Birthday Wishes, Israel

 Birthday Wishes, Israel

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

April 22, 2026

 

 

When people ask me where I’m from, I always have to think: how far back?

I’ve lived in many places, moved many times. Five-six years here, six there, thirty plus (!) in another. 

I have ties to families that no longer exist (guess why) in Poland and in Lithuania. A younger member of my family did some research and traced our genealogy to the mid-1700’s or longer. It’s hard to trace when individual members or an entire family were made to disappear. Hard to trace when family names weren’t in use by the general population yet (these were imposed on the Jews late in the 1700’s, after the breakdown of the ghettos, when Jews began “to count” as part of a country’s population, whether for tax or armed-service purposes).

There is no magnetic north when it comes to belonging to any geographical place in the world. At least, there isn’t such a thing in the physical realm. Only in the spiritual.

My home and heart are always in Israel—though the time I’ve actually “lived” there isn’t that long. Maybe because that’s where I spent my childhood, peering at the not-so-distant sea from the top of a tree I climbed in the summer, riding my bike to school, learning the language and culture of my people, seeing the land grow green, grow up.

Or maybe it’s because of ties that go much further than that. As I’ve said—there is no magnetic north to “belonging.” You just do.

And I haven’t anywhere else. Belonged, that is.

Always the “outsider,” always the “wanderer.” 

Today is my homeland’s 78^th birthday. I wasn’t there 78 years ago—my brother was, and the generation he grew up with.

But it’s an ancient land, with a history that goes back to the beginning of human civilizations, and somewhere there, a seed that was planted generations ago, sprouted. And I grew as part of that field of poppies and anemones, tulips and narcissus flowers with their intoxicating smell.

And that’s what keeps me tied to the land that gave me birth.

A vast graveyard exists between me today and the many who preceded me. Burnt villages and towns, burnt bodies and hidden souls.

But they are not gone. They are part of the air we breathe, the ground we till and build upon. Their words and songs are part of who I am today.

They all live through me, wherever I find myself. They always have been, always will be.

So Happy Birthday, Israel, you young and ancient land. May you see peace. May life rush through your veins and streams for all of us, those who were, are and will be yet. Long live the words, עם ישראל חי – the People of Israel yet lives.

ה' באייר, תשפ"ו

5^th of Iyar, 5786

 

 

© 2026 by Boaz D. Heilman

Yom Ha-Shoah To the Infinite Power

 Yom Ha-Shoah To the Infinite Power

by Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

2026

It’s Yom Ha-Shoah eve. So many words to speak, so many stories to tell. 

But what can we, a generation or two removed, our parents’ and grandparents’ voices now stilled—what can we say? How many words will fill the void of their absence, of their silence? 

Bikrovai ekadesh—“Through those who are near Me I am sanctified”—Moses says to his brother, Aaron, who had just witnessed the burning fire that consumed two of his sons, Nadav and Avihu.

How holy You must be, O God! How sanctified Your name!

Yom Ha-Shoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, as though we need a day to remember.

Yes, I know—You have Your grand designs, Your grand plans of which we have no knowledge but in which we play a part, like dumb players on a stage, with no script or clear direction. But then you have the chutzpah—the gall—to ask us, Nachamu, nachamu ami—Comfort Me, Comfort Me O My people!

Who by fire, who by water…. Who by gas and who by hanging….

The executioners You appoint, the mercy that You show…

Nations have surrounded me, exuding their fiery breath at my existence, my insistence to abide by Your Covenant, my belief that Tzedek and Tzedakah—justice and righteousness—will save the world but not my grandmother or my grandfather, my uncles and my aunt—a child I never met, who forever will remain a child--in my late father’s eyes, in my mind through the flames….

I have cared, my God. I have planted vines and shade trees, built Tabernacles to Your name, I have not run from Your instruction. But now my tears blind me to Your words, fall upon the parchment, on torn pieces of paper stuffed into shoes, letters sent across the seas, all begging not to be forgotten: Hear me! Sh’ma! Hear me!

I am drowning in the silenced screams, yet vow to remember every last syllable, every last cry. 

Perhaps the joined rivers of tears, the thunderous roar of the masses calling out Your name, will reach You in Your hallowed space beyond all space. Perhaps You will hear and join Your tear to ours. 

