The pain of victory
The lore and miracle of six days in 1967 lives large, even for those who were not alive to witness it.
Retelling the radio transmission of Motta Gur, claiming the Temple Mount is in Israel’s hands, still gives me chills. Each time I hear it, I bite my lips to hold back tears.
I imagine this moment is what 1967 felt like: Preemptively removing an imminent threat. Precise coordination of all of the arteries of the Israeli Defense machines. Unity of the people, even amidst political divides. Pinpoint accuracy on targets and perfect execution of years of planning. Crippling the enemy and silencing their hubris.
This is a moment where we are witnessing a miracle.
Even miracles have costs that must be paid. While we can and should celebrate our swift dominance over Iranian airspace and the continued removal of existential threats, it comes at a price. Jews worldwide are carrying the receipts.
In almost 80 years, Israel has never had half-ton bombs land on its citizens. As of the time of this writing, there are 26 Israeli souls who have been killed by Iran’s nefarious actions. Countless are injured physically. Innumerable people will suffer from emotional trauma that this war will cause.
All this is happening in the backdrop of a nation still tending to its debilitating wounds from October 7, 2023.
This moment reminds me of a potent story that is emblematic of the Jewish narrative.
In 1967, when the Old City of Jerusalem was recaptured, the IDF’s chief rabbi, Shlomo Goren, gathered a large gaggle of soldiers, and they prayed together at the Western Wall. This was the first time Israelis could pray at this ancient site in modern times. It was a miracle.
Goren, a widely learned and deeply respected rabbinic figure, declared to the soldiers that on that day, June 7, 1967, which corresponded to the 28th of Iyyar, Hallel would be recited.
The dates in the calendar held no significance. The events unfolding, however, were unprecedented and divinely inspired. Thus, Goren claimed that this moment was deserving of Hallel — the collection of Psalms and song that are recited on holidays.
Before Goren could begin the blessing of the Hallel prayer, some rank-and-file soldiers — not generals with clout or colonels with higher rank — challenged Goren. They said, “We cannot recite Hallel. In fact, today we need to say Tachanun,” the penitential prayers admitting sin, acknowledging regret, and asking for God’s mercy.
Goren looked at the sweaty and bloody-clothed soldiers, awaiting an explanation for their demand.
They continued, “We spent the last three hours collecting bodies of our comrades. They died so we can have this miracle. Dozens were dispatched to the hospital with unspeakable wounds. We will never erase the sights we witnessed. Today is a day for lamentation. Not celebration. Tachanun. Not Hallel.”
Goren took a long pause. There was silence amidst the sounds of war.
He then declared adamantly, “No Hallel and no Tachanun.” The soldiers slowly nodded in assent with the Solomonic decision, and then they all prayed in this sacred space. All the soldiers. Religious and secular. Ashkenaz and Mizrahi. Those who captured the city and those who gathered bodies.
Our moment today, and I would contend our existence as Zionists, is embodied in this story.
We are a people that hold miracles and tragedy, pain and purpose, hope and fear in the same hand, and often at the same time.
As the nation of Israel continues to fight for its existence and the safety of its citizens, may the urge for Hallel continue to be strong, and may our collective hope of living in peace outshine the existential fear we have been inhaling deeply each day.
May God protect the soldiers and citizens of the State of Israel.
David-Seth Kirshner is senior rabbi of Temple Emanu-El of Closter and past president of both the New York Board of Rabbis and the North Jersey Board of Rabbis.
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