Beginning Sunday night, most restaurants are closed for the evening, stores are closed, and Israeli T.V. and radio stations are only allowed to play approved content, which means only war stories, stories of victims, or somber music. The entire country enters mourning, remembers the pain and sorrow of years and days gone by.

Monday, I went to Har Herzl, Israel’s national military cemetery. I walked through the different sections, learning about the individuals who gave their life in pursuit of peace, in pursuit of this land. I saw the graves of those who died before my time, those who died too young, those who died in the wrong place at the wrong time. Families gathered around graves, spoke about their loved one, reminisced. Families reunited with the family of the person whose grave is next to theirs. Families have a pattern and spend the day with their loved ones, visiting, picnics, tears, laughter. I wandered by the new part of the cemetry, graves still fresh, some onle a few days old, some a few weeks. Graves of those who died while I was here, younger than me. At one grave there were men still in army uniforms, and some without, about 5 of them, about my age. It was clear that they had come here to be with the 6th memeber of their group. They sat there, playing cards, laughing, crying, remembering. A tribute to their friend, their counterpart. And my heart wept for those for whom this is more a reality than I will ever know. The loss of someone so young, or someone who had so much to share. How can we remember? How can we include them? Can the whole that they have left ever be filled?

We walked further into the cemetery and ended up at the section for those who gave their lives in the 1948 war, 59 years ago. As we approached, the Chazzan was chanting El Maleh Rachamim for them. We had stumbled upon the AzKarah ceremony for them. I stood there, tears in my eyes and a heavy heart. Here, 59 years ago, these people died to protect the land that I am standing on. These are the people who fought so that the Jewish homeland could be created. We stayed until they finished, marking the symbolism, the meaning, the wonder.

After a quick trip to the graves of Yitzhak and Leah Rabin, Golda Meir, Teddy Kollet and Herzl, we sneaked a peak at the area for the ceremony that night and headed home to gear up. At 7pm the country begins to liven up. Restaurants open, people start coming out, getting ready to celebrate. Mourning turns into celebration, everywhere you look there is an Israeli Flag, children laughing, running, spraying sheleg, happy to be alive. The music was loud, free and plentiful, Ben Yehuda packed more than I have seen it in years, everyone celebrates, everyone smiles, everyone knows how to treasure these moments. Eventually people dwindled to their own space to get ready for the massive BBQs of yesterday. I walked out of my apartment and was bombarded with the smell of BBQ, every park was filled with picnics, with families having fun, some even brought out their couches and TV.

I met up with my friends Matt and Jen and headed to City hall to see the celebrations there. We visited the Central Jerusalem Prison from the British Mandate period, saw street performers and took in the feeling of bliss that surrounded. I ended my celebration with a BBQ with other Schechter students and called it a night so I could prepare for school to begin again today!

I was here for Israel’s 50th, and now 9 years later, as a changed person, I celebrated again. I hope to be here for her 100th birthday, I hope and pray that the celebrations never end, that the joy never ceases, that the memories get sweeter…

I arrived at the Kotel with my friends about 30 minutes before the ceremony began. We walked by restaurants closing, and people preparing. It is illegal for businesses to be open tonight as it was on Yom HaShoah. The city mellows out. The cars that are usually rushing down my street seem to begin to vanish and peacefulness sets in.

The Kotel plaza, usually filled with black hats and jackets is now fileld with army uniforms, and plain clothed people. The place that has seen so much destruction and bloodshed over the centuries is now clean, calm. The place that has been the cause for so much bloodshed, so many lives lost is now silent. While I usually dislike my experiences at the Kotel, I am at peace tonight. THis is not a religious sight for me today, this is a place of destruction and rebirth, a sign of a strong Jewish State (but not a place of a strong religious state.) . The symbol is there to draw out emotion, not make a statement about who owns the rights ot the space, the rothodox or the secular.

8pm, silence as the siren blasts. The tekiah blasts into my ears, to my heart and soul. We stand there together, united, remembering, praying, hoping. So many stand there, men and women together. The speeches begin, the flame is lit by a woman whose husband was killed in service. We remember, we remember the names, we remember the feelings, we remember the hope. I stand there united with my friends and those unknown to me. We listen intently, trying to understand the speeches, trying to take it in. I do not know what it is like to be in the army, but I know what it is like to loose a loved one. Perhaps not in an act of violence, but I know. I feel the pain in my heart, in the very depths of my being. I love, I hurt, I cry. Tears again. The IDF chazzan chants the El Maleh Rachamim, for all those who died in the service, all those in reserves who lost their lives protecting the country, those lost within and outside the borders of Israel, those old and young, those lost lives to terrorism here and there. He chanted to the memory of the sons and daughters who never said goodbye to their loved ones one last time, to the wife who’s husband no longer wakes up next to her, to the child whose parent will not watch them grown and learn. The memories, the sounds wrap themselves around me, and I am lost in another moment.

We recite the mourners kaddish together, one people, supporting one another. At one point, during the Hatikvah, the Hope, one of the Israeli girls sitting in front of my turns and my eyes meet hers. And i see a twinge of sadness, of fear, of pride. This girl knows, she will one day be that soldier, she will one day in 9 years or so be protecting her country, the country I love. She knows, and she looks at me with hope and fear. And my heart goes out to her, her friends, her family. And this is the reality I live in. And I don’t know what to feel, how to react. I want to give her a hug, tell her it will be o.k., but I can’t say that, I can’t know. But, perhaps by me being here, by me supporting the country, but taking a bus, by going to cafes, but living my life, she will see that others support her, that others care, that Jews are united.

