Hello Readers,
Spring is here! Passover has come and gone, and we just finished another annual round of the
"Yom Ha's," three modern (I don't really find this term fitting but so they are called) holidays. It began with Yom Hashoah (holocaust remembrance day) where I got to particpate in lighting candles at the hospital's ceremony. Yom Hazikaron (Memorial day) followed a week later, and the whole country mourned the loss of fallen soldiers and victims of terror. Immediately following is Yom Haatzamoot (Independance day) where we jarringly go from tears of sorrow to tears of joy and parties spread throughout the country like wildfires.
Of course a lot of thoughts and feelings have been surging through me during these weeks. The whole country is contemplating and this year even more than in the past I've felt the meaning and reflections of these days lingering in my consciousness. This year I felt more like I was experiencing these days from the inside and not just looking in. I hadn't really realized, but these last two years I still related to these holidays somewhat as a tourist. This year I knew more of the names being read, I remembered where I was when these things happened. I was here...in Israel. It struck me that I wake up every morning to serve a country my great grandparents could only dream of. I serve the people of a long hope. I walk the streets of a longing so old I can't even really wrap my head around it. I go out with friends in places my ancestors cried and died for. I sit in parks and have BBQ's in cities and villages immortalized in songs and poetry from ages ago. Me, Shira. That's what I do because I live in Eretz Yisrael.
My Zionism is changing. I thought I had it all figured out. I thought I could call the shots and make the judgments and knew what everything felt like. Silly, arrogant Shira. This tough little country is wriggling her way into your heart in ways you had never anticipated it. Her soil is becoming rich and dear to you like you never imagined. She may be small in size, but she is huge. Each step taken here is heavy, it is laden with tears and blood. It reeks of smoke and gun powder. Each stone has been fought for with sweat and courage. The decades blur together as battles of now and then play out. And their sacrifice echos in the wind and is heard in the waves. People died so I could live here. People fell here so I could stand. People sacrificed so I could be here. The implications are ginormous. The connections are unfathomable. A stranger on the street lost her son so I could take the train. The soldier guarding my border saw a friend fall before his eyes so I could go grocery shopping. The sense of gratitude, of debt, and of responsibility to live and care for the land is overwhelming. How could I live anywhere else?
Bought in blood and tears,
Your currency is shattered hopes and dreams.
Soil is thick in blood and fear.
And sorrow sings from your fallen beams.
Stones cry out in past grief,
Yet your trees blossom on soil won with courage.
Enemies galore, many call you theif.
But truth I know because here I stand and I will not be discouraged.
Today the air is tranquil and still.
And flags of blue and white sail through your sky.
Soldiers protect me from those who want to kill.
And every day I remember those who for you , were willing to die.
To you I came and here I will stay.
Because I am in my land, and quite simply, there is no other way.
I remain yours etc.
Shira
