Yom Hazikaron

The things that I've always found most moving about Yom Hashoah and Yom Hazikaron in Israel are the air raid sirens. At 10:00 on the morning of Yom Hashoah, and at 8:00 on the night of Yom Hazikaron and again at 11:00 the next morning, air raid sirens are sounded in honor of the victims. People stop wherever they are and stand at attention. Cars literally stop in the street. Everyone is still together, to honor the memory of the fallen.

At least, that's how it's supposed to work. On Tuesday night, the night of Yom Hazikaron, I went outside and stood on the street to hear the siren. And, yes, cars stopped in the intersection, and some people got out of their cars, and there were people out on their flag-draped balconies standing at attention. But there was a car roaring down the street at full speed, too. The driver looked middle-aged to elderly, and I wondered...who are you? Why don't you care about this moment? It really bothered me.

Yesterday morning, during the second siren of Yom Hazikaron, I was working at Hebrew U. When the siren went off, the other woman in my office and I stood and were silent. But just outside the window, I heard loud, obnoxious chatter that lasted for the full two minutes. When the siren ended, I looked outside to see a group of four Arab university employees sitting on a bench and laughing.

On my first Yom Hazikaron after making aliyah, I was standing on Agron Street with my fellow Conservative Yeshiva students for the morning siren. The Arab construction workers on the Yeshiva campus chose to continue their work during the siren, making lots of noise and generally ruining the experience for everyone on the street. Afterwards, I confronted the worker nearest me and asked whether he had perhaps not heard or understood the siren. He responded, "Yeah, I heard it, but what do I care?"

I berated that guy, all fire and fury over his disregard, not just for the fallen Israeli soldiers, but for his Jewish-Israeli employers and for the students and passers-by who were truly mourning a loss. If Arabs in this country want to remain seated for the siren, I can understand that. But at least in Jewish environment, like the Conservative Yeshiva campus or the campus of the Hebrew University, they can sit quietly. There is no need to show that kind of disrespect to the people around you.

Still, unlike four years ago, I didn't get into a confrontation yesterday. I just sighed and went back to my business. I suppose that shows more wisdom, but it also shows a resignation that I didn't feel three years ago. And that makes me sad.