I admit that my phone is often—always?—buzzing with news alerts out of Israel. Earlier this summer, of course, I was getting the same alerts as my Israeli friends of missiles overhead—only I did not need to run to a shelter. Far too often, we are still seeing the words: Permitted to announce, which always precedes the name of a young soldier killed, usually in Gaza. Sometimes, the alerts are more lighthearted, a quick weather update, news of a reality star, or—of course—soccer scores.

But, I did not have these apps in 2016, and so I missed this bit of archaeological news. The headlines read: Archaeologists find battle site where Romans breached Jerusalem walls, followed by the subheader: “Discovery confirms Josephus’s account of the conflict that saw destruction of Second Temple nearly 2,000 years ago,” says Israeli Antiquities Authority.

On Sunday (July 13), Jews around the world will observe the minor fast day of 17 Tammuz. Commemorating the very event captured in that headline, the 17th of Tammuz also ushers in the Three Weeks—the days between the 17th of Tammuz, when the wall was breached, and Tisha B’Av, when the Temple was destroyed and Jerusalem was sacked. Last year, we marked these days for the first time since October 7. This year, we mark them in the shadow of the Iranian attacks, with buildings in the very center of Tel Aviv still in rubble.

The traditional focus of 17 Tammuz and its ensuing days is on spiritual repair; it is seen as the “soft open” for the High Holy Day practice of cheshbon hanefesh, taking a spiritual accounting of our year and of our deeds. It is meant to help us focus on our behaviors, individual and collective, and to reflect on Jewish history and our place in it.

This year, I want to suggest that—contrary to the tradition—we also add an element of gratitude into the day. Gratitude for our homeland and the people who defend it, and gratitude for Iron Dome and our other modern day defense systems, which protected millions of Israeli lives. We know, certainly, that there are still dark days ahead—our tradition calls these weeks bein hametzarim, between the straits—but as I watch my Israeli friends send their kids to camp and return to the rhythms of daily lives—I am grateful for all the ways in which the “walls of Jerusalem” held, and continue to hold us.

—Rabbi Sari Laufer

The photo of the building with the green dome is the Morristown Jewish Center where the Mintzes were among its leadership. We joined the Reform Congregation in Town, called B’nai Or.  The contemporary building shown here was the second home of the congregation, which my family helped to build.  I lived in the Washington Valley region of Morristown where the Daughters of the American Revolution held regular meetings in 18th and 19th century historic structures. For a more detailed review of my hometown’s history look here.

This was my childhood American dream.  A strong and comfortable Jewish community nestled in the wooded hills of an historic American town.  In seventh grade, the son of Italian immigrants and beloved teacher, Joe Bellomo, introduced us to American Revolutionary history by inviting us to re-enact significant moments: the unendurable repression imposed by the British, the proceedings of the Continental Congress, the drafting of the Declaration of Independence, the Bill of Rights. He made American history, our history.  Many of us were the children and grandchildren of immigrants, some were Jewish, others Black, Asian, Latino; in seventh grade Mr. Bellomo made sure that we all learned what it meant to be Americans.

Joe Bellomo (and living in this bastion of Colonial history) taught us about the founding principles of our nation.  He taught us about the dark days of slavery, the necessity of the Civil War, the continuing battles for Civil Rights. He made us proud patriots and opened the doors for us to understand and embrace American democracy.  He taught us that the very soil of our hometown resonated with the footsteps of those who fought for the uniquely American version of freedom.

As we recognize the 249th year of our country’s birth, during a time when many of us are feeling a bit insecure as Jews in this nation, I share this brief vignette of my own American story as a testament of sorts to reflect how Jews and all immigrants are woven into the fabric of this country in ways not manifest in other nations. Though we cannot ignore the challenges, and this country surely has its own history of antisemitism and hostility to immigrants, America is guided by a truly unique moral compass that calls us toward our destined path even when we stray. It may take a generation or more, it may be difficult for individuals at any given time to imagine that we can course-correct, however, the nearly 250-year long arc of our country’s history assures us that we can still believe in the American Dream. Happy Fourth!

—Rabbi Ron Stern