Issue 72: On Memory and Independence
Some thoughts on a challenging week in Israel
This past week, Israelis observed Yom HaZikaron - Israel’s memorial day for fallen soldiers and victims of terror - and Yom HaAtzmaut/Independence Day. Under the shadow of an ongoing war and with hostages still in captivity under Hamas, there were many, often heated discussions about how to engage with these two national days.
Admittedly, I felt conflicted about how to approach both days. I wanted to respect the fallen. I just didn’t want to be around other people. I didn’t want to be a part of the annual human crush at Israel’s national cemetery. I didn’t want to participate in ceremonies with songs about loss and the yearning for a better tomorrow. I wanted to celebrate our independence. But I didn’t want to don white clothes, barbecue, and go to a street party. I wasn’t in the mood to be happy or sad. After spending months outside of a normative routine, sitting in a tank at the country’s farthest borders, I just wanted routine, dropping off my girls and picking them up again; taking them to swim lessons; doing laundry; taking out the trash; all of the mundane things that I missed from Oct 7th until the end of February. I spoke about it at length with my wife, who just like me kept flipflopping between different feeling towards the Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut.
As we approached these national days, my position began to shift. Judaism instills a commitment to engage in the routine of prayer and seasonal festivals even when one isn’t in the mood. Did my family celebrate Purim this year? Did we sit down at the seder table and observe Pesach/Passover? Of course we did, both because of our commitment to build a home and raise our children a particular way and also because of our desire to not allow the disruption of the outside world dictate who we choose to be. On each occasion, we observed and celebrated the day while also acknowledging the unique and tragic context, as our ancestors undoubtably did during previous periods of collective grief and sorrow. We observed those days in the memory of those who are no longer able to keep this tradition alive. If this was our approach for these days, why wouldn’t we apply the same logic for Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut? After all, remembering the sacrifices of others and celebrating our independence should be distinct from whether we believe that the country’s leadership pursued policies that ensure those sacrifices are not in vain and maximize the privilege of our independence. The question should not have been whether or not to acknowledge these national days, but how one should address them under the circumstances.
So on the eve of Yom HaZikaron, I visited my former tank commander, Y, whose brother and two other crew members were killed on December 4th, 2023, by an RPG that struck their tank (yes, a family dedicated to service in tanks). I’ll never forget that evening, when Y was informed about his brother’s tragic death, and his departure from our unit. It was one of the defining moments of my war, if only because of how much our relationship meant and how much his pain brought me sadness. Y lives in my neighborhood, so I’ve been fortunate enough to visit him regularly in the months following his brother’s passing. And on the eve of Yom HaZikaron there was no other place I wanted to be. To sit together and talk, about his brother and family, about the war, about whatever was an expression of who is he and how he felt.
On Yom HaAtzmaut, we went on a hike to appreciate some nature. Our daughters dressed in white and blue, traditional for the holiday. I wore a red shirt with the words “Bring Them Home,” a reminder to myself as well as those we passed along the trail that those who remain captive in Gaza do not have the privilege to debate whether or not to celebrate the Israel’s birthday and we must ensure their release.
My sense is that this internal conflict is shared by many Israelis. It isn’t simply about to celebrate or not to celebrate but about whether we – as a society – are making the right choices, and whether the choices that we make because they are right for us indirectly offends, thus advancing further the forces of polarization. It is about the tension between individual freedom and collective responsibility. During a period in the country’s history where there is a distinct lack of national unity, finding the right balance between these elements is crucial if Israel is to overcome the challenges ahead.
I’ve been preoccupied over the past month writing a chapter in my dissertation, however I did participate in two conversations that I’d like to share:
I was invited to participate in a Middle East Institute discussion, moderated by Nimrod Goren, on the economic consequences of the war on Israel’s trade relations in the region. The entire conversation is very enlightening. My comments on Israel-Turkey relations and the war’s impact on Israel’s energy exports can be found at minute 40:00.
I was also invited as a guest on the Jewish People Policy Institute podcast, hosted by Yaakov Katz, to discuss some of my experiences during the war as well as some other points about energy and Israel-Turkey trade.
Yaakov isn’t the only person who has asked me about why I was serving at such an “advanced age” - after all, 40 is the cut off year for most IDF reservists (not including officers and special units). As I explained in our conversation, the letter of the law prior to October 7th appeared to be that the IDF can keep you on their reservist lists until the end of your 40th year. Technically that would have been the end of December 2023. Many people in my unit thought this was hilarious, that there must have been a technical error, and that I should push to go home ASAP which in many ways mirrored the conversations I had when I first drafted - at age 23 - and many were perplexed as to why an American would choose to relocate to Israel and to serve in the army.
There were discussions in late November/early December about my possible release, but for a combination of reasons - including a last minute Knesset decision to extend reservists duty for several more months - I stayed on with my unit until the end of February when we were collectively sent home. Military service at this age isn’t a walk in the park. I jokingly say that if you really want to understand aging, try lifting 20-30 kilo tank shells at 40. Older reservists also more likely to be parents, shouldering the responsibility of being on the front line on one hand but also feeling the absence of family and the impotence of being able to effectively parent on the other.
But there are benefits to being a more “seasoned” soldier as well. I generally found older reservists to be more grounded, less prone to emotional swings. A short while after returning home, my wife Sarah and I went out to dinner with friends of ours. The husband served in an infantry unit for nearly the same length of time as I did, and naturally the conversation focused on our experiences during the war. At some point his wife commented on how she felt we were too old for this kind of grueling life. We agreed, but also added that answering the call was perhaps one of the most meaningful things we had ever done in our lives.
I hope you found this newsletter interesting, please share with others if you think it appropriate. As always, I welcome your comments and questions.
Best,
Gabi
Thank you for the post and the links. Much appreciated.