Although difficult to watch, one of my favorite movies is “Munich,” the 2005 film directed by Steven Spielberg and co-written by Tony Kushner and Eric Roth that explores the nearly impossible path to vengeance and healing following the 1972 massacre of Israelis at the Munich Olympics. One of the most memorable moments is from an early scene, when the leading man, Avner, is reminded by his wife that, while he can fight, he can never fully save Israel from outside hatred, and that doesn’t mean he loves Israel any less. “You think Israel is your Mother,” she says to him, and he cannot argue with his beloved over this deeply felt truth.
This theme of Israel as the maternal figure, the safe space, the original home, is deeply felt by our People and explored not just in film but in great Jewish music and text, as well. The famous Israeli poet Lea Goldberg’s poem “At Moledet” (“My Homeland”) explores the idea of the land of Israel as our destined home. The title alone is captivating: the word homeland comes from the same Hebrew root for giving birth. There is no separating Israel from our family, from our mother, from ourselves from the moment we are born. Just like Avner in “Munich,” Goldberg understands Israel as our Mother, our home, our birthright. I certainly cannot argue with this sweet metaphor, this great wisdom.
In 1938, as Hitler was preparing to take over Europe, Israeli composer and orchestra conductor Marc Lavry, who had recently fled Germany, premiered his rendition of Goldberg’s “At Moledet” with the newly established Tel Aviv Symphony orchestra. I hope you will find the words (which I translated from the original Hebrew below) and music an inspiration.
– Cantor Emma Lutz
| At Moledet (Goldberg/Lavry, 1938)
On the mountain, the paths climb You are are our Homeland, the white light On our hands are the thorns of the desert cactus You are our Homeland. |
את מולדת אַתְּ מוֹלֶדֶת לְאוֹר לְבָנָה עַל יָדֵינוּ קוֹצֵי הַצַּבָּר אַתְּ מוֹלֶדֶת לְאוֹר לְבָנָה |
Watch the video of Cantor Lutz singing At Moledet here.
