""And the sanctity of the day was confirmed," they will say in synagogues on Yom Kippur. "Who will live and who will die, who is at the end and who is not at the end." Many important figures passed away in Israel in the past year, some at the end and some not. Each of them is an icon. This teaches us something about them, but also about the age of the young 66-year-old state. Each such deceased, aged 60 to 90, simply accompanied Israel from the days of its founding, and is therefore considered a founding father in his field. I knew some of them, I covered some of the funerals, and here is what I think can be learned from them, even after their passing.
Trumpeldor Cemetery in Tel Aviv, 11 p.m., November. About 1,000 people still stand around Arik Einstein's fresh grave plot, refusing to say goodbye. The official funeral procession ended long ago, but here they are taking their time. Singing the lyrics of more and more of Einstein's songs from their cell phones.
This funeral expressed at least two things: First, the longing for real music and real stars. Einstein died at the height of the Eyal Golan affair, highlighting the distance between such scandals and a huge talent who is shy and modest, in slippers. His fans who sang around his grave as if to say: In our eyes, this is a star. Without a show and without an entourage.
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Unlike Golan, Einstein has also been excluded from the radio in recent years. A poignant question could be heard on the air: Why did he have to die so that we could hear such beautiful and delicate Hebrew, with quality texts and thoughtful music?
Second, a few hours earlier, Rabbi Uri Zohar had eulogized him there. "You've gone, my friend," he cried, with their 18 grandchildren by his side. "What a person you were, how many people you made happy." Given their age and status, the Tel Avivian, who is so secular, and the Jerusalemite, who is so ultra-Orthodox, insisted on bridging the gaps, and they succeeded. The deep connection between them, in a certain sense, binds all of Israeli society.
Over half a million people attended the funeral of Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, which was described by the police as "the largest public event in the history of the country." It was also one of the most confusing events for the Israeli media.
Let's face it, in the media the rabbi was one of the most ridiculed figures. In the public, he was one of the most beloved figures.
So what is the reason for the gap?
The studios tried to explain the dimensions of the event: "The crowds came because of the lenient halakhic ruling," they said. And also: "Because of the party," "Because of the statements in the sermons," "Because of the sectarian demon." Well, really. All of these are partial or incorrect explanations.
The crowds came first and foremost because of the Torah and their respect for it. They think that studying Torah and ruling on halakhic law — contrary to the accepted media narrative — is a positive thing rather than a negative, a solution rather than a problem. This massive parade, which was ultra-Orthodox and religious and traditional and secular, arrived in a few hours from all over the country to say one thing: Synagogue, mikveh, Shabbat and kosher are not irrelevant words of the grandmother from Morocco. They are also part of the world of her grandchildren.
Rabbi Ovadia and Shulamit Aloni passed away that same year. Among the cypresses in the cemetery in Kfar Shmaryahu, there was much talk about the principles of the leftist woman. Ben Udi also dealt with this, but added one touching paragraph, which did not even make the headlines.
""Many well-intentioned mourners asked me to remember her in her strength and heroism," said Udi. "Many will tell the story of her heroism, but I want to end by remembering her weakness. She was so beautiful even in her weakness. But we are a society that is so afraid of old age and dementia, and we don't always know how to open our hearts to the moments when a person's mind disappears from them but their heart is still open like a child, to love.
""Because one door closes but another opens, and after I overcame the anxiety of meeting this brilliant woman in her madness, and approached her and hugged her, I would see with her every day the beauty of the cypress tree she had planted in front of the house, and every day we would say together, 'How beautiful this tree is.' I learned that if we open our hearts to our elders, we will receive a huge gift of late love.".
|And here, my mother, who lived her entire life in Hebrew, which is the strong language, the language of the sovereign, at the end of her days also began to speak Yiddish, the language of the diaspora, the language of the weak, because she was born in Poland. It was a language that missed her mother.
""And so we would sing together in Yiddish the song 'Raizle' that Grandma Ida and Grandpa David, who are also buried here, would sing to us at night.".
Anyone whose parents or grandparents reach such a state at the end of a full life of activity immediately understands what Udi described. How strange to imagine Shulamit Aloni, singing Yiddish children's songs at the age of 87, in this way.
Uri Elitzur died in May, but his articles were revived in August, during Operation Protective Edge. Social media gave his texts a new lease of life. Elitzur was one of the founders of Gush Emunim, the secretary general of the Yesha Council, and also the head of Netanyahu's office, but he never stopped writing all these years.
For this long-standing publicism, he also received the Sokolov Prize. At the funeral in the town of Ofra, Netanyahu and Bennett said how much his writing was a compass for them. And not just for them. Many in the right-wing camp saw him as the brightest writer.
At the time of the disengagement plan, Facebook had not yet blossomed, but this summer thousands shared what Elitzur wrote there at the time: "No Palestinian problem will be solved, no Palestinian distress will be alleviated, it's just that. You are being deceived. I don't know from what depth of stubborn messianic faith the strange hope that the Qassams and the attacks and arms smuggling will stop if we leave Gush Katif is drawn. The tunnel attacks are a signal from Hamas of what awaits us after the disengagement. The creeping result will be that we will leave Gaza and return to Gaza alternately.".
Ariel Sharon also passed away this year, as did Assi Dayan and Didi Manusi and Sefi Rivlin. Each one was unique in his own way. And right on Rosh Hashanah Eve, another sergeant passed away. Yitzhak Hofi, "Haka", the Northern Command's major general during the Yom Kippur War and the former head of the Mossad.
His grandson, Amit Ben-Tzur, spoke at the funeral about Heka and his generation: "You abhorred three main things in your life: lies, corruption, and interviews with the media, and I'm not sure what the right order is. Why talk about something you did if it already happened? And talk about yourself, about your part in it? What a strange thing. Grandpa Heka, we were very lucky that you were the ones who stood at the starting point and carried the burden of building Israeli society. I breathe a sigh of relief that you were there sixty years ago, planting responsibility, kindness, and modesty here.".
The grandson only spoke about his grandfather, but all of these 5774 deceased did not act out of considerations of money, branding, or likes. They never considered changing careers, because a life mission cannot be replaced.
Jewish status: ""The greatest sin is not our transgressions, the greatest sin is that we do not believe in repentance, do not believe in the ability to make amends" (Rabbi Shlomo Wolve on Yom Kippur)
• The column is published in Yedioth Ahronoth
