Main page | April 30, 2007 »

We stand

I have a secret I haven’t shared with you yet. I spend one day a week in the Reading Room of the National Library on the Givat Ram campus of Hebrew University. I read, I write, I enjoy the bookish atmosphere and exchange greetings with the kind librarians who know me by now.

This morning, I made my weekly journey to the library. I arrived early because today is Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) and the library would close at 1:00. When I arrived on campus, I saw, just to my left, two large torches and beyond those a large gathering of people. They were listening to a recitation of names, war by war since 1948. I hadn’t planned to attend a memorial service, but with this one in my path, I felt drawn to stand as one of many witnesses. Of the group, most were students, their army years a vivid memory of just a year or two past.

This was already a different kind of Memorial Day for me. In the U.S., unless you have personally lost someone, the holiday means a long weekend, busy highways, and a chance to cook out with friends and family. In Israel, people will also cook out and play, but not yet.

Following the ceremony, I went to the Reading Room for an hour or so before walking down to the café on the lower level for some tea. I was sipping my tea and then, at 11:00, the siren blared and there was stillness and silence.
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Suspended animation. Everyone in the café stopped what he or she was doing and stood up: the ultra-Orthodox man slouched in his chair talking on his cell phone, the two women gabbing over coffee and iced tea, the man who had been making espresso and taking money from the customers. They all stood. Had I been outside, I would have seen more of the same: people stop their cars on the roads and stand outside, they put down their work, they stop teaching and stop being taught. People stop and remember. In this country, nearly everyone has someone to remember. I haven’t felt so heartbroken in a long time.

When the siren ceased, two-minutes later, the orthodox man resumed his slouched, cell-phone conversation. The man behind the counter turned to his customers and the espresso machine began its grinding whir; the two women continued talking over their coffee and iced tea; I returned to my own tea. All returned to normal

Memorial Day will end tonight at 8:00 p.m. and immediately after the final memorial service and torch lighting, Yom HaAtzmaut (Independence Day) will begin. Tonight and tomorrow, people will cook out, they will throng out into the streets, and they will celebrate. There is a time for mourning and a time to rejoice and in Israel there is a ceremony for both. Without a doubt, we need both.

My husband, Elie, took this and the following picuture on the main street near our home.
The light is green; the cars stand still.

Posted by Ilene Weismehl  at 11:41 AM | Permalink | Comments 1