Today is the national (and international) memorial day for those who lost their lives at the hands of the Nazis during the Shoah. As a grandchild of survivors, the Shoah has always been not only a part of my people's collective history but also of my family's history. Growing up, I heard countless stories of how my grandmother escaped from the camp, hid with her brother, and survived the war. She was the epitome of a survivor, and I find it fitting that today would have been her birthday - April 19. In Israel, though, the sentiment is exaggerated even further. Nearly everyone has a relative that perished, or fought, or was deeply connected to the Shoah.
Last year, we attended the national Yom Hashoah ceremony at Yad Vashem, the Israeli Holocaust memorial, with featured speeches from President Peres and Prime Minister Netanyahu. For the 10 AM siren, we happened to be at machane yehuda, our local open-air market. Everyone stood still, frozen where they were for the duration of the siren. Cars stopped, drivers and passengers stood on the road, shopkeepers became quiet, and the noisy shuk was silent for one whole minute in memory of the six million.
This year, we had to find a way to be a part of the broader Israeli community while engaging with our every-day lives. Last night, we watched part of the Yom Hashoah ceremony on a live stream, but after a few minutes, Jeremy had to get on a call to the States.
Jeremy's story:
Fortunately, I go to Rabbinical school, so making the day meaningful meant showing up and participating in our programs. We started the morning with our normal Thursday services, but our wonderful service leaders, Jessie and Vlad, placed pictures and bios on every-other seat in the sanctuary of someone who perished in the Shoah. Jessie asked us to keep their memories with us today as we davened. Throughout the service, there were references to the Shoah. The most poignant for me was when we said Kaddish. This version of Kaddish Yatom, often translated as the "mourner's prayer," was adapted by Elie Weisel. He placed the names of death camps and ghettos in the midst of the words. For the last few years, this adaptation has always been emotional for me as we read it. Not necessarily because of a personal connection to those places, but because of how it profoundly affected one service leader I saw a few years ago. The way that reading the names of these camps with Kaddish completely crippled this strong man brought the impact of the Shoah to the forefront of my emotions.
After our service, we went outside on the street and watched as cars stopped, foot traffic stopped, construction stopped (eventually), and life in general just stopped for one minute as the siren blared throughout the country. I could say more, but I think the video below says it all.
Sarah's story:
Since Yom Hashoah is not a national holiday like Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha'Atzmaut next week, today I was in the lab like any other Thursday. Instead of observing the siren alone, a few minutes before 10am I walked to the forum, the main gathering place on campus. The siren went off, and the hundreds of students and professors roaming this open gathering place froze. Some were sitting at tables, some were mid-stride, and some were mid-conversation. The scene reminded me "Out of this World," a television show we used to watch as kids where the main character had the ability to freeze time.
Looking around at all the people solemnly standing, there was a notable difference that I had not experienced last year. During the minute of the siren, Israeli Arabs just go on with their normal life. Amid the sea of statue-like students, there were a dozen or so people walking around, moving from class to class, and carrying on conversation as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on around them. I don't know that I expected anything different, but somehow I was shocked to see this happening.
On this Yom HaShoah, may we remember all those family members who we never got to know and all those who fought to survive so that we could live freely as Jews. Today I remember my great grandparents, Sonia and Moshe Anolik and Anuita (Chana) and Avraham Bekin, and my great-uncle Shmuel Bekin. I also honor the memory of my grandparents Esther and Nissan Ancoli who lived their lives as survivors of the Holocaust, and my great-uncles Benia and Lusik who continue to make sure that the world will never forget what happened. Zichronam L'Vracha, may the memories of the six million be a blessing.
No comments:
Post a Comment