May we be worthy

On Tuesday evening, I glanced once again at that dreadful number of Israel's fallen -- 23,447 -- and then I went to a memorial ceremony in Tel Aviv's Tzahala neighborhood. All the classic aspects of a Memorial Day ceremony were there, with Nathan Alterman's poem, "The Silver Platter," and a piece by Yesh Atid leader Yair Lapid about how life as we knew it before disaster was now over. And the names -- Avi and Yiftach and Ilan and Natan and Yossi, and so many more -- flashed before my eyes.

Generations of Israelis, each leading up to that terrible number, have paid the ultimate price. Why does it have to be this way? A persecuted nation that wanted a piece of land where its forefathers lived. What is so special about this land with its names, like Jerusalem, Bethlehem, Anatot, and Kinarot Valley, that makes everyone want it-

Take Nir, for example. I knew him well. He was kind, playful, and determined. They murdered him because he safeguarded the secrets of the Jewish state, perhaps even more than was expected of him. And what about that name that is still unknown in part -- Bendel -- did I know him? His father, perhaps? And the names that have grown dim in my mind, the musical genius who insisted on fighting, and that prodigy Moshe Haviv, and who even remembers anymore? Former U.N. Ambassador Gad Yaacobi once wanted to pass a law that would prevent such gifted people from serving on the battlefield, but I am sure that Moshe would have never agreed to it.

And I am reminded of all this by the young boy and girl scouts at the ceremony. I looked at them. Recognized them. Some of them are my grandchildren. Do they understand this great miracle? Can they even understand it? What is a miracle to us, an objective miracle, is to them part of their daily routine. What a good thing. What a bad thing.

On Tuesday evening, some people stayed on the ceremony grounds and near the exhibition room, watching over the site. Sleeping next to the symbols. On Wednesday, they will go to the cemeteries, and then at night the big parties will begin, with fireworks as if to call out "we won" in Jerusalem's name. After all, we are here, the Jewish state, in the city that knew Abraham and the binding of Isaac, King David and the Temple that was destroyed. And there is nothing else like this -- a nation that returned to its homeland, revived its ancient language and bounced back from Auschwitz to the nuclear reactor in Dimona.

My mother never asked me for anything, except that come what may, I live in this country. Now, as I watched the young generation, I wanted to pass along my mother's wish. We can add the provision that the land remain worthy of them -- or perhaps the other way around: That they remain worthy of this land.

טעינו? נתקן! אם מצאתם טעות בכתבה, נשמח שתשתפו אותנו