A Moment to Breathe

A virtual hurricane rages in my head on the morning of September 1st. The peace of a long-awaited vacation meant to take a break from the stress and anxiety plaguing us since last October suddenly was stripped away in the face of national grief.

Many moments I questioned our decision to leave Israel at all during this time, even just to see our friends and family who had been worrying about us an ocean away, and the news of the murder of 6 hostages—6 members of my people, my family—haunted our drive to the airport. The entire flight, I mourned and felt very far away from my Israeli friends who get it, unlike the blissfully unaware travelers enjoying their Labor Day weekend.

Protest. It is a word Israelis know all too well, from WhatsApp group chats discussing traffic and road blockages, to wondering whether they should leave work early to make it home to their families before they sit in bumper-to-bumper stillness for an extra three hours.

However, this protest—strike, whatever people want to call it—feels profoundly different. The air in Israel itself was heavy. The heavens opened, crying tears too early for the season together with the nation. No one, wherever we found ourselves, could breathe.

Regardless of intention to protest, to abstain from work in solidarity with the families of the hostages and bereaved families, this feels less political and more emotional. In general, our people are guided by our feelings; the collective decision to take a day to grieve and mourn all we have lost, and to take a break from the anxiety and express how this war has made us all feel, is a secret stab at unity. Together we stand. And together we fall.

Critics may argue that this is a political winch to leverage the Israeli government to be more open to negotiation. Others might say this feeds directly into the hands of our enemies, because to stop living normally is to surrender. Yet, things haven’t been normal for a long time, and Hamas, Hezbollah, and the rest of our enemies are to blame. We all know this. We still need to scream, to beg, to rage, to cry, to be together with our people, our family, our nation. We need to feel a sense of belonging to a larger whole where we can express our collective grief, and we need it now.

Rather than call this a strike, a protest, I prefer to call this a moment of mindfulness. Yes, there will be screaming, crying, and raging against a government doing all it can to bring our Israeli people home, but it is the only way Israelis know how to express themselves. We demand change because we know it is possible, and we demand the right to hurt publicly and wear our hearts on our sleeves.

There is something incredible in the air today. Am Yisrael is coming together to grieve and hope for better days, and we are taking the day to be mindful of this. Israel herself is our nation’s shiva house, and we are all present in some way to mark September 2^nd as a day we acknowledge our mass trauma, our haunted 11 months, through standing shoulder to shoulder and asking for possibility.

Yes, bring them all home. Bring them home so our national heart can be as whole again as possible. And let us all take a moment today to acknowledge all we have been through. Let’s take a moment to breathe.