Yom HaAtzmaut, Year 2 After October 7—A Reflection
In the spirit and voice of Rabbi Sari Laufer
For Passover, I wrote to you about mixed feelings—about the Jewish imperative to hold multiple truths and experiences in the same moment. While I wrote about Passover, never is this more true on the calendar than the night that Yom HaZikaron turns into Yom HaAtzmaut. From a day of sorrow, with names scrolling endlessly across TV screens, and radio stations playing sad songs, the streets—most years—erupt into joyous chaos. Silly string flies through the air as children and adults alike hit one another, laughingly, with plastic hammers.
And yet. I cannot imagine it is ever easy for a bereaved family to make this transition; this year, we have added almost 800 new families who lost a child, a sibling, a spouse, a parent in combat. So, more than ever as Yom HaAtzmaut approaches, I find myself torn—between pride and pain, between celebration and sorrow. On this second Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut since October 7, we will light fireworks while still lighting yahrzeit candles. We will sing Hatikvah even as we strain to hear the voices of the hostages, still waiting, still hoping. Od lo avdah tikvateinu.
Rachel Goldberg-Polin, the fiercest mother of Israel, wrote these words while her son Hersh was still held captive—and I hold them this week:
Our sea of tears
They all taste the same.
Can we take them, gather them up, and remove the salt.
And then pour them over our desert of despair…
And plant one tiny seed
A seed wrapped in fear, trauma, pain, and hope?
And see what grows….
And so, we show up. We sing. We grieve. We dance. We cry. We build. And we see what grows. Because that is what this week teaches us, or perhaps reminds us. That joy and heartbreak are not opposites, but partners in a dance as old as our people. That the dream of a Jewish homeland is not diminished by struggle—it is strengthened by it. Rabbi Nachman of Bretslov, no stranger to sadness, taught that “Greater still is to gather courage to actually pursue gloom, and to introduce it into the joy, such that the gloom itself turns into joy.” This week in Israel embodies the transformative power of embracing sorrow within joy, turning challenges into sources of strength and celebration.
So today, we hold the complexity. We allow for tears during the barbecue, silence during the songs, prayers amid the picnics. We tell our children the truth: that Israel is both miracle and mess, both light and shadow. And most importantly, she is ours.
Yehi Zichram Baruch—may the memory of Israel’s fallen be forever a blessing. And Chag HaAtzmaut Sameach. May this year bring safety, peace, and the courage to keep dreaming.
—Rabbi Sari Laufer