In my statistics class last year, we used European survey data (ESS) to learn SPSS software. I remember one example, where we examined whether immigrants in a given country had more national pride than those born there. In most cases, the answer was no, and that made sense. There are so many reasons people leave their homes: some hopeful, others heartbreaking.
But I knew, even before seeing the numbers, that Israel would be different.
We aren’t strangers here. We are family members returning home.
I’m an immigrant, living in a largely immigrant community, and we are fiercely proud to be Israeli.
Since making aliyah, Yom Ha’atzmaut has always been one of my favorite days of the year. My whole family dresses in blue and white. We have a big barbecue with friends, and watch in awe at the strength of the air force during the annual flyover. It’s a day of joy, of gratitude, of pride.
Working in social change NGOs for the past decade, I know that Israel is not perfect. There’s so much room to grow, and so much that must change. But for one day each year, I allow myself to put that aside. One day to celebrate the beautiful, miraculous existence of our country.
Last year, though, I couldn’t celebrate.
It felt wrong to be joyful while the country was at war. Everything was still so raw. Names were being added almost daily to the list we mourn on Yom HaZikaron. The grief was too fresh, too encompassing. I didn’t know how to mark the day.
In the end, we took the kids to the new zoo in Be’er Sheva. It felt like a good compromise – a way to stay grounded with my family, in the present. It was a beautiful day. But it didn’t feel like Yom Ha’atzmaut.
I missed that sense of exuberance, of unity, of uncomplicated pride.
Now, a year later, we are still at war.
Internally, our divisions feel deeper than ever. Right and left, Haredi and secular. And while, thank God, the losses have slowed, they have not stopped.
Fifty-nine hostages remain in Gaza. We are not whole. We are not at peace.
And yet, somehow, I feel it is time to celebrate again.
Time to take one day and deeply, wholeheartedly appreciate what we have. Because even now, there is so much good, and so much to be thankful for.
The day after Yom Ha’atzmaut, I will return to our complicated, painful, beautiful reality. I have no choice. We all live in it.
But on Yom Ha’atzmaut, I want to return to that simple truth:
We are sovereign in our land. We are home.
And for now, that is enough.
