The heart contracts with memory, and it opens and expands with hope. These two days teach us a profound lesson about what it means to be human: on the one hand, to feel what is missing, and on the other hand, not to give up on the light. To grieve, but also to dare to rejoice. To remember those who are no longer here. And in the same breath, to cherish those who are here with us.
Between these two days, a delicate bridge stretches, painful and strong at the same time. A bridge that connects between loss and hope. Between pain and celebration. Between a deep and painful wound. It’s a bridge that opens the way to hope and a full life. What is especially healing is not only the combination of them, but what it teaches us about life itself. About ourselves, about our community and our country, and about our way to grow even when life is complicated.
Social and cultural psychology researchers speak of “collective memory” – a collection of rituals, stories, symbols, and words that live not only in our individual hearts, but in the memory of an entire people. This memory not only preserves the past, but it also builds the present. It helps us bear pain – not alone, but together. When we tell stories, sing songs, and stand up to honor the fallen at the sound of the siren – we heal something. Precisely in the midst of pain, a sense of belonging is born; and this is no less important than the memory itself. In the same breath, shared celebration is also critical. It gives us back the right to rejoice, even if only for a moment. To hold our heads proudly, to remind ourselves that life here, in this country… despite and alongside everything, is meant for living, for creation, and for development. True celebration does not wait for a perfect situation. On the contrary, it is one of the most profound ways to say:
“Despite everything, we choose life.”
Celebration does not erase sadness, but creates a moment of aliveness within complicated reality. Celebration is not a contradiction, but an addition. Remembering not only what we have lost but also what we have yet to create. Joy is not weakness but courage, and a statement of hope. It is not the joy of winning the lottery, or anything else material. It is a joy of our independence that is not clear and self-evident. Joy for our country that, although it is changing its face and the days in it have been unbearable for a long time – is still the country of fulfillment. And it is the only country we have.
On days like these, our hearts sometimes feel overwhelmed. On the one hand, heavy pain and a sense of helplessness. On the other, the command to rejoice – and sometimes this is a difficult demand. But this transition between Memorial Day and Independence Day does not have to be a contradiction. It can be an invitation to learn to hold both pain and hope, at the same time. An invitation to feel that we are part of something greater – a community, a people, a story. And within this connection lies tremendous power.
At the end of the day, life, like this week, is not either-or. It is both.
- Both pain and hope.
- Both memory and dream.
- Both a difficult reality – and the possibility to repair, change, grow.
In shared memory and shared celebration, there is strength and a sense of meaning and belonging. We bow our heads and remember our loved ones who fell – those heroes who sacrificed their lives for the country.
We continue to pray.
- For the speedy and safe return of our brothers held hostage.
- For the safe return of all IDF soldiers who are still on the battlefield.
- And for unity among our people.
And let us remember that with all the complexities… it is not self-evident that we have a country to celebrate.
“A people that does not know its past – its present is meager, and its future is shrouded in mist.” – Yigal Alon
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