I stand in a tiny, cramped alley in Jerusalem’s Nahlaot neighborhood, sandwiched between throngs of people, as we sway in rhythm to the music. A small group has gathered around a hanukkiah, and several Hassidim play the guitar and piano. A hippie stands next to a haredi (ultra-Orthodox) woman, who stands next to an IDF soldier. Everyone is singing, everyone is swaying, and everyone is smiling.
Suddenly, I am transported to another realm in which time stands still. Suddenly, all my worries and all my anxieties drift away, replaced by these beautiful melodies. I close my eyes and take it all in. It is just me and the music. And for a few small moments, I forget the pain of this year and let the music carry me away.
A few houses away, on the same cobbled street, the powerful beats of a New Year’s party reverberate close by. I am supposed to be there but have instead found myself here, in this alley.
Standing in this narrow Nahlaot street, listening to the powerful voices floating through the air, I am struck by the rare dichotomy and beauty of this moment.
Tonight is December 31. It is New Year’s Eve. But it is also Hanukkah. Just a few houses down, partygoers are bringing in the new year with alcohol and weed, while on the same street, a crowd has assembled to celebrate Hanukkah (likely) blissfully unaware that it is the secular New Year, as they scream Jewish melodies at the top of their lungs.
As I straddle the two worlds, momentarily torn as to which one to choose, I look around me, and the decision is suddenly easy.
Society's paradox
As I sway to the melodies, I am also struck by the resilience of the Jewish people and the paradox before me: How is it possible to celebrate and be joyous while simultaneously carrying pain and respect for our brothers and sisters who are suffering?
Here stand men and women who have had their worlds turned upside down, and their loved ones cruelly ripped from their lives – either brutally murdered, kidnapped or sent to the battlefront.
This year has destroyed so many lives and broken so many homes, and still, our enemies are determined to inflict as much pain and suffering on us as possible. And yet, as I look around at all the smiling faces – at the people swaying arm in arm – I know, and I see from the depths of my soul that they will never break our spirit.
Even so, I often wonder how our nation is so resilient and how we have overcome unspeakable trauma time and again, outliving our enemies. It is true that we don’t have a choice, but still, how is it possible after everything we’ve been through? Through years of persecution and discrimination? Despite unimaginable suffering? Despite a world hellbent on destroying us physically and psychologically?
Many nations in this position would have given up; many haven’t survived like we have. But we did; and not only have we survived, we have thrived and continue to prosper, sing and dance, refusing to be victims.
Our nation is by no means perfect. Yet, despite deeply ingrained divisions within our fragmented society, it is this resilience that threads us together – unfortunately, often triggered when tragedy strikes – demanding and creating an unspeakable bond and unity.
It doesn’t matter how many times they try to bring us down; we will just get up again because that’s what we do. They will never break us, and we are not going anywhere.
I remember the famous quote by Golda Meir: “Peace will come when they [our enemies] love their children more than they hate us.”
I look at the light of the hanukkiah, representing eternal hope, and at the people swaying in rhythm, and I smile.
It is freezing. The air is crisp. But I am filled with warmth.
Happy Hanukkah and Happy New Year!
The writer is a copyeditor at The Jerusalem Post. She comes from London and now resides in Jerusalem.