You are sanctified, but we are the holy ones.

Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh… Holy to the infinite power. 

Let the Holy sanctify Your Name. May it be so.

©2026 by Boaz D. Heilman

Relief and Celebration along with Mourning and Tears: Ceasefire between Israel and Hamas

  

Relief and Celebration along with Mourning and Tears 

Observations on the Signed Ceasefire Agreement between Israel and Hamas 

By Boaz D. Heilman 

October 12, 2025 

 

With the ceasefire agreement between Israel and Hamas now signed—and hopefully fulfilled and maintained—I find myself filled with various reactions and emotions. 

First and foremost, I pray that the hostages will indeed return to their families and begin their long journey towards renewed health and strength.  

I am hoping that all the bodies of those hostages murdered by Hamas and other evil jihadist organizations in Gaza be found and brought home for a decent burial. Along with the joy of seeing the living hostages returning, there will be many tears for those who did not survive. All we can pray for is closure and consolation for their families and friends.  

And there will be tears as we remember the more-than 1200 Israelis and other nationals who were murdered in the most brutal ways by Hamas terrorists on the sacred Jewish holiday of Simchat Torah, October 7, 2023. 

There will be relief—relief as soldiers return home to their families and accustomed life and work; relief from the sirens and “Red Alert” warnings that have punctuated life in Israel for the past two years; relief from the constant fear of turning on the news and hearing even more tragic news.  

Citizens will begin to rebuild their homes, destroyed by drones and missiles launched from Iran, Gaza, Yemen, Lebanon and Iraq. 

And there will be hope as Israelis begin to look towards a brighter future again. 

But there will also be skepticism. After all the disappointments and raised hopes that fell through, after all the years and wars that Israel has been fighting for its survival, what does the future hold? Aside from shaky peace agreements that Israel signed with Egypt and Jordan, there is no peace with Israel’s other neighbors, no guarantee, promise or even the slightest hint that the various jihadist organizations might at some point in the future agree to lay down their arms and learn to coexist. What was agreed upon just a couple of days ago was just another ceasefire, not the first and probably not the last in the ongoing war between Arabs and the Jews. 

A ceasefire isn’t peace. There has never been long-lasting peace in the Middle East, except perhaps during the time that the Ottoman Empire controlled the region and the rest of Europe was focusing on colonizing the New World. Since the end of World War One and the collapse of the Ottoman Empire there have been only intermittent periods of truce and rebuilding. For Israel, the foreseeable future will mean the rebuilding of its infrastructure of life and security. For the Arabs, in most probability it will be renewed preparations for the next attack. 

The conflict between Jews and Arabs goes back centuries—to the time of Mohammad and probably even longer, to the hazy eons before the rise of Islam. But to look only at “modern” times, i.e., going back to Mohammad and his followers, the historic facts are much clearer. When it refers to the Jewish People, the Koran, the basic scripture of Islam, is mostly inflammatory, at best referring to the Jews as “People of the Book” and allowing us the status of dhimmis, second-class citizens. While it does not exactly call for the killing but rather begrudging tolerance of the Jews, a well-known hadith (collections of sayings outside the Koran traditionally attributed to Mohammad) states that on the Day of Judgment nature itself will turn against the Jews (“When the Jew will hide behind stones and trees. The stones and trees will say O Muslims... there is a Jew behind me, come and kill him”).  

The Moslems’ wars against Jews didn’t begin in 1967 (The Six Day War) or even with the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948. Massacres in the holy cities of Safed, Jerusalem, Tiberias and Hebron preceded this historical date by decades, as did anti-Jewish pogroms and forced conversions in Iran, Yemen, Spain and elsewhere in Moslem-controlled lands. 

