Kol Nidre is recited in Hebrew and called Kol Nedarim.

Every time I listen to this haunting, beautiful, ancient prayer, I mentally hear Al Jolson’s rendition of it in The Jazz Singer, and see that moving scene.

Yom Kippur is the only day of the year with five prayer services—Ma’ariv (evening), Shacharit (morning), Musaf (immediately following Shacharit and a substitute for the sacrifice of animals in the Temple), Mincha (afternoon), and Ne’ilah (the concluding service as the Gates of Heaven are closing).

Some people, myself included, have the custom of staying at shul all day after Musaf and reading in the library or crashing on a davenport until Mincha. It’s easier than walking home and then coming back a few hours later on an empty stomach.

Many shuls have a late-afternoon discussion or meditation session to keep the mood of Yom Kippur alive as long as possible.

As on Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur also has the Great Aleynu during the Musaf Amidah (long standing prayer central to the service), where we prostrate all the way to the ground. I love that humbling feeling of being in the Divine presence. We also prostrate ourselves during the Avodah, a poetic description of the Temple service, at the lines about the Kohein Gadol (High Priest) pronouncing the Tetragrammaton, YHVH.

According to rabbinic tradition, the only time YHVH was pronounced was on Yom Kippur in the Holy of Holies. The Kohein Gadol went in with a rope tied around his waist, so if he God forbid died in there, he could be pulled out without the wrong person entering that most sacred of spaces.

Mincha includes the Martyrology service, with stories, poems, and songs about our ancestors being persecuted and murdered. Traditional Orthodoxy only includes the story of the Ten Martyrs killed during the Roman occupation of Israel, which, no offence intended, feels so remote and irrelevant to the lives of the average modern person. Progressive denominations include the Crusades, the Shoah, and other tragic events in our history.

The Haftarah reading at Mincha is the Book of Jonah, read in entirety.

Ne’ilah is traditionally said standing throughout, though I usually sit for at least part of it since getting metal hardware in my right leg, or half-stand, half-sit on the edge of the cinema-type seat. Yom Kippur concludes with the Sh’ma, a threefold repetition of “Praised is God’s name, whose glorious kingdom is forever and ever,” and a sevenfold repetition of “The Lord is God,” with each line becoming more and more powerful, uttered with all the concentration and intensity we would our final words of life.

A long shofar blast, sustained as long as possible, ends Nei’lah. The Ma’ariv service which follows is typically done lightning-quick so the ceremony of Havdalah can be performed to officially end Yom Kippur and the break-the-fast can begin.

U’Netaneh Tokef (ונתנה תקף)

U’Netaneh Tokef is one of the most famous, awe-inspiring pieces of High Holy Days liturgy. It reminds us of the fragility of life and how we never know when our time might be up.

We shall ascribe holiness to this day, for it is awesome and terrible. Your kingship is exalted upon it. Your throne is established in mercy. You are enthroned upon it in truth.

In truth, you are the judge, the exhorter, the all-knowing, the witness, he who inscribes and seals, remembering all that is forgotten. You open the book of remembrance which proclaims itself, and the seal of each person is there.

A still small voice is heard. The angels are dismayed, they are seized by fear and trembling as they proclaim: Behold the Day of Judgment! For all the hosts of heaven are brought for judgment. They shall not be guiltless in your eyes, and all creatures shall parade before you as a troop. As a shepherd herds his flock, causing his sheep to pass beneath his staff, so do you cause to pass, count, and record, visiting the souls of all living, decreeing the length of their days, inscribing their judgment.

On Rosh Hashanah it is written; on Yom Kippur it is sealed.

How many shall pass away and how many shall be born, who shall live and who shall die, who in the fullness of years and who before, who shall perish by water and who by fire, who by sword and who by beast, who by famine and who by thirst, who by earthquake and who by plague, who by strangulation and who by stoning, who shall have rest and who shall wander, who shall be at peace and who shall be pursued, who shall be at rest and who shall be tormented, who shall be exalted and who shall be brought low, who shall become rich and who shall be impoverished.

But teshuvah [repentance], and tefilah [prayer], and tzedakah [charity] avert the severe decree.

For your praise is in accordance with your name. You are difficult to anger and easy to appease, for you do not desire the death of the condemned, but that we turn from our path and live. Until the day of our death, you wait for us. Should we turn, you will receive us at once. In truth, you are our Creator, and you understand our inclination, for we are but flesh and blood.

Our origin is dust, our end is dust. We earn our bread by exertion and are like a broken shard, like dry grass, a withered flower, like a passing shadow and a vanishing cloud, like the breeze that blows away and dust that scatters, like the dream that flies away. But you are King, God who lives for all eternity! There is no limit to your years, no end to the length of your days, no measure to the hosts of your glory, no understanding the meaning of your name. Your name is fitting unto you and you are fitting unto it, and our name has been called by your name. Act for the sake of your name and sanctify your name through those who sanctify your name.

Traditional Orthodox Machzorim (High Holy Days prayerbooks) use the very old-fashioned translation “lapidation” for the word “stoning.” The only reason I know what that word means is because of the connection to “lapidary,” a popular type of Medieval book describing the believed medical and mystical properties of gems.

The last paragraph reminds me very much of the lyrics of “All Things Must Pass.” Ultimately, we’re nothing more dust that scatters in the wind, the dream that flies away, sunrise that fades away in the morning, a cloudburst that doesn’t last all day.

An apocryphal story persists that it was written in 11th century Germany by Rabbi Amnon of Mainz, who refused his friend the archbishop’s request to convert to Christianity and subsequently had all his limbs cut off. Rabbi Amnon was carried into the synagogue on Rosh Hashanah, as he was dying, and recited U’Netaneh Tokef with his final breath. Three days later, he appeared to Rabbi Kalonymus ben Meshullam in a dream and imparted the words of the haunting prayer.

Contemporary scholarship, however, reveals it probably was written several centuries earlier in Israel, and that there’s no other record of Rabbi Amnon. Wouldn’t such a great scholar be written about in more than a single legend?

Copyright Deror_avi

Some modern non-Orthodox rabbis have gotten creative with the “Who shall live and who shall die?” section, adding new categories related to current events.