Concerts and Funerals

My wife and I are on our way to Ashdod to see Israeli music star Ishay Ribo in concert.

We get closer to the stadium and notice cars are parked on sidewalks a few kilometers away. Parking is going to be a challenge. Signs, both written and LED, guide the way to the concert.

We finally find a parking spot, walk a bit to the entrance gate, shuffle in among the crowd and take our seats.

I know Ishay Ribo’s songs and have rocked out to them with my kids in the car, but I am not sure what to expect once the lights go down and the concert begins.

Then he takes the stage.

It is only as Ishay Ribo begins to play that I begin to survey the crowd around me. Directly in front of me is a haredi couple with what seemed to be a newborn in a car seat. Behind me is a row of clearly secular Israelis on their feet and dancing. Around me I see heads uncovered, covered with hats and covered with kippot of all shapes, styles and sizes. Each and every one of these people are singing along with Ishay Ribo as he performs. What is truly amazing about this, if you aren’t familiar with his discography, is that his lyrics are primarily about Judaism, the Jewish people, prayer and G-d.

He begins to sing his first hit, L’Shuv HaBayta (a song about returning to G-d even after we sin), and I notice something else. This star, who is played on the radio in Israel every day and is beloved by all, is on stage wearing his tzitzit out. I try to sing along with Ishay and the crowd but can not. The lump in my throat will not allow it. I tell myself right then and there two things:

A. This is why I moved here.

B. The Jewish People and the Jewish State are incredible.

13 years earlier I had made the decision to live in Israel and it is a decision I have never looked back on, despite the hardships that sometimes accompany it . Still, it is not often that a moment validates these decisions so assuredly with such finite clarity.

We will bend but not break, we will cry but not despair, we will suffer setbacks but not lose. We are eternal.

It is October 16, 2023.

It is the first time I am really leaving my house since the outbreak of the war that has changed our lives forever.

I am on my way to Har Herzl to attend the funeral of Amitai Tzvi Granot HY"D.

I get closer to the cemetery and notice cars are parked on sidewalks a few kilometers away. Parking is going to be a challenge. Signs, both written and LED, guide the way to the burial.

I have been attending HaRav Tamir Granot’s weekly Torah classes in my hometown, but now his son was killed by an anti-tank missile from Lebanon and I feel I must be there for the funeral, but I am not sure what to expect once the procession begins.

The IDF officer officiating the funeral begins to speak.

It is only as the eulogies commence that I begin to survey the crowd around me. Jews of all stripes and creeds, religious and secular, young and old, cram themselves into this small space where the holy soldiers of Israel are laid to rest. And then, each and every one of these people begin to sing along with Eviatar Banai, an Israeli music star who is a close friend of Rav Granot, the grieving father, as he preforms a song Amitai Tzvi had once sang with his siblings for his sister’s Bat Mitzvah. What is truly amazing about this, if you aren’t familiar with his discography, is that his lyrics are primarily about Judaism, the Jewish people, prayer and G-d.

He sings a second song, accompanied by the fallen soldier’s brother on the keyboard, and I notice something else. The entire Granot family, reeling from pain, is standing with their arms around each other swaying and singing through the sobs. I try to sing along with Eviatar and the crowd but can not. The lump in my throat will not allow it. I tell myself right then and there two things:

A. This is why I moved here.

B. The Jewish People and the Jewish State are incredible.

15 years earlier I had made the decision to live in Israel and it is a decision I have never looked back on, despite the hardships that sometimes accompany it. Still, it is not often that a moment validates these decisions so assuredly with such finite clarity.

We will bend but not break, we will cry but not despair, we will suffer setbacks but not lose. We are eternal.