Today is Yom Hazikaron leShoah v'leG'vura, Holocaust and Heroism Remembrance Day, commonly known as Yom HaShoah among American Jews. It is precisely what its name suggests - a day dedicated to the memory of Holocaust victims, the lives of Holocaust survivors, and the heroes that make such a day possible.
Last night there were Holocaust Memorial ceremonies held in every kibbutz, moshav, town, and city throughout Israel. At our own in Kibbutz Naan, the dining hall was set up with rows upon rows of chairs facing a stage and a screen. Upon entering, you first heard a recording of names being read, slowly and methodically - family members of kibbutznikim who were killed in the Holocaust. The program began with a young girl playing an accompanied piece on clarinet. It was not introduced, was given no title, and when the girl finished nobody applauded. This was not a performance, this was a ceremony. She sought no recognition for her talent for she was merely using it fill the room with an atmosphere befitting memory and respect.
A Yizkor, remembrance, passage was read. Other kibbutznikim read stories, excerpts, and anything else that could best honor the dead and surviving. Sad songs in minor keys were sung, and we watched a short documentary. At the end, we sang Shir Hapartizanim Hayihudim, Song of the Jewish Partisans, and the ceremony came to a close. The audience was entirely silent throughout the presentations - no clapping, no commenting, no whispering. Even children recognized the solemnity of this memorial.
Today work resumed as usual but even there the atmosphere was somewhat lugubrious, heavy. The Galgalatz radio station played but without any of the American pop music that makes the station so beloved. Instead we heard Israeli songs, Jewish songs, songs of heritage and hope, of memory and faith and pride.
And at 10:00, the music stopped and the sirens began, all of us together standing guard over our collective memory.
(At right: Video footage of the Tel Aviv Highway during the sirens on Yom HaShoah, 2008.)
But today is not just Yom HaShoah, for today we added yet another thought in our contemplation: the death of Osama Bin Laden.
When I arrived at work this morning one of the men came to me and said "Did you hear the news? Bin Laden was killed."
I thought certainly this was some incomprehensible joke.
My doubt was dismissed when I saw the BBC article on his computer - indeed, Bin Laden is dead. I didn't know how to feel. For 10 years we have been chasing this man. Ten years. From the time I was in 7th grade when I sat in Orchestra rehearsal and heard something about a tower collapsing and was unable to grasp the severity or gravity of the situation, this man's name has lurked somewhere in our minds. After so long, he almost seemed like some evil character in a comic book, about as real as a two-dimensional costumed villain with a maniacal grin and a thought bubble. But there is nothing fake about a BBC article on a computer screen boldly portraying the title "Osama Bin Laden is Dead."
With his death, the wound of 9/11 is re-examined and as I listened to President Obama's speech I cried at the memory of the single most catastrophic event ever caused by a human being in the United States. Memories I didn't know I had surfaced, and just as I wept for Holocaust victims I never knew, so, too, did I weep for the more modern victims of baseless hatred. How fitting, then, that the two events should coincide.
In Judaism, we are told to "Never forget." This is not just an admonition to remember the Holocaust; no, it is much more than that. Never forget the Holocuast; never forget the pogroms; never forget the expulsions; never forget the Inquisition; never forget the destruction; never forget the hate. Because if we are ever to forget, it will happen again.
Now, 56 years following the end of World War II, we can proudly proclaim that the world has been rid of yet another evil human being, but let us not be so naive as to believe that someone's death marks the end of hateful rhetoric. Hitler's defeat did not mark the end of anti-Semitism, and Bin Laden's death does not mean Islamic extremists will suddenly abandon their guns and bombs. So as Jews vow to never forget the wrongs that were done to us, I feel that all of us as global citizens should vow to never forget the atrocities of terrorism in the past decade. But more challenging than the task of never forgetting is the task of forgiving. Never forgetting does not mean harboring hatred, for if those memories cause us to viciously hate those who are innocent we become no better than our enemies. Instead, we must keep the memory in our minds while we open our hearts to compassion for those who suffer the same injustices we have suffered.
Never again. Never forget. Always remember. Always live.
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