So at this point Israelis will sigh with relief and accept—joyfully yet also tearfully—the most recent ceasefire and the return of the remaining hostages. But then the work will need to begin in earnest, starting with the rehabilitation of the fighters, particularly those who were injured in body, spirit or soul. Restructuring families that had been separated—wives from husbands, parents from children, children from parents—doesn't happen automatically. It will take years to repair. Israeli society today is more fractured than ever—wars tend to do that—along cultural, religious and economic lines. Traditionally differing opinions and views between right- and left-wing politics have turned into seemingly unbridgeable rifts. Contention between secular and Orthodox Jews, particularly the haredim (ultra-Orthodox observant Jews) has turned into rage and even violence during the past two years, with the majority of haredi youth refusing to enlist in the IDF (with the support of their rabbis), leaving the brunt of the war effort and sacrifice to others who see that studying Torah isn’t only a cultural right, but also a privilege that entails responsibilities. Taking advantage of what the modern State of Israel has to offer while refusing to fulfill the mitzvah—the essential commandment—to defend the People and its Homeland—is not merely unethical. It is sacrilege and transgression of conditions set by Moses 3200 years ago and affirmed by Maimonides more than a thousand years ago.  

Israel’s society will have to find a way to rebuild itself, and so will the Israel Defense Force. The courage and heroism of the IDF fighters is legendary, yet also very real, often carrying with it a heavy price. The asymmetrical nature of modern warfare, in which one side resorts to indiscriminate killing, including the use, misuse and abuse of the civilian population while the other tries to minimize collateral casualties—often at a high price for itself—will have to be re-evaluated. The reliance on missile and drone technology will require new and improved means of self-defense. Yet in the end any future conflict will still and inevitably come down to combat personnel and boots on the ground. We are all Monday morning quarterbacks; few of us however know the real facts and factors that shaped this round of fighting, and experienced leaders will need to study and draw conclusions from this conflict for a long time. 

The nation of Israel will have to reunify along some basic principles. The shock and unexpected reality of seeing so many countries around the world come down against Israel as it fought one of its most vicious and dangerous enemy—an enemy that sees the war against Israel as merely part of a wider goal: the destruction of the entire West—might help reunite a deeply riven nation.  

The restructuring of the political configuration of Israel’s government will prove a necessary step. A government that has relied on divisiveness to remain in power; that has blinded itself and all society to the dangers around it; that ignored significant warnings against an imminent attack; that thought it could buy peace through monetary donations from both friendly and enemy nations while simultaneously pocketing substantial payoffs and kickbacks, is a corrupt government. A government that does all that and in the process fails to protect its people has lost its right to remain in power. 

An independent commission of investigation along the lines of the Agranat Commission that followed the 1973 Yom Kippur War will have to be set up, and its recommendations considered and acted upon without delay. Short of that, the blame game will continue and exacerbate, leading to even further erosion in public opinion and national stability.  

For Jews worldwide, October 7 was a watershed moment. For a few decades following the Holocaust, we lived in a bubble. Coexistence was more than a possibility, more than a dream. Or so we thought. Some Jews, taking the State of Israel for granted without realizing that their own sense of security was founded upon this rock, have adopted slogans that not only decry Israel’s government and military, but call for the actual destruction of the State of Israel. Others, ignorant of their own history and tradition, uninformed about the background of the conflict and naive about the historical connection between the Land of Israel and the People of Israel, have joined or at the very least shown support for fascists and neo-Nazis who would like nothing better than to see all Jews dead. 

The unity of the entire Jewish People is being tested and must prove itself. The October 7 pogrom was not an isolated event. It was not “resistance” against any sort of occupation or colonialization—terms adopted by cynical terrorists and their supporters. Rather, this horrific event was part of an ongoing deadly war against the Jews. How we defend ourselves against future attacks is something we will all have to consider and rethink. What we teach our children and all future generations (and to whom we entrust this important endeavor) can no longer be relegated to theories or theological discussions. October 7 was horrific and all-too-real. How we survive as Jews is a something we have always asked ourselves after such events and which we will now have to ask ourselves yet again. 

The world will always remember this day as October 7. But for the Jewish People the date has another meaning. October 7 2023 fell—by coincidence or not—on the Jewish holy day of Simchat Torah, the day of Rejoicing with the Torah, the Covenant between the People of Israel, our God, and our homeland. At synagogues and temples around the world, the last few paragraphs of the Torah are read, followed immediately by the first few verses in its first book Genesis. It’s a return to a new beginning, filled with prayer and hope. Let us pray that this anniversary will indeed be a celebration—filled not only with relief and joy but also with hope for a new beginning, for which we always pray, upon which our existence has always rested: A safe, thriving and secure Israel, along with peace and acceptance of Jews in every home and land. 

 

 

(c) 2025 by Boaz D. Heilman