There are certain things that trigger me, that bring me back to those dark, fearful days at the beginning of the war. Two years ago, I bought Chanukiot for my soldiers from a fellow warrior. I remember looking at these gorgeous resin-created Chanukiot during all eight days of the holiday in 2023 and seeing their emptiness. Neither soldier ever saw the Chanukiot that year; neither lit a single candle at home.
We are approaching the two-year memorial of the fall of Ephraim Jackman, a soldier, neighbor and friend who died in Gaza fighting for us soon after Chanukah at the beginning of 2024. I will always remember where I was when I heard and what it felt like for our community to go through such loss. And the cycle continues, as my sons return to grave after grave, family’s house after family’s house to remember their friends, their fellow soldiers.
It is not easy to rise from these memories, to figure out how to walk through such pain as individuals and a nation.
What I find myself doing is feeling disproportionate gratitude for little things these days. Shabbat Chanukah 2025 with all of the boys at home, with all of the Chanukiot lit, felt like the most precious gift. Visiting our oldest son at university, Finally. Finally. FINALLY!! seeing him in civilian clothes, learning and enjoying, running and smiling; it’s hard to explain how meaningful reaching such a milestone is. I see, as my American friends and family start to post acceptance videos for their 18-year-old children entering college that it’s just a given, obviously, that this will be their next step. The only given here is that they will give of themselves for years – and maybe those years will turn into far more years than they could possibly have expected; and maybe those years will include experiencing war and burying friend after friend after friend. University? What an overwhelming blessing. What a gift after so much giving, struggle and pain.
We’ve seen such horror in Australia in the past week, and it’s been interesting and telling to see how my children have reacted. My 12th grader just returned from a trip to Poland where they stepped on the sacred ground of our people’s blood; they sang and remembered, said Kaddish and listened to the Holocaust stories of their peers.
After the horrors in Australia, my son wrote us a note as he started to process his trip to Poland with the current realities. He wrote,
All of the trip in Poland I thought of that we don’t have another place in the world, walking in the city, walking around death and work camps and walking in the forests I kept thinking that there are still people in the world that believe that the Nazis were right and the Jews should all be killed. I landed in Israel and I felt at home, with all the terror attacks and people that hate us I feel at home and that I’m in the most safe place on Earth; no matter how comfortable you feel outside Israel you don’t truly have the ability to take up arms against those who want to kill you. It feels ironic but the safest place in the world is the country surrounded by people that want to kill us and we will never let them do what they want to do. We can defend ourselves and we will defend ourselves.עם ישראל חי
And then, we started brainstorming places we might like to take this son as a celebration when he graduates high school in June. We’ve thrown out various countries in Europe…and he quietly let us know that he’s not going anywhere where he’d need to wear a hat. “I’ll travel with you,” he said, “but if you ask me to cover up my kippah, I’m not going.”
This declaration gave us pause in two directions. One – what a beautiful message and belief in himself, to draw the red lines for himself with such conviction. Two – what a horrifying and shocking realization of the world today that this declaration gave us great pause. Where, exactly does that leave for our adventurous travels? Where is it safe to proudly declare our religion; and even if people say somewhere is safe today, will it still be safe tomorrow?
I am left with more questions than answers. But I’m also left understanding deeply that there are things more important than travel; more important than our desires or conveniences.
May I continue to receive small and large blessings in so many shapes and sizes. And may I have the honor and ability to recognize them and say thanks.
