If Israel has a sacred day on its secular calendar, Remembrance Day is undoubtedly it.
It’s a day the nation imbues with a sense of awe and solemnity – even holiness – generally reserved for religious observances.
The bustling nation grinds to a halt when the siren pierces the air in the evening and again in the morning. People stand ramrod straight at rapt attention for two minutes of silent reflection, as if during a particularly reverential part of one of the Jewish prayer services.
It’s a solemn day full of public ceremonies and private visits to graves. The radio and television stations broadcast somber music and heart-wrenching stories of lives cut short.
The airwaves are also full of uplifting stories of heroism. And all of that is during a “normal” year.
This year, however, is by no means normal. No, far from it.
For hundreds of families this year, their pain is unfathomable
This year, hundreds of families – who in the past were merely empathetic observers of the Remembrance Day rituals – will now be active participants.
They won’t be attending ceremonies honoring the fallen of others or watching as others lay wreaths on the graves of their fallen loved ones; rather, they will be doing it themselves for the first time. Their pain is unfathomable.
Remembrance Day here has always been an almost unbearably heavy day.
The solace, however, was always that it only lasted for 24 hours, and then ended, replaced by the Independence Day celebrations.
How fitting that seemed; how Jewish. Pain and joy interlaced, woven together, like the glass being crushed underfoot at a Jewish wedding.
To a certain extent, the period since October 7 has felt like one long Remembrance Day.
The names of the fallen read on the radio, the heart-wrenching stories on television, the newspaper interviews with friends and families recounting snippets of the fallen’s lives.
Seven months on, this extended Remembrance Day feeling does not seem to end. When the country marks Remembrance Day Sunday evening, it will feel – to a certain degree – like a 24-hour Remembrance Day within a much longer memorial period.
Which then raises the question: How do you celebrate Independence Day? Or, even, should you celebrate Independence Day?
Is it right to do so when the loss of so many soldiers and civilians on October 7 and ever since is such a fresh wound for so many around us?
Is it right to do so when dozens of hostages are rotting away in Hamas tunnels in Gaza?
Is it right to do so when their families are suffering unspeakable pain?
In normal years, Independence Day celebrations begin when day turns to dusk and the annual torch-lighting ceremony begins on Mount Herzl, accompanied by countless copycat ceremonies in communities across the land.
But this long, war-induced seven-month-old Remembrance Day has not yet ended. So by what right do we now celebrate?
IN NORMAL times, the country’s newspapers around this time of year are full of stories with screaming headlines reporting – generally aghast – how much various localities are paying A-list artists to sing at their annual Independence Day celebrations.
The ranking of Israel’s singers in the country’s musical pantheon could be determined by how much each one commanded for a 30-minute performance.
Not this year.
This year both the print and electronic media are devoting space to a lively public debate that has emerged about how Israel’s 76th Independence Day should be celebrated.
Singers will be appearing at only a couple of venues, as most localities have decided to replace the large public celebrations with smaller ones geared toward children.
Some, such as KAN journalist Akiva Novick, writing in Haaretz, said that all ceremonies should be canceled this year.
“The Israeli government, with Benjamin Netanyahu at its head, is currently using the war as an excuse to defend against public criticism,” Novick wrote.
“The prime minister refuses to answer questions regarding his personal responsibility for what is happening, because there is a war going on. Most of the ministers deny any responsibility whatsoever and reprimand anyone who links them to the October failures, because there is a war going on. So if the war postpones everything, it should also postpone the celebrations.”
According to Novick, the cancellation of the public, institutionalized celebrations would mean an extension of Remembrance Day – which he argued would be a good thing, underscoring that “something happened here, after all; that the massacre in the Gaza border communities and the terrible war since then are a reason to avoid celebrations; that the appalling number of Israelis whom we are unable to free through diplomatic or military means silences the national joy.”
On the other side of the issue, columnist Yair Sheleg, writing in Makor Rishon, argued that Hamas head Yahya Sinwar “very badly wants us to sink into a depression, too despaired to defend ourselves or even to continue living here. That is precisely the reason he initiated the shocking slaughter on Simchat Torah. It is forbidden to give him that victory.”
Novick and Sheleg represent two poles of the debate: one maintains that there is nothing to celebrate this year, the other that there is plenty to celebrate, and that not to do so is to unwittingly give the enemy what it wants.
“There are many reasons to celebrate precisely this year,” Sheleg wrote.
