As Yom Hazikaron gives way to Yom Ha’atzmaut, the Jewish heart moves through one of the holiest passages in our calendar.
Tonight, we do not move
from sorrow to joy because the sorrow is over. We move from sorrow to
joy because the sorrow made the joy possible. We remember those who gave
their lives so that the Jewish people could live free in our ancestral
homeland, defend ourselves in our own language, raise our children under
our own flag, and stand among the nations not as wanderers at their
mercy, but as a sovereign people restored to history.
Yom Hazikaron asks
something sacred of us. It asks us to remember that Israel was not born
in theory. It was born in sacrifice. It was built by men and women who
understood that Jewish survival could no longer depend on the goodwill
of others. It would require courage, responsibility, and a willingness
to bear the burden of freedom.
And then comes Yom Ha’atzmaut.
Seventy-eight years.
Seventy-eight years of Jewish sovereignty after exile, persecution,
dispersion, and catastrophe. Seventy-eight years of reviving an ancient
language, rebuilding a nation, defending a homeland, gathering exiles,
cultivating the desert, creating beauty, producing wisdom, and proving
to the world that the Jewish people did not return to history to
disappear from it again.
That is not merely politics. That is not merely statecraft. It is something close to a miracle.
And yet this year, we do not mark the miracle lightly.
We do so in the long
shadow of October 7. We do so after a year in which Israelis and Jews
everywhere were forced to remember, once again, that freedom is never
self-sustaining. We do so under the shadow of war with Iran, with
uncertainty still hanging in the air and the possibility that the
ceasefire may not hold. We do so knowing that the threats around us have
not disappeared, and that the burden of vigilance remains.
But if the past year has reminded us of danger, it has also reminded us of something else: the depth of Jewish courage.
It has reminded us that
there are still young men and women willing to stand between our people
and those who would destroy us. It has reminded us that the State of
Israel is not an abstraction. It is a living covenant of responsibility
between generations. It is the promise that Jewish blood will not be
abandoned again. It is the answer our grandparents prayed for—and the
answer our children will one day judge us by.
This is why we must hold both days together.
Without Yom Hazikaron,
Yom Ha’atzmaut becomes shallow. Without Yom Ha’atzmaut, Yom Hazikaron
becomes unbearable. One tells us what was paid; the other tells us why
it was worth paying. One sanctifies memory; the other sanctifies
purpose.
So tonight, as we
remember the fallen and celebrate the rebirth of Jewish sovereignty, let
us do so with humility, gratitude, and resolve.
Let us honor the memory
of those who gave everything not only with tears, but with the kind of
Jewish future worthy of their sacrifice.
Let us build a stronger Israel.
Let us build a prouder Jewish people.
Let us build children who know who they are, where they come from, and what this flag has cost.
Let us never again take sovereignty for granted.
And
let us never forget that the existence of Israel, after everything,
remains one of the most extraordinary chapters in the story of our
people.
May the memories of Israel’s fallen be a blessing.
May the wounded find healing.
May Israel’s defenders be protected.
And may the State of Israel continue to stand, to thrive, and to shine as a sign that the Jewish story is not over.
Am Yisrael Chai.
Happy Yom Ha’atzmaut!
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