Days of mourning aren’t foreign to Jews. We all experience periods of personal mourning and grief at the loss of family. Beyond our personal aveilut we collectively experience national periods—such as sefirah and the period surrounding Tisha B’Av—which have been enshrined as historical periods of sorrow. In this respect, Yom Hazikaron, a day to grieve for the people who sacrificed their lives for our state, isn’t different.
However, Yom Hazikaron possesses a deep-rooted, almost subconscious spirit that surpasses a day of mere historical mourning. Standing at graves of heroes we barely knew or didn’t ever meet evokes a silent and visceral connection to our people and our history. What makes this day so powerful and our mourning so cathartic and sacred?
Firstly, we mourn in an entirely different manner. We don’t mourn as isolated communities strewn across the globe suffering personal or communal tragedies. We cluster as a people, standing shoulder to shoulder in our land, independent of religious level, ethnicity and social rank. One unified nation embracing bereaved families, honoring our soldiers and reaffirming our commitment to our homeland despite the hatred of our enemies and the hostility of what sometimes feels like an international alliance. Not since the unity of Sinai were Jews as commonly cohesive, steadfastly asserting our heritage.
Secondly, this day is different due to the voluntary nature of our martyrdom. Jews have faced hostility, discrimination and persecution for two millennia, and in this respect our condition isn’t different from that of our ancestors. The classic metaphor of Jewish martyrdom is “katzon la’tivcha,” as sheep to slaughter, which implies lack of choice or decision. Indeed, this metaphor captured the sad plight of Jews throughout our long exile, punctuated by the final and most savage assault—the Shoah, during which we were literally rendered powerless. We are now back in our homeland, but this return demands a price. Baruch Hashem, Jews are free to choose to live at liberty in many countries across the globe. Modernity has afforded us positions of influence and conditions of affluence. Yet we freely choose to settle our land—even in the face of such hostile opposition. The more accurate metaphor for Yom Hazikaron is a dove. Shir Hashirim repeatedly compares the Jewish people to a dove, and Chazal elaborate that a dove willfully extends its neck for shechita. Fully aware of the formidable price we are sometimes asked to pay, and recognizing that we can escape this challenge by living elsewhere, Jews have willfully accepted this historical mission and its heavy price. We are desperately attempting to rectify the error of our last failed return during the days of Ezra. Unfortunately, only approximately 42,000 Jews returned with Ezra. Conditions in Israel were too challenging, while the situation in Persia was too comfortable. Despite the trying conditions facing the modern State of Israel, Jews have gathered from across the globe and the State of Israel now enjoys a majority of the worldwide Jewish population—living at home! The price is unspeakably steep, but this is a choice our people have rendered. We are living in Israel as doves and not as sheep!
Finally, a third difference contrasts Yom Hazikaron from our previous periods of mourning. Tears flow through our countryside on this day, and we are one family reliving the lives and heroics of those who ascended to the highest precincts of Heaven because they died on behalf of our people and our God. We open our hearts to their families whose lives are forever altered by their sacrifice.
Yet, despite the grief and bitterness there is an underlying triumph to this day. Unlike past tragedies, the death of our soldiers and terror victims has purpose. Their defiance enabled our mission; their heroism forged our return. For centuries, Jews could not find palpable purpose to so much of the suffering they endured. Of course, any Jew who dies al Kiddush Hashem has augmented the presence of God in our world, and that death has eternal purpose. However, there was no empirical purpose, and Jewish martyrdom was a strident reminder that we had betrayed God, been expelled from our homeland and were leading punished lives.
Yom Hazikaron reminds us of how privileged we are to be selected to reshape history. One of the highlights of the Yom Hazikaron ceremonies across cemeteries in Israel is a brief flyover of the Israeli air force. For the first time in 2,000 years we have an army, Jewish blood isn’t meaningless and those who attack us are held accountable. Throughout history, many Pesach haggadot juxtaposed the rasha or evil son (from the section of the four sons) with a picture of a soldier. For thousands of years the notion of a Roman soldier, a French Crusader, a Spanish Inquisitor, a Russian Cossack or a Nazi SS guard was synonymous with hatred toward and abuse of Jews. Now Jews have their own army to protect them. Our great-grandparents would cry tears of joy if they could only see one Jewish soldier, let alone a military superpower.
As we stand before their graves, recall how many Jews for the past 2,000 years have died as martyrs and weren’t even buried. From the victims of Beitar (a city mercilessly routed by the Romans) to the Maharam MiRotenburg (a 13th-century French rabbi whose incarcerated body rotted for 14 years) to the helpless victims of the Holocaust who were only granted common graves, if that. The “zechut” to stand in front of a grave of a Jewish soldier who died defending our country and building our history should not be taken for granted. Though we sense immense grief, we also sense how much Jewish history has shifted in the past 70 years. Amidst our grief we sense a glimmer of triumph and vision. Those feelings will erupt in euphoria as the day yields to Yom Ha’atzmaut. Yom Hazikaron is our opportunity to mourn our heroes but to celebrate our privilege.
By Rabbi Moshe Taragin
Rabbi Moshe Taragin is a rebbe at Yeshivat Har Etzion located in Gush Etzion, where he resides.