“After we suffered the worst blow in our history, we overcame, just like in the Yom Kippur War, in record time, and we brought tremendous resources out of ourselves in the army and in civil society to deal with the difficulties in an unparalleled spirit of heroism and unity.”
But he, too, believes that the celebrations should be different this year, and that the nation’s politicians should be distanced from the central stage.
This, he wrote, “is not only because their failed doctrines led to the war, but also and especially because they did not set a personal example of leadership during the months of the war itself.”
Others, such as Bar Hefetz, a resident of Kibbutz Nirim near the Gaza border whose members have been evacuated and are now living in Beersheba, said that the annual torch-lighting ceremony – this year filmed in advance in communities that were destroyed – should not take place.
He organized a petition that on Wednesday had more than 60,000 signatures calling on the county’s television networks not to broadcast the taped ceremony, but, rather, to broadcast ceremonies the communities organize themselves.
“The mood here is one of bereavement and failure, not of rebirth and heroism,” he said in a KAN Reshet Bet interview.
His anger was directed at the government for filming the ceremony in their communities, and choosing the torchbearers, without consulting with the communities themselves to see what they wanted.
Among the residents of affected communities, there is obviously a wide range of opinion.
One of those chosen to light one of the torches is Shachar Butzchak, a rabbi in Ofakim who on October 7 jumped out of bed, grabbed his gun, and ran outside to confront the invading Hamas terrorists.
He met up with two others and engaged the terrorists in a firefight, during which one of the others was killed, and he was wounded in his leg.
Butzchak said that these types of ceremonies are important to lift the spirit of the nation and the army.
“We have one of the strongest armies in the world, but what we lack is spirit, and spirit comes from stories of heroism... taking Israeli heroes from the Israeli mosaic and placing them on center stage. That gives strength to the soldiers, to the nation.”
Asked in a KAN Reshet Bet interview whether it is seemly to hold these ceremonies when so many are in pain, he noted that the 49-day period in the Jewish calendar between Passover and Shavuot is a semi-mourning period for 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva who died during a plague.
During this period, traditional Jews observe certain rituals of mourning, such as not holding weddings, not listening to live music, and not shaving.
Yet, he said, on Independence Day many suspend those strictures and celebrate – an indication that even during times of mourning, there may be cause to rejoice.
“We cannot turn out the lights in the country,” he said. “We can’t speak in the language of, ‘let’s buy a plane ticket and fly away from here.’ We cannot allow ourselves that.”
According to Butzchak, the country needs to be reminded of its strength and heroism in the midst of war.
If the country would envelop itself in despair and darkness, he argued, that would weaken soldiers who are fighting. Celebrations of Jewish sovereignty in Israel, which is what the celebrations of Independence Day are all about, remind soldiers and reservists of why they are fighting, he maintained.
With that, the Ofakim rabbi acknowledged that the celebrations should be different this year, the joy perhaps less demonstrative and infused more with stories of heroism.
Some people, such as Haim Ra’anan, a Holocaust survivor who also survived the October 7 horrors of Kibbutz Be’eri, believe that while it is permitted to celebrate on Independence Day at a national level, “maybe not at the same volume as every year, with fireworks, singing and dancing, and whatnot.”
Ra’anan told Army Radio it is “possible to do it more modestly, but not to cancel.”
Across the country, mayors and their spokespeople said that the ceremonies and celebrations would be toned down, and this was the norm for most localities.
Tel Aviv, generally the site of numerous public events, concerts, and grandiose firework displays on Independence Day, issued a statement saying that it would mark the day this year without fireworks and with small community events as a way to “identify with the families of hostages and with the pain of the bereaved families. In addition, the ban on fireworks is done out of consideration for those suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.
Other municipalities, however, canceled their central ceremonies less for philosophical reasons and more out of concern that these events might be interrupted by enemy rocket fire. Kiryat Yam was one such municipality.
The northern town’s mayor, David Even-Tzur, put out a brief video informing the town’s residents that it was decided, out of a “sense of responsibility,” to cancel the already planned annual artistic program because “reality can change overnight.”
“Believe me, there is nothing we would rather see than to celebrate together at Einstein Park,” he said. “I promise you that when the war ends we will celebrate as victors many times over. But during these days, we must behave judiciously and responsibly.”
Joining the ranks of countless other municipalities, Kiryat Yam will go ahead with modest festivities geared toward children, shying away from grand displays for the wider community.
“I extend to you an invitation,” he said, in words that will resonate for many. “Spend Independence Day with your families – a privilege taken away from so many other families this year.”