prayers & passages

Yom Yerushalayim

We recently celebrated Yom Yerushalayim (“Jerusalem Day”), a holiday little known outside of Israel. It honors the reunification of the city, which occurred in 1967 during the Six Days War. Due to the complicated nature of ArabIsraeli relations throughout Israel’s history, it is a day of mixed emotions. Many rejoice on this holiday, while others are more subdued.

As a young girl attending a Modern Orthodox Hebrew Day School, my education on Jerusalem (and Israel in general) was biblically-based. Jerusalem was the holiest city, and we were taught that someday we would all return there to live by some miraculous event involving the coming of the Messiah. Later, as a teenager who attended public high school and an after-school Judaic Studies program, I was fascinated by what I learned about the modern State of Israel: its people, history, and culture. It was difficult to reconcile my two disparate visions: the land of milk and honey from the Bible and the contemporary society that had been built on the sweat and ingenuity of its pioneers. It was only when I moved to Israel, first on a college program and then by making Aliyah, that I began to weave these threads together.

I lived in Jerusalem during my first year in Israel. A travel guidebook led me on selfguided walking tours of various hidden gems: old neighborhoods where washing hung on apartment balconies and kids played in the streets, pretty gardens tucked away in little-known locations. These contrasted with the hustle and bustle of modern life found downtown: busy shops and cafés on Ben Yehuda Street, the Israeli Knesset (“Parliament”), and the modern dorms I lived in as a student at the Hebrew University on Mt. Scopus.

My favorite spot in all of Jerusalem is Ein Karem, a mountain village just minutes from downtown Jerusalem. Its tranquil setting belies a complicated history dating back to at least the Second Temple era, where, as the birthplace of John the Baptist, it became a holy place to Christians. I frequently descended from the crowded neighborhoods that overlooked the valley until I reached the bottom, meandering through the narrow, cobbled streets, and soaking in the quiet surrounding me.

Years later, well after my six years as a resident of Israel, I returned a few times to visit. In earlier years, with a toddler in tow, our agenda revolved mainly around visiting her Dad’s family. Later, however, in between watching my then-teen play water polo matches at the Maccabiah Games (winning the gold medal for the USA!), I again explored this holiest of cities. Sleek modern rail transit had replaced the older buses; and a vast, contemporary shopping mall was now within walking distance of the Old City walls.

The Kotel (Western Wall) was still an exhilarating sight. Now, however, as a cantorial student, I felt the weight of the religious significance of this holy site on my shoulders more deeply than I had previously. I edged closer and closer to the Wall and cautiously pulled out my tallit, wrapping it around my shoulders.

“She’s wearing a tallit!” someone exclaimed in English. To the Orthodox, this was the purview of men; and while I did not want to offend anyone, I pressed forward until my hand touched the Wall. Pulling out my small siddur, I began to pray, very much at peace. There was room for all of us here, I believed, regardless of our spiritual inclination.

On Yom Yerushalayim, I thought about my last visit to Yad Vashem, the World Holocaust Remembrance Center in Jerusalem. There the horrors of the genocide of our people are laid bare; and one cannot leave without feeling enormous gratitude that in our lifetime, a place exists for all Jews to call home should they so choose. For all the challenges faced by Israel throughout its relatively brief existence — in particular those who have lived through Jerusalem’s troubled history — I honor those who fought bravely to enable us to reach this special day.