I’m 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: עם ישראל חי. 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.
I’m 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: לחיים. L’chaim. To life.
One of our primary “good luck” symbols, found on medallions and amulets: the single word, חי. Chai. Life. Our “lucky number” 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.
It’s pretty straightforward, really. We just want to live. As people, as Jews, as a community.
I’m thinking about how many ways our culture and traditions repeatedly highlight the centrality of life — 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.
מיר וועלן זיי איבערלעבן. 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 didn’t survive, those singers, physically they did not outlive their attackers, and too many others didn’t either. But they were still right: we, we as a collective, we did outlive. Barely, and with indescribable and lasting loss… but we did. We’re 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. L’chaim.
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