The Only Country We Have

There is no better time to contemplate the miracle of this tiny country than the back-to-back national holidays of the state: Memorial Day and Independence Day. Neither the terrible sacrifice of life that has been made here nor the enduring imperative to achieve peace can minimize that miracle. Jerusalem, the bustling capitol set against the walls of the old city and across seven hills, brings to life a rich history emanating from ancient stones. Tel Aviv, now celebrating its centennial, is the Hebrew city on the sea that grew out of barren sand into a thriving Mediterranean metropolis. Young Israelis, representing a kaleidoscope of origins and languages, give the best years of their youth to serve this country as the first line of defense; and soon enough, after post-army travel to Goa or Peru, they return home to join Israel's great leap into the 21^st century.

And yet, the rapid progress and enormous growth is trapped in tragic confrontation with old wounds and dark memories. No can one hide from the chilling insecurities or debilitating hatreds that shadow our sovereign, independent Jewish life. No one can ignore the iron-hot reality of conflict that engulfs us. The simple fact is that with all of our successes, all of the thrilling advancements this small nation has produced, the one achievement required for normal existence, essential to the future of our children and the vision of Zionism, eludes us to this day: Peace with our neighbors.

We are a complex people.  We rue and we rejoice.  We cry and we exult. We rend our hearts on one day, and set off fireworks on the next.  Each year, as if for the first time, I am struck by the double-edged nature of these holidays, by the bifurcated existence of our lives here.  And yet, as the popular Hebrew song goes, ein lanu eretz aharet, this is the only country we have.  When the siren blasts in every city and town for two minutes, and the traffic stands still and homes go silent to commemorate the 22,570 who died in defense of Israel; when young soldiers in freshly pressed uniforms stand alert at the Kotel in honor of the fallen; or when, the next day, young pilots fly in formation over the Knesset in dazzling jets draped in blue and white, I am moved to tears.