Dear friends and family in The Golden Medina

(Originally published in The Times of Israel)

A seder enveloped by sirens and a heart rendering funeral motivated me to write to friends and family in the United States, some of whom have been in touch as well as the many who have not.

Family and friends:

This Passover, and last night’s seder in particular, is especially poignant and, in some ways, quite strange.  We know that many in the U.S. are opposed to the war or, if not that, are conflicted about it.  We know that includes many American Jews, including those that care about Israel.

We understand that position from an American perspective: the economy, being seen (wrongly, in our view) as the aggressor, the cost, the price of a gallon of gas, dislike of President Trump, lack of clear messaging, apparent lack of a well thought-out strategy, etc.

(We are also cognizant of the shock and the feelings of vulnerability and isolation that many American Jews feel due to the startling increase in Jew-hatred in America and around the world.)

Most Israelis, including us, see it from a different perspective. We see an axis that bombarded our north and south with missiles for over two decades, that viciously attacked us on Oct. 7, 2023, that continues to bombard us to this day, that repeatedly declares its intention to destroy us, that dedicates itself to developing the weapons to do so, and that appeared to becoming very close to being in a position to do so.

Regardless of possible differences in perspective, we REALLY APPECIATE the messages of concern and support we have received.  At a time when we are running for cover, when our lives and movement are restricted and fraught with danger, when we are sustaining injuries and deaths, when our young people are making the ultimate sacrifice, when our neighbors with young children are under incredible strain, when we are feeling very isolated and alone, your messages have been a lifeline, a reminder that people care, that we are not alone.

We’re hanging in there.  It does take its toll.  Everyone is weary. It seems that in Jerusalem the frequency of attacks has decreased a bit the last 48 hours. But we’ve had periods like that before.  The north is getting hit hard by Hezbollah.  And they get no warning—they have to get to a shelter in 15 seconds.

The center of the country and Tel Aviv are still getting hit hard by Iran.  Our daughter in Tel Aviv  had them at 9 and 9:30 Monday night and then, starting about 7:45 yesterday morning, had about four in the course of two hours.  Many were wondering how they would cook for the seder while running to shelters.

We had one yesterday morning at 5:30, and the run to shelter was a little harrowing. The warning went off.  We got up and started to head for the shelter.  The red alert/sirens started much sooner than usual.  So we were running.

Given my hip and back issues, that is hard for me without any warm-up.  As I got near the door, in addition to the usual booms, I heard a very loud metal-crashing sound.  (It was probably fragments landing fairly close.) Heart started pounding.

In the meantime, a woman who had jumped out of a car was blocking the doorway waiting for her friend.  I shoved her a bit so I could get in. (I later apologized.) First time I ever felt really threatened and a bit shaken.  Now I understand how people our age have heart attacks in these situations.

Just before sitting down for the seder last night around 6:30 p.m., and just before I was about to give instructions to our guests on what we would do if an alert went off, we had one.  So we all ran to the shelter, waited for the all-clear, walked back to the apartment, and started the seder.  It was a bit surreal.  The seder went smoothly.  Then we had another alert at 3:30 this morning.

On Monday night I went to a funeral on Mt. Herzl, the nation’s flagship military cemetery, for a 22 year-old “lone soldier” from New Haven, Connecticut. I did not know him.  “Lone soldiers” are what the name implies:  young men and women who come from abroad to volunteer in the Israeli army. Israelis are encouraged to go to these funerals to give the families support and to let them know that all of Israel appreciates their sacrifice.  There were about 300 people at Moshe Katz’ funeral.  It was tough.  https://www.timesofisrael.com/israeli-us-soldier-moshe-yitzchak-katz-killed-in-lebanon-laid-to-rest-in-jerusalem/

The path to the burial site took you through an area where there were many graves of young soldiers who have been killed in the last two years.  Most of the graves were piled with stones, notes, pictures, memorabilia placed on them by family and friends.  There were visitors to some of the graves.

There were, of course, quite a few soldiers at the funeral.  Boy, did they look young.  Kids. We lost four more soldiers in Lebanon in the last 48 hours. As you know, Israel is really a tiny country. These losses are felt by everyone.  Israelis pay a steep price for our freedom in a sovereign nation.

Given all of this, the Passover story--of slavery, of seeking freedom, of forming a nation, of entering into our own land and establishing sovereignty, of sacrifice, and of redemption—really hit home.  Poignant is an understatement.

As I mentioned, at this time in particular, the messages of those who have sent them have been VERY MEANINGFUL AND IMPORTANT to us, as they are to every Israeli with family or friends abroad. We cannot adequately express our appreciation.

Wishing you all a happy, meaningful, and peaceful Pesach.