Dear TBZ Community,
This morning during Boker Tov (“Good Morning,” TBZ’s daily morning prayer practice), I burst into tears. Today is Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day, and I found myself unsure how to mark it.
This day holds a miracle: the return of the Jewish people to the land of our ancestors after centuries of exile, the rebirth of a homeland in the shadow of the Holocaust. And yet it also carries a deep wound: the ongoing pain of war, the Nakba (the Arab term for the displacement of Palestinians during the 1948 Arab-Israeli War, and the enduring trauma of displacement and conflict). We are living in a time when the vision laid out in Megilat Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s Declaration of Independence, feels heartbreakingly distant:
מדינת ישראל…תהא מושתתה על יסודות החירות
הצדק והשלום לאור חזונם של נביאי ישראל
תקיים שוויון זכויות חברתי ומדיני גמור לכל אזרחיה בלי הבדל דת, גזע ומין; תבטיח חופש דת, מצפון, לשון, חינוך ותרבות
The state of Israel… will be based on precepts of liberty,
justice and peace taught by the Hebrew prophets;
will uphold the full social and political equality of all its citizens without distinction of race, creed or sex;
will guarantee full freedom of conscience, worship, education and
culture;
The transition from Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day, to Yom Ha’atzmaut has always been emotionally demanding. It asks us to move, in a single breath, from one day to the next, from mourning to celebration. We remember all those who have died, including IDF soldiers, victims of terror, and, since October 7th, so many more lives lost. The heartbreak is compounded daily.
For years, many of us have found meaning in the Joint Israeli-Palestinian Memorial Ceremony, which TBZ co-sponsors, organized by The Parents Circle – Families Forum (PCFF), formerly known as the Israeli-Palestinian Bereaved Families for Peace. It has offered a sacred space to hold shared grief, a place where the humanity of both peoples is honored through mourning. And yet, this year, on April 29th, even this act of compassion was attacked.
During a screening of the ceremony at Beit Samueli – Kehilat Ra’anan, a Reform synagogue in a suburb of Tel Aviv, right-wing protesters gathered outside, shouting insults and attempting to block attendees from entering. The protest turned violent. Attendees were trapped inside, protected by police.
My dear friend, Rabbi Chen Ben Or Tsfoni of Kehilat Ra’anan, shared a powerful reflection:
“We never imagined that an act of solidarity would turn into a night of fear… That our congregants, trapped inside, would need protection from large police forces, fearing for their lives.
The scenes from last night echo dark chapters in our history, when Jews were attacked in their houses of prayer. But this time, the horror was compounded: the attackers were Jews themselves. It is natural to feel anger or even hatred. But we must resist. We must not let hatred claim our hearts.
The path from sorrow to hope is not linear. Grief and healing, despair and faith—they coexist. Jewish tradition teaches us that we cry with the same eyes through which we laugh.”
These words speak to the spiritual challenge of this moment. My social media feed is filled with Israelis and families of the hostages holding signs that read: “There is no independence until they are all home.”
This week’s Torah portion, Tazria-Metzora, focuses on laws of impurity. One verse, Leviticus 15:31, caught my attention this week:
וְהִזַּרְתֶּם אֶת־בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵל מִטֻּמְאָתָם וְלֹא יָמֻתוּ בְּטֻמְאָתָם בְּטַמְּאָם אֶת־מִשְׁכָּנִי אֲשֶׁר בְּתוֹכָם
You shall put the Israelites on guard against their impurity, lest they die through their impurity by defiling My Tabernacle which is among them.
The Torah urges us to be vigilant, to separate ourselves from impurity, our own impurity, as a warning that unchecked impurity has the power to defile God’s Tabernacle and lead us toward death.
