Hello readers! I hope this post finds you all well. It’s difficult to believe, but I have just two full weeks left in my adventure; time has truly flown. Here is an update of the past nearly two weeks. It’s been an eventful time in Israel, a time that has brought tearful remembrance and joyful celebration right up against one another, which makes for an emotional rollercoaster.
Sunday, May 2 was Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day in Israel. Year Course was invited to the national tekkes (ceremony) at Yad Vashem, Israel’s Holocaust museum and the world’s leading Holocaust research center. We arrived by bus and then were shuttled to the museum entrance, where we were met by what appeared to be unending lines of security – metal detectors, questioning, pat-downs. It took over an hour just to enter the building. Guests numbered in the thousands and live translation via headsets was given in four languages (English, Russian, French and Spanish). The ceremony’s featured speakers were President Shimon Peres and Prime Minister Benyamin Netanyahu. Both spoke of the importance of Israel in the world, despite the very real and ever-looming threats posed to it by other nations. Most of all, their messages were clear: the Jewish people survived the atrocities of the Holocaust and then came to Israel to make a new start, to begin a new life in freedom. We cannot lose that vision for whom so many died, we cannot lose our dream of the land in which we began thousands of years ago, and which renewed our hope in our darkest times of struggle Without Israel, we return to being a lost and dispersed people. It is our goal, our aspirations, our essence.
In addition to Peres and Netanyahu, six Holocaust survivors were featured in the memorial ceremony. Each lit a memorial torch, one for every million Jews who perished in the Shoah. Every survivor was accompanied by a friend or family member, and before they lit their respective torch, a short film played on several large screens displayed throughout the courtyard in which the ceremony took place. The films were perhaps the most moving part of the ceremony; every survivor told his or her story of fear, persecution, near-death and eventual survival. They told of watching their brothers, sisters and parents die, of the death marches in winter, of Auschwitz and the tattoos on their arms which became, but did not remain, their identity. Immediately, I was reminded of my time in Poland, of all the horror and hell that I saw. Then it became even more real: here were people describing the places I visited, their time surviving in what is now a historical site. My stomach turned and the tears flowed freely down my face. There was no stopping them.
Exactly one week after Yom HaShoah is Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s national day of remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terror. The night before Remembrance Day, thousands gather at several ceremonies around the country. We attended one at Ammunition Hill, a pivotal battle site in the fight for Jerusalem in the 1967 Six Day war. The tekkes was a beautiful one – the Hill was lit in blue and white, Israeli flags hanging from every possible tree and light pole. The ceremony featured the stories of seven lost young people – six of whom were soldiers, and one, a 15-year old girl named Malki, who died in the Sbarro suicide bombing in the 2001 Intifada. Days like these bring the entire nation, and the Jewish world, together. It is a time to mourn losses to remember heroism and greatness, and to be increasingly thankful for being and living in Israel.
The following day, which was actually Yom HaZikaron, a group of Year Coursers went to Har Herzl, Israel’s military cemetery. There were thousands of people there, honoring lost family members and attending ceremonies. On our way there, a siren sounded – it went off at 11 AM, all across Israel – and the entire country stopped. For several minutes, no car moved, no pedestrian walked, no vendor sold anything. We were on a bus on our way to Har Herzl, and happened to be stopped at the Mahane Yehuda shuk. In a millisecond, the market went from its usual bustling craziness to perfect silence and stillness. The bus stopped and everyone riding it stood up. Then, minutes later, just as the alarm had sounded and everything had stopped, just as quickly, the siren ended and the day resumed as normal.
When we arrived at Har Herzl, we were handed water bottles to give to people at the cemetery who, in the unrelenting heat, were spending their day mourning and remembering. A friend and I came across a woman named Leila whose story is actually very unusual. She is a Lebanese Christian and her husband is Jewish (they’re originally from New York). They are visiting Israel for several months; she is a writer and her husband is a photographer. She has been staying in Ramallah, an Arab village in Israel, where her mother’s family now lives, while her husband does his photography work throughout Jerusalem. Something she said that really made an impression on me was that her mother’s family loves living in Israel, but the reason people in Lebanon and in Palestinian territories support terrorist governments is that they promise to provide for people who have nothing; when you are threatened, you want to support those who swear to protect you. In 2006, when Israel fought Lebanon in the Second Lebanon War, Leila’s Lebanese family was cheering as they watched Israel’s planes fly over their country, hoping the metal birds with the blue stars on the side would end their suffering under a tyrannical government. But when, after two weeks, nothing changed, and Hezbollah promised Lebanese civilians protection if they would pledge their support, most, in fear for their lives, believed their “government” would save them. This, of course, did not happen, and since, Leila and her family remain staunch supporters of the peace process. Not only that, but on a day when Israel and Jews the world over mourn their losses, Leila stood next to us, supporting her Jewish friends and neighbors, experiencing what she called a most emotional and moving day.
As the sun sets on Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s biggest party of the year, Yom Haatzmaut, Independence Day, begins. The country is turned into one giant celebration. Everyone dresses up in their finest blue and white apparel, complete, if you’re me and my friends, with blue face paint and, of course, all-important glitter. We made our way to the Mahane Yehuda shuk party, which, twelve hours earlier, had come to a complete stop, but was now alive as ever. Light towers, DJ booths and food stands were set up along the main artery of the shuk, along with, of course, several temporary bars. The scene quickly became craziness – dancing on the shuk stall countertops, thousands of people crowded into the market, all singing and dancing and keeping the bartenders quite busy. A little after midnight, we decided to walk down the hill to Ben Yehuda Street to see the celebration there. I have never seen Ben Yehuda that busy or crowded ever; there was literally no room to move. So, to avoid being crushed by crowd, we escaped to one of Ben Yehuda’s many side sreets, which happens to be home to the best waffles in Israel: Babbette’s. A tiny hole in the wall on a street otherwise cluttered with larger restaurants and shops, it’s easy to miss or walk right past, thinking nothing of it. Well, if you find yourself wandering off the main artery of Ben Yehuda, find Babette’s and order the best waffle you’ll find anywhere. It seats about 10 people comfortably, and of course, the night of Yom Haatzmaut, thirty were cramming inside, pushing their way to the register to order waffles with every dessert topping imaginable. Once I was in a chocolate and sugar coma, I headed home.
The following day is a national day off – businesses close (except for most cafes and restaurants), and everyone spends the day having barbecues (al ha-esh, in Hebrew, which means “on the fire”). I went to Tel Aviv to see Roi and his family and enjoyed a delicious lunch with them. A few too many kebabs and loads of salad and pita later, we wandered into the downtown area (buses run on Yom Haatzmaut). Ibn Gavirol, a major street of Israel’s financial district, was hosting several street barbecues and parties, so we wandered through those, stopping for drinks, snacks and some impromptu dancing. We also saw the air show happening near the port – fighter planes decorated Tel Aviv’s cloudless blue skies, zooming and booming above us. After wandering for quite some time, it began to get dark and I returned to Jerusalem.
On my way into those holy hills, I found myself remembering all that has happened in the past months. I’ve lived in different cities, on different continents, spoken new languages and made new friends. I’ve met new challenges, taken new risks and set new goals. I’ve fallen in love with a culture, a place and people. Loving something or someone makes it even harder to leave, but I know my time here has been special and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Just as I made a change in coming to Israel nine months ago and began this journey, in two weeks, I will make a change yet again, returning home to the next chapter in my life.
One of the most valuable things I’ve learned this year is to fall in love with as many things as possible. So, I urge you all to fall in love with something or someone special, to find your passion and live it.
All my love, see you soon,
Elana
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