And now, I watch the names on TV of those souls I never met. Tomorrow my ears and soul will once again be pierced by the siren. One last blast, one last reminder, one last remembrance initiated by the state. Time will stand still for 2 minutes. An experience I will not have anywhere but here. Tomorrow, I will visit Har Herzl and the graves of those i never knew or had the chance to know. And as the day moves to evening, the bbqs begin, the country makes a gradual, smooth and peaceful switch to celebrate the birth of a Jewish State. Israel’s independence day. And we move from death to life, from fear to h ope, and this is HaTIkvah, this is the hope that holds us together, that sustains us, that makes Israel a place like none other. This is the land that I will miss so much when I have to leave, this is the land I am ambivalent about at times, but love in the depths of my heart! I dont’ know exactly what tomorrow will bring, but I am hopeful for a new beginning, for a year from now to have a shorter list of new names…

We arrived and I am instantly greeted by the bluest of blues, the sky and the ocean, the stone remains stand out, jump out at me, speak to me. I am shocked, so much blue, so much history. And I am reminded that just over 2 hours earlier I was in Jerusalem and the sea seemed forever away. What a land, what a place, so much history. Shomer Yisrael, this is our place to protect, our beauty. And I become teary-eyed. SO many will never see this beauty. So many will never make it to his place which intersects with so much of my history, so much or who I am, and represents a perfect space in my eyes of God’s creations. And a tear streams down my cheek. So many I love will never come to this place again. So many who I am so close to will never be able to share in this beauty with me. I am momentarily lost in thought, saddened by the realization that this place which s so beautiful and so tied to me will never be visited my those who deserve to see such beauty. I pull myself away from this moment and back into the present, the now, the moment that I am living in, and I return to the group. We read texts about the amphitheater in the Talmud, we learn in the place that perhaps Rabbi Akiva was killed, we learn in the place of the rabbis. The moment passes and we move on to our next spot, with the Talmud alive and well in our hearts, heads and life.

Our next stop, Beit Shearim, the burial place of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi, the redactor of the Mishnah, the basis for the Talmud. Without which, perhaps my life would be very different. I am taken by the feeling of beginnings and ends that surrounds me. The holiness and beauty of the sight, the green, the flowers, the peacefulness of this place make it seem clear to me why he would choose this place to live. We walk through the burial caves, some of us taking in the history, the stories, the cold stone speaks to us, the empty graves which once contained someone so learned, so important, so wise. Some take the time to say kaddish, to learn a mishnah or two, to study in honor of the men, (yes men) who came before us and set up the system that exists today. And some take the time to see a historical sight and nothing more. Here I learn that each individual makes meaning in their own way, some are able to take it in while the moment is there. Others need to joke and laugh before they can see the beauty and sacredness of the moment.

From there we head to Tzipori, an ancient Jewish town in the North. We see the “mona Lisa” of ancient days, an incredibly detailed and intricate mosaic, like nothing I have seen before. We take in the sights and views, and we heat over to a special, secluded space where study occurred in the days of the rabbis. And here, I have a moment all to myself. Today, I gave my d’var Torah in Hebrew for my classmates. We are all required to give one d’var torah in Hebrew throughout the year. Due to some schedule issues, my D’var Torah was pushed to the tiyul. Here I was, giving my d’var torah, teaching the texts of the foundation of my religion in the exact same place the rabbis stood and taught, and learned before me. What an honor, what a feeling. This was authentic, this is what it is all about. I spoke about “Kehilla Kedosha” and what it means to be holy together, how we can include each other, how we should act, how we can make the world a better place. I spoke about inclusion and supporting one another in times of need. I spoke the values of the rabbis who built the place we sat. We finished with Mincha and each of us wrote our own piyut/poem that was included into the service. A wow moment, a moment I will never forget. A moment where history not only came alive, but I made history. I cannot describe my feelings, only the pride I felt in being who I am, in my learning, in my love!

From there we headed to our guest house, went out for dinner on the kinneret and headed to bed, we were exhausted. Before bed, I sat on the bench swing with my friend A and looked at the moon, the stars, the peacefulness of the kinneret. We sat and talked as if the 9 years between our first meeting and now had vanished.

Friday again it was early to davening, early to breakfast and right on the bus. We kicked in the lower Golan. I am again struck y the green, such a stark contrast to the negev, the growth the life, the warmth. We begin our descent into the valley, quiet, taking in the sights and sounds, the smells of the earth. We reach the valley and begin our hike, our climb through waterfalls, rock walls and cacti. We walk and talk, take it all in. I suddenly feel as though I am learning to walk again. The path winds, the wind blows, the rocks are uneven, the sun beats down on me, the cactus sticks out, waiting to poke me, and the beauty which surrounds me is calling out. Do I look at my feet, watch my footing? Do i take in the sky, the flowers, the colors? I suddenly don’t know how to walk, I am like a child experiencing it for the first time. I take a deep breath, take in the blue sky, the smells and the red poppies, and I find my personal peace. I walk sining “Yehi Shalom B’cheilech.” There should/will be peace in your palace. This place is the palace. This place is a place of peace, this is my place. And I am not bothered by the fear of Lebanon a few kilometers away, or the sun beating on my head, or the work I have to do. I am living here, in my peaceful place!

The hike ends after a tough ascent, and we all pile onto our bus to be split up for Shabbat. We spend Shabbat at two different Masorti congregations in the North. I spent my time at Kfar Vradim, a beautiful village with a wonderful community that welcomed us, fed us well and helped to nourish us. We spent the time learning about their lives. I saw some damage from the war with Lebanon, I said a prayer for peace. Shabbat ended and we all hurried to the bus to pick up our other classmates and arrived back in Jerusalem around 12:30am today… In time for the Israeli High Holidays… keep reading!!