Yom HaZikaron in Israel

Today I was on the bus lost in my thoughts when the driver jerked to a halt, opened the doors, stepped away from his seat and stood at attention. The siren was sounding for the fallen and for all of us in Israel the world stood still. All vehicles stopped and people stood respectfully.

On our bus was a lone Arab woman who steadfastly remained seated--not a surprise--although many Israeli Arabs  do stand and show respect for this country because they know that they receive better treatment here than if they were in any of the surrounding Arab states.

What did surprise me were the others who refused to stand. About eight immigrants from Africa who did not appear to know each other, refused to acknowledge the siren. They may have been Ethiopian--because of where they were headed, and yes, I know that there are Ethiopian immigrants who serve in the IDF and are loyal to this country. Regardless, it struck me as bizarre, that these people who came to Israel looking for a better life, and for the most part live on the dole, refuse to show respect for the country they depend upon. From their behavior and speech, it was obvious they have been here for quite some time, long enough to know the meaning of the siren. One of the women was yammering into her phone in a loud shrill voice and when an older lady nearby asked her to show some respect, she made a derogatory sign and made a remark,that I did not understand but from the shock on the woman's face I took it to be nasty. I could not get this picture out of my mind.
 

I had wanted to write about the many sacrifices made, just so we could ride a bus on the highways of Israel. I wanted to speak of the people who died in Israel this year alone, just because they were Jews. I wanted to write of my Shabbos in Elon Moreh when we walked to the top of the mountain and surveyed the valley below and Shechem, where Avraham and Sarah entered this land. I wanted to write about the gentle people who live there and to this day want only to live quietly  in their tiny community and develop the land that was given as an inheritance by their Creator. 

I wanted to write a touching article that would make the world sit up and take notice--but the words would not come. So I looked for inspiration and found it in a post by my favorite writer, Sultan Knish (aka Daniel Greenfield), called Who Can Count the Dust of Jacob. In this article are the truths and emotions that only a true writer can express.

Here is a small portion:
The siren cries out and on the busy highways that wend among the hills, the traffic stops, the people stop, and a moment of silence comes to a noisy country. Flags fly at half mast, the torch of remembrance is lit, memorial candles are held in shaking arms and the country's own version of the Flanders Field poppy, the Red Everlasting Daisy, dubbed Blood of the Maccabees, adorns lapels. And so begins the Yom Hazikaron, Heroes Remembrance Day, the day of remembrance for fallen soldiers and victims of terror--Israel's Memorial Day.

What is a memorial day in a country that has always known war. Where remembrance means adding the toll of one year's dead and wounded to the scales of history. A country where war never ends, where the sirens may pause but never stop, where each generation grows up knowing that they will have to fight or flee. To stand watch or run away. It is not so much the past that is remembered on this day, but the present and the future.

Please take the time to read the entire post HERE.

Never Forget the Sacrifices Made