Photo: Israel Election Posters, 1949, photo by Hugo Mendelson, National Photo Collection of Israel
By Clal’s Faculty and Staff
I want to celebrate, and I will. In fact, I want us all to celebrate, and hope we all will. I want to cry, and I will. I want us all to cry, and I hope we will. Whatever any of us chooses to celebrate this year, as Israel turns 77, is secondary to finding our ability to celebrate. And whatever we cry over this year is secondary to being able to cry even as we also celebrate. It is that very “bothness” we need more than ever about so many things and none more than our relationship to Israel, which has become more polarized and more polarizing than ever. I pray this year to find that “bothness” within myself, and hope that we all can find it too — within ourselves and within whatever communities we locate ourselves. It is the ground from which new, more peaceful, and more secure realities can emerge, and we dare not settle for anything less.
There are many ways to build the capacity for “bothness,” and among them is a remarkable diary entry written by a Haredi Rabbi, Moshe Alpert, in 1949, on the day in which he took part in Israel’s first national election. Don’t worry, the piece is movingly celebratory, so even if you embrace no tears, feel good about reading on. That said, I am hopeful that as your heart opens with joy as you read Alpert’s reflections, that heart opening will also give you the courage to cry, or at least to reflect with sobriety and care — the ability to embrace both “the honey and the sting,” to borrow from Naomi Shemmer’s song, Al Kol Eleh — For All Of These. That is certainly the path we are walking this year as a faculty at Clal, and through the brief reflections that follow, we invite you to join us.
— Rabbi Brad Hirschfield
On January 25, 1949 (24 Tevet 5709), Rabbi Moshe Alpert, a third-generation Israeli, voted in the very first election day in the State of Israel’s history. Here is his diary entry from that day, as translated by his great-niece Vered Kellner, for Haaretz.
At 5:35 AM we woke up, my wife, my brother Reb Shimon Leib and my brother-in-law Reb Natanel Solduchin. And after we drank coffee we put on Shabbat clothing in honor of this great and holy day, because ‘This is the day the Lord has made, we will rejoice and be happy on it.’ After 2000 or more years of exile, you could say that from the six days of Creation until this day, we have not merited to see a day like this, that we are holding elections in a Jewish state.
Shehechiyanu! Blessed is the One that kept us alive and sustained us and brought us to this day! So we went to the voting station near Chabashim Street with our identity cards in hand. With great and mighty joy we walked the short way there, and the entire way I walked like it was Simchat Torah and I was circling with a Torah scroll, because I was holding the identity card of our new Jewish State in my hand. My happiness and joy knew no bounds! The assistant at the voting station brought the ballot box, and the chairman called out to me and said ‘V’Hadarta Pnei Zaken–‘And you shall honor the old man.’ And he told me that since I was the oldest person present, I would be the first to vote. With a thrill of awe and holiness, I handed my identity card over to the chairman, and he read out my name from my card and from the book of voters. And the deputy chairman wrote down my name and handed me the number 1. Then he handed me an envelope and I went into the other room, where there were ballots from all the parties. And with a shaking hand, moved with holiness, I took one ballot marked B, for the Religious Union party, and I placed the ballot inside the envelope I had received from the deputy chairman.
And I reentered the polling room, and I showed them that I held only one envelope. Then the holiest moment of my life arrived. The moment that neither my father nor my grandfather had the privilege to experience in their lifetimes. Only me, in my time, in my lifetime, did I merit to experience such a holy and pure moment as this… What joy for me and my portion!
At 6:28 AM, we returned home and went to pray. A day of celebration! A great holiday for the entire Jewish people!
I’m not sure how many times I’ve lived a moment so hoped for, so joyous to have seen, so historic as the one described in this recollection. I remember my bubbie of blessed memory telling me about how when they heard on the radio that the State of Israel had been declared, there was dancing in the streets of Dorchester, her Jewish neighborhood in Boston. Picturing her as a twenty-year-old that night, with her parents who had escaped violence in Russia after the revolution, still makes me emotional. The closest I maybe have experienced is when Barack Obama was elected the first Black President, when Kamala Harris became the first female Vice President (I made my children stay up to watch and cried tears of joy), or (and to non-Bostonians this may seem trite, but if you know you know) when the Red Sox won the World Series in 2004 for the first time since 1918. I yearn for that kind of unadulterated, celebratory, joyous relationship with Israel. To feel that anything is possible. These days, I have trouble finding moments for uncomplicated celebration at having sovereignty in the land of our ancestors, and I sometimes despair about Israel’s future. Yet, generations of Jews past could only dream of the privilege of ambivalence about decisions by a Jewish country, run by a Jewish prime minister. I try to remember that, too.
Of all the evocative images in this piece – Shabbat clothes, ecstatic dancing, the number “1” on his ballot card — perhaps the most poignant for me is the image of him standing there, about to turn in his vote, and pausing to invite his father and grandfather into the moment with him. As he does so, he reflects on the notion that he was experiencing something that they could only dream of. What an incredible revelation! Not only to be a part of making history, but to recognize your conviction that you are part of an unprecedented upswing, that things will only get better from here.
We live in an increasingly cynical world today, one marked by the certainty that things were better in yesteryear, that we have already reached the zenith of civilization at some point before this one, and that it’s been a precipitous fall from grace ever since. We are in a moment of profound pessimism in all walks of life, and all too often when we recall our ancestors, it’s with a longing not for them, but for the idealized world in which they lived.
