The night before we left Karkur was the beginning of Yom ha-Zicharon, a national day of remembrance honoring the soldiers who died in all of the country’s wars as well as all Israelis killed by terrorists. In the morning, HL and I took our leave of Z., not without a pang, and proceeded by train to Jerusalem.
There were few other passengers, even though many people usually travel on Yom ha-Zicharon in order to visit cemeteries and to be with their relatives. I was relieved that our carriage was not crowded, owing to the elephantine amount of luggage that we had with us.
We had to change trains in Tel Aviv. The train paused at the Ben Gurion station just before 11 AM. The other passengers rose from their seats. So did we. Exactly on the hour, the sirens' scream began. Everyone stood unmoving for the two minutes’ duration of the tribute to the slain. Then people on the platform started walking, voices rose, train doors closed, and we resumed our journey.
In Jerusalem, Dalia and Y. welcomed us. Not only did they lodge us in comfort in their guest room, but also procured invitations for us to join them at two Yom ha-Atzmaut parties. Yom ha-Atzmaut is Independence Day, and Monday evening marked the anniversary of the state of Israel's creation in 1948.
The celebration of Independence usually is a joyous one, counteracting the sorrow of the previous national day of mourning. This year, however, no fireworks brightened the skies over the city. After eight months of enemy missile bombardments, Israelis were disinclined to regard aerial explosions as entertainment. While we were at a rooftop party, we saw sporadic, colorful laser flashes, but too few to consider it a show.
On our first morning in Jerusalem, our hosts took us on a walk through their elegant old neighborhood. Few cars and pedestrians were on the streets. It was very quiet, as if the previous day’s sirens’ ululation had just ended.
Later, we attended a garden party where all whom we met were quite congenial, eating and drinking, chatting and sometimes laughing. Our friends Ava and Asher, also Jerusalem denizens, joined us there. We had been looking forward to being with them, and we relished their company. The weather, too, was ideal, slightly cool for May. Yet there was no loud music or impassioned talking. Hardly any car horns honked on the surrounding blocks. No one seemed to know how much, if at all, to celebrate. The shadow that fell over us was not caused solely by the tall loquat tree that spread its boughs above the garden.
A train station banner that read Zachor — Remember
Our friends Y. and Dalia, out hosts in Jerusalem
A rooftop Yom ha-Atzmaut party in Jerusalem, where it was cold and extremely windy
View from the rooftop, with a few blue lights for Yom ha-Atzmaut
A house in the Ottoman style common in Jerusalem’s older
neighborhoods
Window in the Villa Deccan, a mansion converted into a small Natural History Museum, unexpectedly open on Yom ha-Atzmaut
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