The Essence of the Jewish Soul

It is our refusal to assimilate fully into anyone else’s culture, our absolute commitment to our own tradition, at any cost — and yet our grief for this cost.

Please consider supporting our mission to help everyone better understand and become smarter about the Jewish world. A gift of any amount helps keep our platform free and zero-advertising for all.

---

This is a guest essay written by Elissa Wald of Never Alone.

You can also listen to the podcast version of this essay on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, and Spotify.

Share this essay using the link: https://www.futureofjewish.com/p/the-essence-of-the-jewish-soul

---

Today is Israel’s Independence Day and yesterday was its Memorial Day.

Both represent the essence of the Jewish soul: our refusal to assimilate fully into anyone else’s culture, our absolute commitment to our own tradition, at any cost — and yet our grief for this cost, which is terrible, continual, and exacted in every age and place.

While Israel’s Memorial Day is hard and mournful, I am struck — as always — by how meaningful and appropriately observed it is compared to its counterparts in other countries.

I feel this way throughout the year, in response to virtually every holiday we share some version of with our dominant societies in the Diaspora.

Back when I lived in New York City, an American friend once explained to me why she hated New Year’s Eve. “I can drink until I puke any night of the year,” she told me. “On New Year’s Eve, I can’t get a cab.”

I was never that heavy a drinker, but in my young adulthood, New Year’s Day usually involved a hangover of at least some intensity. It was not an inspiring or uplifting way to start a new year.

Contrast that American norm with the meaning and beauty of the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah. They are light-years apart in emotion and tone. Even in my 20s, I did not have to think about which I liked more.

It is the same with Memorial Day. In America, for instance, the occasion means three-day weekend trips, barbecues, and blowout sales.

In Israel, the day is not distanced or divorced from what it actually represents in any way. Our grief for our fallen is all-pervasive and powerful. All public entertainment venues are shut down. The day’s trademark feature is the wail of a siren that’s blasted to every corner and crevice of the country, during which the entire nation goes entirely still for two full minutes.

This happens twice within the 24 hours of Israel’s Remembrance Day: at 8 pm the evening it begins, and at 11 am the next morning. Cars pull to the side of the road and the passengers climb out to stand as stiff as sentries, even in the middle of the highway. Pedestrians freeze on the sidewalk of Tel Aviv or the cobblestones of Jerusalem. It is an extraordinary sight.

Yesterday, during Memorial Day in Israel, I came across the work of renowned Israeli poet Natan Alterman (who moved to the Jewish state from Warsaw at the age of 15). Its title is “The Silver Platter” and there are countless English translations, yet this is my personal favorite:

The Silver Platter

Translator not identified

So the land grows still. Red fades in the sky
Over smoking frontiers in Israel.
Heartsick but breathing, the people greet
The wonder that has no parallel.
Beneath the moon, they stand and wait,
Facing the dawn in awe and joy;
Then slowly towards the waiting throng
Two step forth – a girl and a boy.
Clad for work and for war, heavy shod and still,
Up the winding path they make their way,
Their clothes unchanged, still soiled with the grime
Of the battle-filled night and the toilsome day.
Weary past telling, strangers to sleep,
But wearing their youth like dew in their hair,
Dumb they approach. – Are they living or dead?
Who knows, as they stand unmoving there.
Tear-stained, wondering, the people ask,
“Who are you?” – softly reply the two,
“We are the silver platter, on which
The Jewish State is handed you!”
In shadow they fall when their tale is told –
The rest let Israel’s story unfold.

It was this poem I had in mind the other day when I chided that young, trans, anti-Zionist Jew, saying that — as she is enjoying her life, which she gets to live fully as herself — she would do well to remember that every day, she is feasting at the table set by liberalism and democracy. She has been handed that freedom on the silver platter this poem invokes.

The second offering that I would like to share is a letter I read yesterday, by fallen IDF soldier Sergeant First Class Joseph Gitarts. The idea that, at such a young age, he had the forethought and character to write it feels so emblematic of the Israeli character to me. Israeli kids grow up not taking their country for granted and knowing they will all be expected to serve in its defense when they reach the age of 18 — and that they possibly might even make the ultimate sacrifice for it.

I think this breeds a very different character than cosseted kids who expect the years following high school to be a four-year keg party.

At any rate, here is the beautiful letter this lion of Zion left for his parents in the event of his death on the battlefield:

Dear Mom and Dad,

I love you very much. Everything is as it is supposed to be. I have chosen this. I had a good and interesting life. And yet, I was never afraid of death. I could have skipped reserve duty and hid. But this would contradict everything I believe in and appreciate, and who I consider myself to be. So I didn’t really have a choice, and I would do the same if I could choose again. I came to this decision by myself and stuck with it until the end. I fell proudly for the sake of my people.

I have no regrets.

I love you very much and I am proud that you are my parents. You gave me a lot. I had a very interesting, happy, unique life. My death only highlights it. Undoubtedly, you are in deep pain. But you will manage it. I would like it a lot. It is the main thing that I want. Both of you have many close people who will support you.

Please, find something positive in all of this. Spend time with your grandchildren. Help Israel.

I am OK.

---