Marching for Israel
In our family home, when our four kids were young, there were two annual special days of pronounced joyous anticipation.
One was the first day of Camp Ramah, the culmination of the school year segueing into the profoundly Jewish fun of summers at camp. The other was the Israel Day Parade. True, it was ephemeral, but so much time was always spent talking about it and planning and rejoicing in it that it seemed to be more than a mere half-day event. I must confess, however, that for me it is now a well-loved memory. These days of my decrepitude, I just don’t have the endurance, the physical vigor, to participate, even as an onlooker. After all, even onlookers have to arrive expediently at the scene and then be prepared for lots of standing. At 86, and 88 for my bridegroom of 66 years, we simply cannot do it. So we always did, and now we don’t, and certainly we won’t. But it will always be remembered as a cherished, and yes, even life-changing part of our lives.
Who can forget, in those halcyon days, the happy expectancy of looking for our kids to march by, with their unfurled banners, singing and dancing up Fifth Avenue, proud to be Jewish, proud of Israel, never suspecting that this beloved event would ever deter a New York mayor and bring out Jew-haters, masked as anti-Zionists, as if calling oneself that was okay, a proud identity, instead of the less socially tolerated antisemite.
The memories of the excitement in our house, those seeming centuries ago, reverberate. We were young, and the house would vibrate from the eager noises of kids who knew the parade was coming. Such frenzy! Such passion for all things Jewish!
We couldn’t wait, none of us, except the dog of the moment or the dogs of other moments. Only Gringo, perhaps, could relate and claim a place as a macher, a marcher. That never happened. That old mongrel did not have the zichut to be buried in Israel, although her journey to Jerusalem was in a box in the baggage hold, but she certainly made a round trip to that sacred city and lived in the holy place for 14 months, a decent portion of a dog’s life. We never thought to bring her to the parade. Maybe we should have. Our other dogs never flew on El Al or any other airline at all, so Gringo was clearly the most sophisticated jetsetter of our canine family and the most deserving of a parade presence.
In our house, to be chosen at our family’s day school as the parade’s chairperson was as much an honor as being valedictorian or student council president. One of us became that person, and no Oscar or Nobel Prize winner was ever more happy, proud, or excited. Her enthusiasm bubbled around her for months as she worked with her schoolmates in choosing how they would portray the parade theme, what they would wear, what they would sing, what their banner would say, and who would be the designees to carry it. Flags would be abundant and marching would be day-school rowdy rather than militarily precise. That young girl, now a grandmother, shares and loves a family home in Jerusalem. Did the parade spur on this love, this connection, this ability to be at home here and there?
Yes, the parade has been an amazing promulgator of our children’s love for Israel. When we are glorifying and romanticizing our ancient homeland and helping to build it and feel the pride coursing through our veins, as we sing and dance and march, then nothing can be amiss. Israel can do no wrong.
But sadly, there are some, even within Israel, who can chip away at our perfect place, who are so endowed with hatred that they can bring slander to all of us.
Such a man was Meir Kahane, an evil man, reviled by almost all who knew him, who led his life rousing others to despise us. Another was Baruch Goldstein, a murderer of innocents in cold blood.
Sadly, these purveyors of malignancy, these soulless individuals, masquerading as followers of our faith and people, proved inspirational to others of their ilk, including some who walk the earth today and some who had the audacity to betray our dreamers and desecrate our parade. Among them was Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, whose unexpected presence at the end of this year’s parade was unwelcomed by most, and provided a rationale for the antisemites. He is not a man of peace, although his military service was negligible and at a desk. He is of the breed who doesn’t stand in leadership at the head of the brigade crying follow me. He could be the justification to bring out the rancor among those who could buffer their Jew hatred with an excuse. They could point to this despicable man and claim he is a representative of all the Jews. Clearly he is not. None of the parade organizers even knew of his planned attendance. They did not crave him raining on their parade! He was rightfully unwanted, uninvited, and unneeded!
So, sadly, this year’s parade was a bit tarnished. We can all hope that next year will compensate and that Mr. Smotrich and many of his hateful chevrah will be ex officio.
Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of 12. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com
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