Rabbi Rael Blumenthal

Rav Soloveitchik, in his classic essay Kol Dodi Dofeik writes: “No one can deny that from the standpoint of international relations, the establishment of the State of Israel, in a political sense, was an almost supernatural occurrence... Both Russia and the Western countries jointly supported the idea of the establishment of the [Jewish] State. This was perhaps the only proposal where east and west were united. I am inclined to believe that the entire United Nations organization was created specifically for this purpose – in order to carry out the mission which the divine providence had set for it. It seems to me that one cannot point to any other concrete achievement on the part of the U.N.”

It has been seventy-seven years since the establishment of the State of Israel, and the Rav’s inclination about the U.N. still appears to be correct.

But for a moment, I don’t want to reflect on the rise of antisemitism or the worrying and growing hatred of State of Israel. I don’t want to focus even the painful divisions that are still tearing up Jewish unity inside of Israel and throughout the Jewish world. I don’t want to focus on the fires, physical, psychological and spiritual; painful as they all are.

On Yom Ha’atzmaut, Hashem is asking us to see beyond all of that. That’s not to say that none of this is important. Of course, it’s all essential, and they all require immense Avoda.

But the Avoda of today is to know that all of our current challenges are part of the journey; not the destination. Yom Ha’atzmaut is a day to remember that as Jews, we believe that there is a destination.

The Mekubalim explain that everything in the world is made of עולם, שנה, נפש – Space, time and people. As such, there is a goal of Klal Yisrael; in space, in time and within ourselves. The place is clear: Eretz Yisrael. The time is also clear: Yemos HaMashiach.

But what is the destination, the goal of our people? That’s perhaps the most illusive to describe.

For the first three years of my schooling, I attended a public school in Johannesburg. I didn’t love it, and I didn’t fit in. Twice a week, however, the school brought in a Rabbi to teach Hebrew classes to the Jewish students, and I remember wearing my yarmulka proudly in those classes.

I also remember, as those classes ended, that some of the other kids would grab the Yarmulka off of my head, and run across the soccer field teasing me for wearing “that funny hat on my head.” Looking back, I don’t think they were anti-semites. But I longed to be in a place that being Jewish and looking Jewish, wouldn’t make me “the other.”

In forth grade, the opportunity arose for me to move to a Jewish day school. I was simultaneously elated and terrified. Elated that I would be with kids that wouldn’t bully me for being Jewish, but terrified that I didn’t know as much as them. I knew how to read the first paragraph of the Shema, and the first Bracha of the Shmoneh Esrei, but that was the extent of my knowledge of Davening. I spend that summer breaking my teeth over the Siddur, desperately determined that no one would see or discover how unprepared I was for Jewish schooling.

Just before the school year began, a Rabbi took me aside, and painted a picture that has remained with me for the past three decades.

“Rael, right now, you have big dreams of who you could be and become. For the past three years, you’ve wanted to go to a Jewish school, to be with Jewish kids, to learn Torah. But I’m worried about you. Sometimes, a person can stand on a mountain top, looking at the summit of the next mountain over. They dream of climbing to that next peak. But in order to make to the next peak, the climber will need to descend into the valley bellow, and in the valley, he cannot see the mountain peaks at all.”

I wasn’t sure how to understand what he was telling me, so he explained:

“Right now, you’re looking at the peak in the distance. You have big dreams and big hopes. You want to be a successful and knowledgeable Jew. But to get to the next mountain, you’re going to need to climb into the details of learning, and davening and Halacha. It isn’t going to be easy. You might still get bullied, by different kids, in different ways. When you can’t see the mountain you came from, and you can’t see the mountain you’re aiming for, it’s possible to get stuck in the valley. Please promise me that you won’t stop dreaming of the greatness you're imagining now.”

This is not just my story. It’s the story of a people that has been yearning for Geulah; for a world where things make sense. A world where we don't get bullied. But ultimately, a world where we can become Hashem’s Light to Nations.

The personal destination of Klal Yisrael is, as Hashem tells us: וְאַתֶּם תִּהְיוּ־לִי מַמְלֶכֶת כֹּהֲנִים וְגוֹי קָדוֹשׁ – You will be to Me a kingdom of Kohanim; and a transcendent nation.

On this, the Seforno writes that the purpose of our people is:

להבין ולהורות לכל המין האנושי לקרוא כלם בשם ה', ולעבדו שכם אחד,... בלתי נפסדים, אבל תהיו קיימים לעד באיש, כמו שיהיה הענין לעתיד לבא

To teach and instruct all of mankind to call out in the name of God and for all to serve him together... never to disappear from the stage of history. You will continue to exist forever.

In 1948, we left the mountain peak of dreams, in the hopes of making it a reality.

In these seventy-seven years, we have been traveling through the valley. Somedays it feels like we haven’t had a glimpse of that next mountain top in years. Sometimes it feels like the dreams were little more than illusions.

But Yom Ha’atzmaut is a day to remember that there was one moment in our recent past, when Hashem reached out from behind the veil of history and told us that He would help us get from one side to the other. He threaded His Will through the nations of the world, and empowered us to take our first steps toward the great mountain in the distance.

Today He reminds us: Don’t stop climbing, don’t stop dreaming, don’t stop yearning. The next summit is closer than ever before.