Rabbi’s Message, April 29, 2025
By Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan
This week, the majority of the world’s Jews find themselves walking a uniquely Israeli — and deeply human — journey: the passage from Yom HaZikaron, Israel’s Memorial Day, to Yom Ha’Atzmaut, Israel’s Independence Day. Only in Israel are these two days placed side by side on the calendar, separated not by days or even by a night, but by the sound of a siren — and the silence that follows.
It is jarring. It is sacred. It is intentional.
Yom HaZikaron invites us into grief. We remember soldiers and victims of terror, lives cut short in the defense of the Jewish homeland; additionally, this year, our sorrow is compounded by the absence of our nearly 60 remaining hostages. And yet, within a matter of hours, we are thrust into the exuberant celebrations of national rebirth and resilience. How are we to make sense of such emotional whiplash?
Psychologically and spiritually, the answer may lie in the wisdom of avodah — the sacred work — of grief itself. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel once wrote, “The deeper the sorrow, the closer it brings us to the edge of meaning.” When we allow ourselves to fully encounter sorrow — to name it, to feel it, and not to rush past it — we open space in our hearts for something transformative.
Modern psychological research supports this. According to Dr. Brené Brown, “We cannot selectively numb emotions. When we numb the painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.” In other words, to genuinely feel joy, we must first make room for grief. Our tradition mirrors this truth. Ecclesiastes teaches, “There is a time to weep and a time to laugh… a time to mourn and a time to dance” (Kohelet 3:4). These times are not meant to be isolated from one another; rather, they are intrinsically linked.
This week’s transition from Yom HaZikaron to Yom Ha’Atzmaut is not meant to be comfortable. It is meant to be real. In that liminal moment, as the tears of remembrance give way to the flags and fireworks of celebration, we are reminded that the miracle of Jewish sovereignty did not arrive without cost. And yet, because we acknowledge that cost, our celebration becomes more authentic, more grounded, and more grateful.
This is a lesson not only for the national story of Israel, but for our personal lives as well. When we honor our own losses — when we sit shivah for our griefs, both large and small — we don’t get stuck in the sadness. Rather, we build the emotional foundation of resilience and wholeness upon which joy can be securely placed.
May we honor this sacred journey from mourning to joy. May we remember those whose sacrifices made Israel’s independence possible. And may our own lives reflect the wisdom of holding both sorrow and celebration, each in their time.
With blessings of strength, remembrance, and renewal—
