Public Thoughts To be Read At The Rosh Hashanah Table

Rosh Hashanah 2014— Year 5775 of proud Jewish history  

By Talia Carner
            The New Year has always been a time of reflection about life within the broader context of one's relationship with others and one’s relationship with God. For atheists, the latter is an examination the moral values by which each of us lives. This is the time of spiritual reconnection with Jewish traditions and of remembering those who, over generations of persecution, were killed for the single sin of their faith.
            The tradition of eating sweet foods carries with it the optimism of a sweet new year. It is a new beginning, a sweet chance to start over.
            All across the globe, Jews share these moments—and the hope carried in them. This sharing of rituals ties us all together and remind us that no Jew is ever alone.
            Yet, as a community, we are often alone. Friends of the Jews come and go, their loyalty never taken for granted. This year, Rosh Hashanah falls in the midst of rise of anti-Semitism sweeping the through Europe, Africa and Asia, and has landed right in our midst at the Manhattan's UN building. The centrality of Jewish identity—the Jews’ right for self-definition and sovereignty in their own land—has been challenged not only by ignoramus, but by intellectuals in leading universities, mainstream media and civic organizations claiming to be unbiased and inclusive.
            Rosh Hashanah now stands to remind us that hate can come knocking on our door first with words, followed by denying our identity, then erasing the lessons of our history, and continues with biased resolutions and economic boycotts. Before long, it is with , and guns, bombs, and showers of thousands of rockets that no empty promises of “never again” are able to stop.         
            Let the fresh start of Rosh Hashanah therefore remind us how much pride we take in Jewish extraordinary achievements in science and medicine, unsurprisingly reflected in Israel’s miraculous contributions to technology, agriculture and science.

            Israel makes us walk tall. Without her, Jews would have been like the Gypsies and Kurds of the world. Yet, she is now in mortal danger of a war orchestrated by enemies delighted to sacrifice the lives of millions of their people to see the Jews disappear from the Middle East.
            As we move into the New Year, let us bless all the good things the world has given us while we send our prayers for those who have already been taking the first bullet for us--and this year, 67 beautiful souls of Israeli soldiers did just that. Their friends will continue to do so to preserve a home for all Jews persecuted in their countries. And as we do so, let us search within ourselves whether we have done all we could for Israel and its people who need us now more than ever.
            Several years ago, then-Israel’s president Shimon Peres said that even Ben-Gurion had not dreamed big enough. Let us dream big tonight—stretch our dreams to encompass all the vast possibilities of hope, and let us dream tonight of a world of peace.
            Let’s bless all the good things God has given us so far, and celebrate our resilience and our heritage of strong Jewish values that we have shared with the world over for centuries. And let's allow that dream bring joy to our hearts and to our Rosh Hashanah table.
            Amen.
           
Author, speaker and activist Talia Carner lives in New York. Her next novel, Hotel Moscow (HarperCollins, summer 2015) deals with anti-Semitism and Jewish identity.   www.TaliaCarner.com.       
            

MEMORIAL DAY IN TEL-AVIV

On a highway, Israelis stop their cars and stand next to them in honor of the fallen soldiers in its many wars for survival

          Ernest Hemingway said that each person is a product of the landscape of both his native land and his adoptive land.
          I feel the power of the statement as I glance at the car-clock and register that it is almost eleven o'clock. I squeeze my rented Mazda into a parking space in front of a beauty parlor when the melancholic music playing on the national radio since yesterday’s evening is abruptly cut. A siren pierces the Tel-Aviv skies. A long, sharp, straight B Minor shrill joins the echo of dozens of others, and together they weave a thick, pulsating blanket that holds the city in its demanding urgency.
          The signal for the moment of silence in honor of the men and women killed in the battles of Israel marks Memorial Day.
          My car is still lopsided against the sidewalk like a novocained grin. I fling the door open and jump out and stand at attention. As if in a surreal Medieval fable, I am reminded of the sleep curse cast upon a kingdom, where the citizens all fall asleep at the same instant, wherever they are: at the cooking pot, on the milking bench, by the water well.
          Across the street in the schoolyard, a group of soccer players is frozen into stillness as the ball continues its slow roll. The boys' expressions are solemn. No snickering, no sneak elbowing. Up and down the street, cars have stopped. Their owners are standing still outside the open doors. Through the beauty shop window I see the hairdresser standing erect. Two customers have ejected themselves from the bubbles of hair dryers and are glued to the spots where their feet have landed.
          Strangers to one another, we stand united by the images floating on the projection screens of our minds. We see fresh faces, taut bodies, eager eyes, optimistic smiles--men who are no longer with us. Carved in time, the dead remain forever young.
          I lower my head and allow a wave of sorrow for the soldiers I once knew to wash over me. Amiram, my high school classmate, with a mischievous grin, was fearless. The first to go, he was my first devastating loss, and got more tears than I had imagined my eyes could store. Asher will forever remain the tall, blond, and freckled fifteen-year-old I was in love with, and who, across the classroom, shyly let me know that he shared those feelings. The last time I bumped into him, we were both riding the city bus in military uniform, his a paratrooper officer’s. Asher inquired whether I still had the same boyfriend, and after my nod, rushed off at the next stop. Uri, with laughing green eyes, at twenty-eight loved the theater and, in between piloting warplanes, dove into the lecture halls at the university, accumulating credits in literature. He waited patiently for my improbable marriage to dissolve. When I finally separated, I learned that he had been killed three weeks before.
          The sirens continue to reverberate in the endless, open Memorial Day
sky, where nothing stops their piercing sound. I don't want the moment to pass; I want to stay with the young men who populate my world of "what ifs."
          I look around at the contemporary high-rises with colorful awnings and the artistically paved sidewalks. The gardens in the front yards of the buildings and in the street islands are that of fire: Birds of Paradise encircled by roses in red, orange, pink, and yellow. Yet, the fragrance that reaches my nostrils is soft. Rosemary and lavender.
          The breeze strokes the tree tops, nudging us all back to life. Unlike the citizens of the cursed kingdom who wake up unchanged and instantaneously resume life, the citizens of Israel, although they unfreeze to keep on walking, driving cars, playing ball, and blow-drying hair, will never wake up from the curse of the cutouts left by the disappearance of young lives.
And young lives are continuing to be claimed. The men I once knew and loved are being replaced by the sons of my friends. It never stops, however much we want it to.
          Next week, across the ocean, I will be back at my other land, whose landscape is comforting, undemanding. Its soil never blackmailed me for the blood of such as Amiram, Asher, and Uri. In three weeks, when Memorial Day will be celebrated in my adoptive land, only those whose losses are direct will remember the cemeteries. For the others, the day will be marked by baton-twirling parades, super sales at Macy's, and barbeques at the beaches.


Talia Carner’s recent novel is JERUSALEM MAIDEN. Please check www.TaliaCarner.com

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