As we approach Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut, we pause.

We remember our fallen soldiers—those who paid with their lives so that we can live in this country. We remember their families. And we remember the many who were injured—those who may never fully recover.

I write this with humility. I am not sure I am qualified to write anything at all at such a time. But there are a few words that stay with me:

Gratitude. Uncertainty. Not knowing.

First, gratitude. Gratitude to the soldiers. Gratitude to their families. Gratitude to those who gave everything so we can live here.

But alongside that is something more difficult—we don’t know.

We hear a report—eight soldiers injured—and we move on. We don’t know their names. We don’t know how they are doing. We don’t know how to even ask.

Just recently, I heard about a young man injured after the ceasefire in Lebanon—connected to people I know. It came up quietly in conversation. And then life carried on.

But how is he really doing? How many others are there like him?

We continue our lives—but maybe we are not meant to be so distant from it.

A World That Doesn’t Understand

We also live in a world that confuses our right to defend ourselves with something immoral.

We are a moral army. We don’t just drop bombs. We hesitate. We think. We try to act ethically.

And we pay for that—with the lives of our soldiers.

Yet the world turns it against us. Countries, leaders, even those we once relied on—they question our right to defend ourselves.

It is very easy to become despondent.

And then we remind ourselves who we are.

This past Shabbat, I attended a talk in which historian Gil Troy spoke about visiting a third-century synagogue in the Golan.

A synagogue from 1,700 years ago—in our land. And it’s not even among the top 20 tourist attractions.

That is how much history is here. That is how deep our connection is.

This is not politics. It is reality.

And he said clearly—anyone who denies the Jewish connection to Israel, who denies Zionism, is engaging in antisemitism.

But the pain is not only outside.

Some of our own people—religious and non-religious—have distanced themselves from Israel. From their history. From their peoplehood.

And that is something we need to reflect on.

This week, on a walk to the Tayelet – walkway overlooking the Old City, I sat reading Benji Elson’s Dance of the Omer.

Overlooking that hill. Looking at the Old City. The place where our Temple stood.

And reading those words became a spiritual experience.

What started as personal reflection—on healing for the week—became something much bigger. In this, he described many of the attributes attributed to the week of Tiferet, of this week’s Omer period – Tiferet represents’ Harmony, Balance. let’s unpack some of these,

And it is especially poignant this week, as it is the week of Yom HaZikaron.

And healing is no longer just personal.

Healing for the soldiers. Healing for the injured. Healing for families. Healing for the nation of Israel. And maybe even healing for a world that has lost direction.

Hope, Dreams, and Healing

Elson contrasts hope with sickness.

Sickness comes when we lose connection—to purpose, to source, to meaning. When things no longer fit together.

And that fragmentation becomes dis-ease.

The belief that one day the pieces will come together. That there will be healing.

And there is something else—something more subtle.

Not only the dreams we consciously hold about the future, but the simple, human experience of sleep itself.

How often do we go to sleep troubled, unsettled… and wake up not remembering the dream— but somehow refreshed.

Something has shifted. Something has been processed.

We don’t always understand it. But we wake up with a little more strength to begin again.

That is the quiet healing power of dreams.

And perhaps this is what kedem—East—really represents.

Not just the past. Not just the sunrise.

But the ability to begin again.

This week is Tiferet—balance.

Not removing tension—but holding it.

Strength and compassion. Justice and mercy.

Rabbi Sacks spoke about building a moral society—not a perfect one, but one grounded in responsibility, dignity, and purpose.

A society that holds that tension.

Yaakov Becomes Israel

The figure of the week is Yaakov.

A life full of struggle.

And yet he becomes Israel.

Because he struggles—and remains upright.

Invisible. Essential.

Like meaning. Like truth. Like purpose.

And maybe the world today has lost that connection.

Healing and the Beyond

And then it all comes together.

It is not coincidental—not at all—that the blessing of this week, the week that Yom HaZikaron falls, is the blessing of healing:

“Blessed are You… Healer of the sick of Your people Israel.”

The blessing of healing is the eighth blessing.

Seven is the natural world. Eight is beyond.

This year we are 78 years.

We are being asked to go beyond.

Beyond pain. Beyond confusion. Beyond the present moment.

So what do we hold onto?

Gratitude. Uncertainty. And still—hope.

Hope for healing. Hope for peace. Hope for purpose.

And it is no coincidence—none at all—that our national anthem is Hatikvah.

After 2,000 years of longing for Zion, we returned.

Zionism is not politics. It is the return of a people to its land, its story, its purpose.

And as long as we hold onto that hope—

We long for a better world.

I highly recommend reading Benji Elson’s Dance of the Omer as a spiritual companion during this period of counting the Omer. I have tried to articulate some of the depth of his ideas here, but engaging with the original text adds far deeper layers of meaning and reflection.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)