Message of a Flag
I should have realized when I saw her. The girl walking up the park holding a flag in her hands. Instead my thoughts took me to wondering if she was practicing for a daglanut somewhere. Then I drove off. Up the street. I see more people working their way to the top of the hill, flags in hand. And as I see the people walking toward the top of the street, my heart sinks as I suddenly realize where everyone is going. Another flag procession.
Last night’s terrible notification of a boy from our city that had been killed in Gaza, and this is what happens. The worst news, and the city sends out a notice of the route the family is going to drive to get to the cemetery. And the people come. They come in the morning and they come at night, they come out hours before shabbat and they come out on vacation days. They come out to hold flags and to be present for the family in this terrible moment. They line the streets. I turn left, then a right and another right. All along the streets I see more and more people streaming toward the sidewalks joining the groups of people already standing and waiting. And everyone waits patiently. Sometimes the wait can be longer than expected, but that is ok, saying thank you doesn’t always stick to a schedule. I find a spot to pull over. I decide to wait with my people.
I don’t have a flag but that is ok. I stand in between people who do. And they pass by. A police car first, and then the van, and a final police car. I am sure they see us. We might be a bit blurry through the tears that fill their eyes. We might seem a bit foggy, a vision from a nightmare, but we are there. And I know they see the flags. The flags waving on poles and the flags pulled taut in outstretched arms. The flags speak. They say “It is for us, this worst sacrifice you have made”. The flag salutes you, O precious and beloved family. And the people speak and we say “It is for us, holding these flags and lining these streets, this worst sacrifice you have made”. We salute you, O precious and beloved family. This beautiful flag of ours can sometimes rest heavy on weary and bent shoulders. And so we stand here and hope that our presence tells you that we are here with you, to hold the flag together with you, to try to make the weight a little bit lighter. The van has passed now, down the road, on this final and horrible journey. And we stand and we wait. A few more minutes. Silent. Respectful. Tears. And we fold up our flags, and tuck them tightly against our chests as we head for home. Thinking, hoping, praying that this time, this time, is the last time we have to unfold them to speak of sacrifice and loss.