Marking milestones during a war is not simple. Is it okay to celebrate them, and if so, how far should we go? Are parties in poor taste? Should there be music but no dancing, or is dancing fine too? Should we celebrate some occasions, like weddings and birthdays, but not others, like the New Year?
Regarding the latter, this week’s muted-to-non-existent New Year celebrations among Israelis provided the answer.
A not-so-special New Year
Although January 1 is not widely marked here as it is in most other countries, as we tend to celebrate the Jewish New Year (Rosh Hashanah), it’s often used as an excuse to party. But not this year.
Few were those who even acknowledged this milestone in Israel. As we welcomed in 2024, there was more a feeling of thank God 2023 is over, rather than one of joy, happiness, and hope at the prospect of new beginnings.
For my own part, January 1 has always been a special day as it’s also my birthday, a double reason to celebrate.
This year, however, it barely registered as the day drew closer. Apart from a “birthday” lunch on my daughter’s base with all the family a few days before, the plan was to let it go unnoticed.
Having worked all day on New Year’s Eve, I was tucked up in bed by 9.30 p.m., utterly exhausted. Thoughts of merrymaking couldn’t have been further from my mind.
When I awoke the next morning, however, I felt compelled to mark the day by doing something positive and fun for a change. A leisurely trip to Jerusalem with my husband, Jeff, seemed the obvious choice.
Before I had a chance to change my mind, I loaded my Rav Kav (travel card), and together we headed to the train station.
A familiar feeling
THE JOURNEY was a familiar one, as I work in the capital one day a week. Rarely, however, do I venture beyond the Jerusalem Post offices down to the Old City for a spot of cultural and spiritual inspiration.
On New Year’s Day, instead of scurrying along Jaffa Street to work as I normally do when I emerge from the bowels of the Yitzhak Navon train station, Jeff and I hopped onto the light rail for the short ride down to Mamilla, outside the walls of the Old City.
Our first stop was Cafe Rimon, a swanky eatery where all the beautiful people of Jerusalem gather for brunch, or so it seemed. The big billing of the restaurant given by our son more than lived up to our expectations. The food was delicious, the atmosphere relaxed, and the service excellent. As we sat there, enjoying our meal, the angst of the past few months began to melt away. For the first time since the war began, I felt at ease.
Having refueled, we made our way to the Arab shuk, where we were met by the sorry sight of boarded-up stalls. Those few that remained open were empty; the whole place was devoid of tourists.
We peeled off toward the church of the Holy Sepulchre, which on any given day is teeming with visitors, especially at this time of year. On this New Year’s Day, however, less than a dozen pilgrims had gathered inside to pay their respects.
Art is everywhere
From there, we made our way along the empty streets to the Cardo in the Jewish Quarter, where only two shops were open for business: an art gallery and a jewelry store.
First, we wandered into the art gallery to be warmly greeted by the owner, Udi Merioz. Since the war began and the tourists stopped coming, most of the businesses in the Cardo have closed. Only he and his neighbor, Yossi Sagi, a jeweler, have remained open throughout, he told us.
I chose one of Udi’s exquisite creations as a birthday gift from my children, a small oil painting titled “Freedom does not come free.” In it, three soldiers pray at the Kotel (Western Wall), a moving scene that, Udi said, he felt compelled to paint after the war began.
As the mother of soldiers, it resonated with me more than anything else in the gallery.
JEFF AND I then popped next door to say hello to Yossi, the jeweler.
Again, this shop was empty when we walked in; nevertheless, Yossi was warm and welcoming, delighted to have some company. Before long, he and Jeff were chatting like old friends, discussing the situation in Gaza and his son, who is fighting there, while I wandered around the shop.
Yossi also proudly showed us photos of his grandchildren on his phone before inviting me over to his workstation in the corner of the shop. He’d just finished making a pendant and was excited to show it to me.
Nestled inside a folded sheet of kitchen roll lay a tiny silver pendant – a pomegranate set with 61 shiny red stones to signify new creation, joy, and abundance. It was beautiful.
I left the Cardo with Udi’s painting tucked under one arm, Yossi’s pendant around my neck (Jeff’s birthday present), and, for the first time in months, a feeling of positivity in my heart.
Meeting these two warm, creative souls, both of whom have carried on in spite of the war, was an inspiration. It drove home the resilience that runs through the core of Israeli society.
Every time I look at the painting, which has pride of place on the wall in my lounge, I’m reminded of the sacrifices our young soldiers make for all of us living here. And every time I wear the pendant, I’m reminded of Yossi, who, even while his own son was fighting in Gaza, managed to create a thing of beauty, positivity, and joy.
These two men, whom I was fortunate enough to meet on my birthday, illustrate how our strength and unity help us to rise above the dark forces at play and enable us to grow and prosper in the face of adversity.
The writer is a former lawyer from Manchester, England. She now lives in Israel, where she works at The Jerusalem Post.