At the heart of Alpert’s journal entry is an unbridled optimism, underscored by hopefulness, by faith — both in the merit of his ancestors, and in the promise of the future yet to unfold. As I read this piece during a melancholy time like this one — in both of my homes, Israel and America — my heart’s yearning is twofold: for a time in which our geopolitical circumstances inspire a sense of momentous optimism, and for each one of us to work to bring about those circumstances, one ecstatic dance, one hopeful vote at a time.
Rabbi Alpert sees and feels an unprecedented holiness in the moment. He celebrates that power and politics, that freedom and self-determination, are nothing less than Torahstorahs with which we can dance ecstatically. They are a kind of Shabbat which invites wearing Shabbat clothes even when it is “not” Shabbat. The fact of Israel makes that possible in ways that were dreams 78 years ago. So, yes, I celebrate.
I also remind myself that it is easy to get tripped up when we dance, and especially when we dance ecstatically. So, I also ask myself on whose feet I have trampled as I dance. It’s not possible that there are not at least a few. I am no Fred Astaire. And even if I were, he had his bad days, too. Crying over my bad days does not mean I will not also celebrate this year. If anything for me, when I become more aware of whose feet are endangered by my dancing, I feel more secure about continuing to dance.
Israel is both a dream and reality, and in that country of reality, it’s a place where power is both celebrated and questioned. That’s what makes the Jewish state so inspiring, and this reflection from Rabbi Alpert so moving. For nearly 3000 years, Jews had no sovereignty over their land and so were at the whims of the leaders of the various countries where they resided. Forming – and maintaining – that country was a blessing. And yet once Jews had power, they faced the challenges of all leaders, and all nations, who had to balance openness with security, universality with particularity, togetherness with separateness. I struggle with how Israel wields its power, and yet I am so grateful that, as Rabbi Alpert describes, we even have that opportunity to have that conversation. What a gift that we can challenge and question the specific policies of Israel, and also strive to have it match our visions and dreams. That truly is a blessing.
Yom Ha’atzmaut is undeniably a day of pride and gratitude—a time to honor the perseverance, vision, and hope that led to Jewish independence. And it is also a day to reflect. As we mark this moment, I invite us to expand our imagination: What does true independence look like—not just for one people, but for all people who call this land home? Though we, as a people, are diverse in our backgrounds, beliefs, and political views, there is strength in our shared commitment to the values of justice, dignity, freedom, and self-determination. As we look to the future, may we keep our eyes on a broader vision: one in which true independence, safety, and opportunity are realities for all people living in the land—Israelis and Palestinians alike. The work of building that future won’t be easy. It will require courage, creativity, and a deep dedication to pluralism to repair and reimagine our collective spaces.
True repair and healing takes vision. It means moving beyond either/or thinking and finding ways to create something new—together. It asks us to co-create systems, structures, and stories that hold room for complexity, for plurality, and for shared humanity. So on this day, as we wave flags and remember the past, may we also take a quiet moment to imagine what true independence could look like—for everyone—and commit ourselves to building that future, boldly, creatively, and together.
In my opening, I invited you to join Clal and Rabbi Alpert in thinking more expansively about Yom HaAzmaut, and to do so in a way that dilutes neither celebration nor self-reflection. I hope our words help you do just that. Now I add another invitation: Please share these reflections with one person about whom you care and share views on Israel with, and a second with whom you find it challenging to discuss Israel. Not because the sharing will magically erase the challenges, but because in sharing, you may find deeper connection with one another and discover the unique wisdom that can only come when we privilege our connectedness over our different conclusions. Movement in that direction, inspired by this topic, would surely be worth celebrating, especially as Israel turns 77.
— Rabbi Brad Hirschfield
Listed for many years in Newsweek as one of America’s “50 Most Influential Rabbis” and recognized as one of our nation’s leading “Preachers and Teachers,” by Beliefnet.com, Rabbi Brad Hirschfield serves as the President of Clal–The National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership, a training institute, think tank, and resource center nurturing religious and intellectual pluralism within the Jewish community, and the wider world, preparing people to meet the biggest challenges we face in our increasingly polarized world.
An ordained Orthodox rabbi who studied for his PhD and taught at The Jewish Theological Seminary, he has also taught the University of Pennsylvania, where he directs an ongoing seminar, and American Jewish University. Rabbi Brad regularly teaches and consults for the US Army and United States Department of Defense, religious organizations — Jewish and Christian — including United Seminary (Methodist), Yeshivat Chovevei Torah (Modern Orthodox) Luther Seminary (Lutheran), and The Jewish Theological Seminary (Conservative) — civic organizations including No Labels, Odyssey Impact, and The Aspen Institute, numerous Jewish Federations, and a variety of communal and family foundations.
Hirschfield is the author and editor of numerous books, including You Don’t Have To Be Wrong For Me To Be Right: Finding Faith Without Fanaticism, writes a column for Religion News Service, and appears regularly on TV and radio in outlets ranging from The Washington Post to Fox News Channel. He is also the founder of the Stand and See Fellowship, which brings hundreds of Christian religious leaders to Israel, preparing them to address the increasing polarization around Middle East issues — and really all currently polarizing issues at home and abroad — with six words, “It’s more complicated than we know.”