The Zohar reads the word “vehizartem” (usually translated as “you shall separate,” “you should be careful” or “you should guard against”) as related to zarut, לשון זרות (Zohar III 5) meaning “estrangement.” This interpretation shifts the verse from a technical instruction to a spiritual warning: when we become estranged from our core values – when we live in fear, hatred, or wield power disconnected from holiness – we risk defiling that which is sacred. When estrangement overtakes empathy, even our most sacred spaces become vulnerable.
My spouse, Rabbi Ebn Leader, in the second of a powerful three-part essay, explores how we might understand Yom HaShoah and Yom Ha’atzmaut within the context of our religious and spiritual lives. He poses this question:
“Regardless of the intentions of those who established these holidays— Is Yom Ha’atzmaut a Jewish holiday that expresses a particular divine energy that we need to return to each year, or is it an Israeli or Zionist holiday that commemorates a specific political achievement?”
He continues:
“It may take a century or more before we can answer this question with confidence, but I believe that Yom HaShoah and Yom Ha’atzmaut, taken together, express something greater than the political reality of the State of Israel. If that is true, we will need to consider how this understanding shapes our response to these calendar dates.”
Later in the essay, he offers this insight:
“The sequence of Yom HaShoah followed by Yom Ha’atzmaut—when viewed as Jewish, not only Israeli—creates a vessel for reconnecting to our collective story and sacred rhythms, integrating them into our lives.”
I echo Ebn’s framing, along with the fear he names. And perhaps this helps me understand the reason I found myself in tears this morning:
“As I write, in the spring of 2025, I feel a deeper fear for the future of these Jewish experiments—in Israel and in the United States—than I ever have before. In both places, fascism, disregard for the rule of law, worship of power, racism, and religious fundamentalism are growing stronger, threatening Jewish communities from within and without.
For years, I’ve moved between these two communities, listening to people in each express genuine worry that the *other* might collapse or disappear, even as they hoped their own might somehow endure. Good, brave people are standing up for what is right. But it’s getting harder to hold onto confidence, and easier to feel consumed by worry”.
Ebn closes his essay with a profound suggestion:
“Right now, more than ever, we need to rally around the experience of growing and making mistakes—so that we can recognize where fear and inherited trauma bring out our worst selves. We must fight dishonesty. We must help each other—Americans and Israelis—to see our blind spots. We must speak in ways our Jewish siblings can hear. We must be there for one another.
This is why I believe in chanting Hallel on Yom Ha’atzmaut.
When we sing B’tzeit Yisrael miMitzrayim (when Israel left Egypt…) at the start of Hallel, we celebrate the end of our time as guests—welcome or reviled—in others’ lands.
And when we cry out Ana Hashem hoshi’a na (Please God, save us!) at the end, we acknowledge how far we are from resolving the immense task of living with responsibility wherever we strive to do so.”
These words invite us to reflect on the deeper spiritual arc of this season. What are we returning to in these days between destruction and renewal, between unbearable loss and fragile hope? What are we being called to sanctify—not only in memory, but in vision?
Returning to the verse from our parashah, our Torah portion, how do we ensure we do not become estranged, but instead infuse our sanctuaries, the spaces we inhabit, with holiness, allowing God’s presence to dwell among us?
This Shabbat, may we be guided not by estrangement, but by holiness.
May we cry and laugh with the same eyes.
And may we never stop walking the path from sorrow to hope, from exile to return, from darkness to light.
We also pray for the burning hills around Jerusalem, and for the first responders working tirelessly to confront this devastating climate disaster.
May this Shabbat bring us peace, strength, and clarity, as we find the courage to forgive, to heal, and to move forward—together—knowing we do not walk this journey alone, and that God’s presence lives within each of us.
May God grant blessings and comfort to all of us and our loved ones.
May we discover strength, courage, and patience. May our hearts remain open to generosity. May those who are ill find healing.
May all remaining hostages return home soon.
May peace prevail, and may our leaders prioritize life. May those working for peace be granted the strength and courage to continue their sacred work.
And may we soon witness peace and dignity for all.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia