I was born in January 1968. The State of Israel had become a consolidated reality almost two decades ago. I grew up naturally enjoying the existence of the world's only Jewish state, a small dot on the map of the Middle East. “Smaller than the province of Tucumán,” the teachers repeated at school. For many, this exotic destination is, for me, a place to which I have returned countless times.
It is undeniable that the Jews of the world have a particular bond with that land, a millennia-old relationship with what was the land of our ancestors and to which we longed to return for centuries.
It was there that King David built the city of Jerusalem, where the Maccabees fought for independence. But the Roman Empire invaded that land, destroyed the temple of Jerusalem, and forced the Jews into exile. The designs of time and migrations—many forced, others not so much—led us to settle in different parts of the globe, to develop, fall in love, and form families. But not without the permanent memory, in prayers and traditions, of those biblical cities. The German poet Heinrich Heine said that when the Jews left the land of Israel, they took the Bible with them as a portable homeland. Without a doubt, remembering nostalgia and an inspiring return. And since 1948, that return—because in this journey until the first visit is in a certain way a return—has become a more concrete, tangible possibility. For some, it is obvious.
On October 7, that naturalness with which I always lived the existence of the State of Israel began to break with the images of the atrocious Hamas attack. Thousands of terrorists are carrying out the worst attack in Israel's history—the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust.
The attacks on Israeli soil marked the first break, but not the last. Marches, posters, and university occupations followed. To the rhythm of “from the River to the Sea, Palestine will be free,” the naturalness with which we always lived and the existence of Israel were finally broken. This is not a fatalistic look towards an uncertain future, but rather the notion of a possible, or even desirable, world in the imagination of certain minorities. Of the reminder of that world relegated to the history books, where the existence of a Jewish state was far from being obvious. And the declaration of its independence on May 14, 1948, was a true celebration.
Today marks 76 years since that day. However, it is not a party; we cannot celebrate. We cannot celebrate when we know that there are still 132 people kidnapped at the hands of Hamas since that fateful Saturday in October. We cannot celebrate when, in various corners of the world, hate is heard increasingly louder. We cannot celebrate when, for many, the existence of the State of Israel is not obvious.
And although this Yom Ha'atzmaut—Independence Day, in Hebrew—is not a holiday, its value is more important than ever. It is to reaffirm the undeniable right of the State of Israel to exist and exercise its sovereignty and to protect its citizens from the continuous terrorist attacks of groups such as Hamas and Hezbollah. And it is also to vindicate all the qualities that have characterized the State of Israel since its founding: its resilience, its diversity, its democracy, its prosperity, and even its spirituality. Your past, your present, and, above all, your future. Because among so much uncertainty, we can be sure of only one thing, no matter who it may be: these are just the first 76 years. Hopefully next year we can celebrate with all the hostages free, with the war over, and in peace with all the neighbors. So be it.
This editorial was originally published in Spanish in Infobae.
