My own personal tekes.

For the past few years I’ve been home on Yom HaZicaron and I’ve sat on my mirpeset and listened to the tekes that goes on the school down below. Tzur Hadassah, from my home’s perspective, is a giant amphitheater, so I hear some of it pretty well.

So without yet having my children there, I stand with the students and teachers during the siren, I let  their speeches waft into my head, and I sing HaTikvah with them as we end the tekes.

Every year it gets more intense as my kid gets closer and closer in age to attending school and being a part of these ceremonies, dressed in blue and white, singing in the chorus.

The siren sounds, I stand, my legs are a little more wobbly. My heart beats a little faster. My eyes are a bit wetter.

Every year it gets more intense as my kids delve deeper and deeper into Israeli society, swallowed up by blue and white, consumed by Hebrew, and one day, drafted to serve our country in the IDF.





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