The Glass Breaks, and We Dance: Living with Loss and Joy in Israel

Throughout the year, and especially on Yom HaAtzmaut, I find myself basking in the beauty, diversity, and relentless progress of our holy Land and its people. The determination, growth, resilience – it never ceases to amaze me. Yet, for the first 17 years of living in Israel, I felt undeserving of such a gift.

We just “showed up.” We arrived on the wings of a dream, stepping onto a land built by the sweat and blood of others. Hundreds of thousands of people sacrificed, struggled, and fought to establish and defend this country. And we? We made Aliyah on a flying carpet they had woven. I felt indebted. I didn’t have to fight for the mountain upon which we built our home. I didn’t have to pay the price they paid. We were simply beneficiaries of their labor.

For years, our son Binyamin fought. He risked his life in the fields, in training, and on the front lines to protect this land. But it wasn’t until November 18th, 2023, when he was killed defending Am Yisrael, that I fully understood how much he had been securing and sacrificing. It was then that I felt, in my bones, that we too had now given our own blood to this Land. It was then that I knew: I am no longer just a grateful recipient. I am a full-fledged Israeli. I have earned my Teudat Zehut with investment.

Every year on Yom HaZikaron, I would cry like a baby, mourning the sacrifices made so that we could live this miraculous dream. And every year, as Yom HaZikaron transitions into Yom HaAtzmaut, we, as a nation, shift from pain and loss to gratitude and celebration. We remember our fallen, and then we honor their sacrifice with joyous appreciation for the Land they fought for – and continue to fight for.

For me, that transition has never been easy. The shift from grief to joy takes time. The tears don’t dry immediately. It always felt abrupt – like trying to flip an emotional switch when your heart hasn’t caught up. But this year, I’ve been blessed with a new perspective. Just a few weeks ago, we celebrated the wedding of our son Yehudah. The chuppah was electric. Hundreds of people surrounded us, celebrating with all their hearts. It was pure, unfiltered joy.

And then, as is the custom, the music slowed and softened. “If I forget you, O Jerusalem.” In that moment, under the chuppah, we didn’t only mourn the destruction of Jerusalem and the Beit HaMikdash. We mourned our own loss. We mourned Binyamin. We mourned for all the broken families. A glass was placed beneath Yehudah’s foot. He lifted his leg, and in an instant, the glass shattered – a reminder that our joy is never complete while Jerusalem remains in ruins, while redemption is incomplete.

But then – without missing a beat – the entire crowd erupted. Mazel Tov! The band struck up, the guests burst into song, and the dancing began. The sadness of a moment before transformed into pure, exuberant joy. A bayit ne’eman b’Yisrael, a new home in Israel, was being built.

How is it possible to move so quickly from sorrow to celebration? How do we, as a people, hold pain and joy in the same breath? Perhaps it’s similar to how the holy ark contains both the shattered and intact tablets. They complete each other, and we need both.

We break the glass because we refuse to be joyous without remembering our losses. We observe Yom HaZikaron not weeks before or days later than Yom HaAtzmaut, but side by side. We cry, and then we dance. We mourn, and then we build. We plant with tears and reap with joy. Hazor’im b’dim’ah, b’rinah yiktzoru. They complete each other. They are inseparable. We are a relentlessly hopeful people, always striving for something so much greater.

There are two explanations for this. First, we must invest to appreciate. That’s human nature. And this is the rhythm of our people. This is what it means to be Israeli. This is why we love our home so dearly! We would be a different nation and country if Israel had been handed to us on a silver platter. The same applies to the Beit HaMikdash. We need to exert our energies to improve as a people and individuals to rebuild Jerusalem and restore the Beit HaMikdash in all its glory. There is crying before the joy.

The second understanding is the concept of the birth pangs of the Redemption. We, the Airley family, like many others, have been chosen by Hashem to be an intricate part of the process.

The glass breaking under the chuppah and the explosion of joy that follows. The pain of losing a son and the overwhelming blessing of marrying off another. We recall the sacrifices on Yom HaZikaron and celebrate our independent, thriving State on Yom HaAtzmaut. It is all one story, the story of our nation. The story of those who fought before us, those who fight now, and those who will continue to build. We cry, and then we dance. 

B’ezrat Hashem, we will one day join together in the ultimate celebration, with Hashem’s Divine Presence illuminating and dwelling throughout our holy home of Medinat Yisrael.

Jen Airley made Aliyah in 2006 to Bet Shemesh with her husband and children. When their son Binyamin was killed Nov.18, 2023 fighting in Gaza, she went from being an exercise physiologist and personal trainer to international speaker and ultimately founder of Beit Binyamin, a retreat center in Tzfat for those directly affected by the war. She can be reached through the website BeitBinyamin.org