This Year in Israel, Yom HaZikaron Was Different

For most of my years, Yom HaZikaron (Israel’s Memorial Day) has had special significance. In 1948, my father’s younger brother (one of three survivors of a large Warsaw family) was killed in the Battle of Mishmar Hayarden. From 1950 until my father’s passing in 1990, he visited his brother’s grave, the only grave he was able to visit (his parents, sister, older brother, and baby brother were slaughtered in Auschwitz/Treblinka). I often joined him on this sad, but important, visit.

The atmosphere at the military part of the ancient cemetery in Safed was always mournful but serene and peaceful. Even after wars such as 1967, 1973 or the Lebanon campaign in 1982, it was mostly one or two family members standing by the graves of their family members. They would cry a little, listen to the memorial prayer El Moleh Rachamim, but celebrate the individuals buried in the kvarim and then go home.

This year was different. With tens of thousands of victims of the October 7 war and the wars initiated by Israel’s other enemies, every military cemetery in Israel was packed and turned into family gatherings. Noticeably, there was an upsurge of the number of children crying at graves of their parents or siblings. All I could think of was this is not the way it should be.

This war was a war for Israel’s survival. It involved the entire country from north to south, east to west. Thousands came back home to Israel to fight for the country’s existence. And the losses reflected this massive effort. Looking around the cemetery you saw every breed of Jew — religious, secular, Ashkenazi, Sephardi, Russian, Black. But as always, the saddest part was the children.

My friend Jackie Schimmel writes about the thousands of small stickers lining lampposts and bus stops, petrol stations, and kitchen fridges all across the country. Words that soldiers had as their mottos or themes of life:

“Love thy neighbor as thyself.”

“He fought out of love of those behind him rather than hatred of those in front of him.”

“It’s very good to live for our country.”

They are fragments of philosophy that stayed behind.

Rachel Goldberg-Polin quoted her son Hersh — who was quoting Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl citing German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche — “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.”

Schimmel compares these sayings to Pirkei Avot (Ethics of Our Fathers), our sayings from famous rishonim, each beginning with “Hu haya omer” — “he used to say.”

So, with the large increase of children and teens that now have to visit graves and mourn their losses, perhaps we can look at these stickers and these sayings as a way for the young to mourn. These notes, the fragments of themselves that people have left behind, can be a way to pay tribute to the bravest of the brave — our soldiers and victims of terror. And even more so, a way for adults to reconnect to all of the young fighting or who fought.

“I go in search of my brothers.”

J. Philip Rosen is currently Chairman of the American Section of the World Jewish Congress and Board Member of Yeshiva University, as well as several other Jewish causes. He was Vice-Chair of Birthright Israel for many years.