No Words

Yom HaZikaron Reflection

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There’s no word for it. This day, this ceremony, this commemoration.

There’s no word for it. This overwhelming sense of grief, this deluge of emotion that pours from everywhere yet nowhere all at once.

There’s no word for it. This palpable connection that spreads miles wide and links every particle a country has to offer, from its pocket-sized palms to its calloused fingers.

There’s simply no word for any of this, no phrase or metaphor or story that could sum up the complexities meshed into the fabric of this day— a day that weaves together the nuanced narrative of this nation.

And just as my mind threatens to wander off into a world of “what if’s” and dares to lose itself in all the perpetual pandemonium that sprinkle my thoughts, just as my mind is consumed with dozens of names and stories, it stops. There’s a moment of silence, and it stops. The thoughts in my head, the hustle-bustle of the crowds, the fidgeting of the hands, it all stops— and there is only one sound. One sound to reflect the heaving sobs of a bereaved mother, one sound to impart the unmistakable pride felt by a seasoned father, one sound to disseminate the memories of an aching friend—a friend too young to fathom the harsh realities of loss. And one sound to broadcast the everlasting hope for peace.

It takes only one sound, and somehow it’s enough. Somehow, someway, it does its job. It doesn’t heal the wounds of pain or erase the scars of tragedy, but it declares an unconditional unity. A unity that is seventy years strong and growing seventy years stronger. A unity whose relentless battle to thrive as a nation and as a country has never been relinquished. A unity that binds together a love for the lost ones who had never met or crossed paths but never needed to because of the unspoken network that is the core of this country. A country that is a unity and a unity that is a country— there is not one without the other and there should never be. They co-exist even when a breath away from exhaustion— a lesson we should start learning from this definitive duality.

We keep asking ourselves to look into history and attempt to fix the foundations of this country that are ripping at its seams, repair the relations between the four tribes that make up Israel. But the answer is clearer than it’s ever been, the answer making itself clear as it rang true in the moment of silence: co-existence.

But that means coexisting with each other before we can attempt to end the lottery of loss that seems to play roll-call every year. That means compromising with the denominations we don’t understand— coexisting with those that forgo certain modernities for the traditions they tightly grasp. That means compromising our language, and stepping outside the comforts of Hebrew to extend our willingness to learn other cultures.

Compromise runs deep but co-existence runs deeper. And it runs deep and far and wide, but neither fast nor quick-footed. Its a slow marathon, a marathon of co-existence that doesn’t quite end until everyone has crossed the finish line. Together. As one people. Unified.