I spent Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut in the Galil and came away from the experience absolutely blown away! This was the Israel I grew up with and had forgotten about. I'm just a bit older than Medinat Yisrael, and all through my youth was an ardent Zionist, not your wimpy Habonim socialist, but a died-in-the-wool Betarnik, who knew every word of the creed (Yodefet, Masada, Betar!). Our heroes were Trumpeldor and Jabotinsky and Begin, (may their memories be for a blessing). Israel for us was a clean, bright, positive image, the place where Jews were strong, handsome, honest, hard-working, proud with good reason, prosperous by the work of their own hands, etc etc etc. We fought when we had to, but didn't go looking for a fight. We wanted peace and we worked together as one people, with common purpose and a sense of brotherhood, to achieve it. This image was embedded in my brain, and it sprang to life again over the last two days.
First the sad part. I visited the Military Cemetery in Nazaret Illit, where my cousin Terry lies buried, killed on Yom Kippur 1973 in the opening battle. He was only 21 years old and he has no family left here. I took my 6 year-old grandson with me, who got a charge out of seeing his own surname on the gravestone - an instant bonding for him. This was the Israel I remembered, of honour, bravery and commitment. I call this sad, but I got an emotional injection from this visit that far exceeds anything I've had from a Shul service in years.
Then the joy, spending Yom HaAtzmaut on a Dati Leumi yishuv. The
effervescence of the Shul service, with choir, keyboard, clapping and singing all through the prayers. Afterwards, a typically "Israeli" concert, starting an hour late, completely amateurish, but who cares. The dancing, the singing, the fireworks (eventually!). The sense of togetherness, of Am Yisrael. This was the Israel I grew up with.
So you may ask, why is this piece called Schizophrenia? Because I drove back home, in my flag-bearing car, through Ramat Beit Shemesh, and had my car pelted by Jews throwing rotten fruit. I read later that there had been flag-burning incidents here - my home town! My first reaction, after the disgust and anger has subsided, was to say that I must move, get away from these pigs parading as people. But I realise that this small personal incident is in fact symptomatic of the sickness that infests all of Israel. We are a schizophrenic country, and you can't escape this by moving around inside the sick body - eventually the poison will find you. We need a cure. One thing I know for sure, the cure doesn't start with Glick-style negatives. No diet is going to fix us up. The opening paragraph of the suggested cure has to be "We must do this and this so that ..." not, "Your policy is wrong because I say so".
Who will invent the Prozac for our beloved land!
