This past Tuesday marked the beginning of Israel's Memorial Day. It started with a somber siren at 8pm. Every single person stops wherever they are for a moment of introspection. Even drivers on the road will stop their cars, get out, and stand for the minute. Yom HaZikaron offers an opportunity to witness the existential fear embedded in every Israeli (and Palestinian). I've heard that every Israeli knows at least one person who has died in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. For this reason, I was told by an Israeli friend that all of Wednesday most people sit at home and watch public broadcasting. A few who can muster it go to cemeteries to mourn their loved ones. For those not as effected by the day, there is plenty to do. On Tuesday night, the official ceremony is held at the Kotel. Tel Aviv University's International department also held a ceremony that involved music and singing. I myself went to "Remember a Common Future," an Israeli and Palestinian memorial ceremony jointly held by Combatants for Peace and Parents Circle. Unsurprisingly, they had trouble finding a venue that would hold this controversial event, so it was in the park. As I approached, I heard a rumble of loud voices and flags of Israel waving erratically in the distance. An eery tension was palpable in the air. I was late to the event, yet joined by a couple of other stragglers making their way to the sign that read "כניסה." Though I had friends already there, I decided to make the journey alone as I find emotional events easier to process alone. Electric candles lined the path from the entrance to the crowd. I joined the thousand plus other people standing before the stage. The speeches were alternating between Hebrew and Arabic, with subtitles in Arabic, Hebrew, and English. (Sorry for the poor quality, but hopefully it will provide a window into the experience) Music was played and stories of loss were told from both Arab and Jewish communities. Halfway through, a couple of my friends walked by. They said it was too much for them and they were leaving. I left shortly after and, as I headed away from the event, the shouts of the protestors grew louder. They had moved from the grass lawn to the parking lot. I stood there staring at them, contemplating the contrast between ways of coping with loss. Over there, a poignant showcase of people who choose to forgive and forge connections with "the enemy." Over here, a group so overcome with anger that they decry any gestures of togetherness. As I walked towards home, I felt two strong sentiments. First, conflict is tiring. It was for my Israeli friends who left the event early, doubly affected by the effusive speeches from "the enemy" and the derisive words from the protestors. It was for me as I grappled to see both points of views. Second, I felt a sense of hope. I'm not sure how many actually showed up, but 3,900 people said they were interested or going to this event. There were no more than 20 protestors. Maybe like me and like my friends people are getting tired of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict and recognize it is time to move in a new direction. |
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