Yom HaShoah, Yom Hazikaron, and Yom Ha'atzmaut (Or, send in the clowns)

These are days of awe.

On Yom HaShoah we lament those who were eradicated and praise those who chose not to be as easily so.

On Yom Hazikaron we esteem and grieve our fallen defenders.

On Yom Ha’atzmaut we celebrate the reconstitution of our place on this earth.

However, every other day of the year we mockingly undermine those events, the great spirit of our reconstitution, and especially the fallen.

Therefore I say, that on these very days of pageant commiseration we mock them still—mock them with our moments of silence, mock them with our shallow commemoration, and mock them with our flags.

I am incensed by our feeble annual symbolisms and by how hollow the root causes of these days echo in our minds as they pass by, year by year by year.

We have accomplished so much in these last 60 years but have yet to undo that self-destructive thing within us that we still allow to dwindle our numbers, devastate our spirit, and jeopardize our Birthright: an existence exceeding a contentment with life hanging constantly in the balance.

Our Birthright is dignity. Our Birthright is life. Our Birthright is grand legacy.

All of the parties, barbecues, religious services, ceremonies, and dusty flags unfurling are just more and more bread for the ever-growing circus that the state of Israel has become, and of which we are growing increasingly dim and oblivious.

It is my passionate hope that we merit 60 more years, but that within them we tire from the notions of mere survival and pragmatics defined by an acceptance of Jewish collateral damage. But most of all, that we begin exercising the Birthright through our own will to power.


Enjoy the Frankness!