Iâm thinking about one of the rallying cries of the Jewish people. Our slogan, if you will. We speak it, we shout it, we sing it: ×˘× ×׊ר×× ××. Am Yisrael Chai. The people of Israel live.
It says a lot, I think, that this of all phrases is among our defining anthems. Out of all the possibilities, this is our motto, our catchphrase, our affirmation: a simple, defiant declaration of our own continued existence against the odds.
Iâm also thinking of our traditional exclamation of celebration. The classic, quintessential, go-to Jewish toast, so characteristic as to have reached popular culture through a Broadway musical: ×××××. Lâchaim. To life.
One of our primary âgood luckâ symbols, found on medallions and amulets: the single word, ××. Chai. Life. Our âlucky numberâ is 18, the number with the gematria value of life. We give momentary gifts and make donations in multiples of 18: giving chai, giving life.
Itâs pretty straightforward, really. We just want to live. As people, as Jews, as a community.
Iâm thinking about how many ways our culture and traditions repeatedly highlight the centrality of life â both the preservation of individual lives, and the continuation of our collective life. Thinking how terrifyingly often both categories of life fall under threat. And how we still keep going.
××ר ××ע×× ××× ×××ער×ע××. Mir veln zey iberlebn. We will outlive them, sung in a field with soldiers and no escape, worst come to worst but singing out defiance anyway.
⌠and they didnât survive, those singers, physically they did not outlive their attackers, and too many others didnât either. But they were still right: we, we as a collective, we did outlive. Barely, and with indescribable and lasting loss⌠but we did. Weâre still here. Existent. Alive. Affirming that and hanging on for dear life, as individual people and as a people.
Am Yisrael Chai. Mir veln zey iberlebn. Lâchaim.
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