On my 35th birthday, Daniel, my husband, took me out for dinner. At the time, we were living in Israel, and he chose the restaurant at the Begin Heritage Center not just because we had heard that the food was excellent, but also for the view. If you haven’t been, not only is the Begin Center worth visiting because of its historical importance, but it also overlooks a deep valley in Jerusalem, and just on the other side of the valley, looming large, are the Old City walls of Jerusalem. The walls, which have been rebuilt countless times, are one of the most enduring symbols of the resilience of Jerusalem, and to me, at least, feel evocative of our desire to be close to the nucleus of the physical manifestation of Judaism: the inner sanctum of the Temple Mount.
As we finished our dinner and went for a walk along the road that runs along side the restaurant, suddenly, there was a beautiful blast of fireworks. Now, I don’t know if this is universal, but oh, do I love fireworks; they just make me incredibly happy. As there was blast after blast in the sky of blue and white fireworks, illuminating not just the night sky but also falling like stars over the ancient city walls, I was mesmerized. I could not believe that he had actually managed to organize the most spectacular fireworks display for my birthday. It was the most incredible gift I could think of, the most amazing location, and just breathtaking. I thanked him profusely while mesmerized, not taking my eyes off the display for a moment; I didn’t want to miss a single firework. Had I stopped for even a moment to look at Daniel’s face, I would have seen that he was quietly laughing to himself, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks.
The fireworks display was finally over, I gushed and thanked the best husband ever for the most incredible gift ever and looked at Daniel in confusion as to what he found so funny. Finally catching his breath, he said, “Ilana, it is your birthday, but today is something else as well… Can you think about it for a moment?” “It’s someone else’s birthday…?” It took me way too long to catch on… you will excuse me; I was still brain-addled by the fireworks display.
“Israel!!!” Daniel said, “It is Israel’s birthday!”
And though Israel always celebrates its birthday on its Hebrew calendar date, the fifth of Iyar (sometimes off by a day because of Shabbat), my birthday – the 14th of May – and Israel’s Gregorian birthday, the 14th of May, only coincide once every nineteen years. On my 35th birthday, it, in fact, did not coincide, but someone in Jerusalem had chosen to celebrate Israel’s Gregorian birthday and had set off fireworks that perfectly timed with my own birthday and Daniel’s and my walk on the promenade. To this day, it remains my favorite birthday story.
There is a 1989 movie entitled ‘Born on the 4th of July’ which I have never watched, but the title has remained with me since I was a child. I think it was a story connected to a Vietnam war veteran who’s life was intricately connected to America. What does it mean to be born on the 14th of May? What does it mean to have your birthday coincide with Israeli Independence Day, even if it only happens once every 19 years? (My Hebrew birthday, by the way, is more than two weeks after the Hebrew date of Israeli independence.) There has always been a conscious connection between me and Israel. The same as I am harsh on myself, the same way as each birthday approaches I self-evaluate my own actions of the previous year. I feel unhappy when I have let others down, content when I could be of help. I seem to use the same approach when I think about Israel. And because this connection does exist, I think about Israel almost as often as I think about myself; I often think of us as a unit. Are we doing okay? How is our family? Is everyone who is connected to us faring well? When Israel is hurting, I feel like I am hurting as well. And though this is probably true of so many Jews, especially at the moment, I have always felt this level of responsibility; perhaps God knew that I needed the extra motivation to feel this bond with Israel.
The rambling of an introspective person on their birthday continues, so I will share with you my second favorite birthday story. On the day of my birth, my mother checked herself into Long Island Jewish Hospital in New York. If my understanding is correct, a laboring woman (at the time of my birth at least) wasn’t charged for her hospital stay until she gave birth. I was born at 11:45 pm. Had I waited for another fifteen minutes, my parents would not have been charged for my mom’s hospital stay on the 14th of May. But it seems I was determined to be born on the fourteenth; hospital charges be damned.
I guess it was meant to be that I needed that extra connection. For many years, though, I have wanted to share with the world, that bit of magic I feel each time I realize that Israel and I share a birthday. If everyone, Jew and non-Jew alike, felt just a bit more love for Israel, for how wonderful – if at times flawed – Israel is, this world, I’m convinced, would be a better place; no more so than at the moment. Last night, in a thousand-strong prayer for thanksgiving for Israel, held in North West London, the Chief Rabbi Sir Ephraim Mirvis KBE said it so simply yet so beautifully, “Israel – we love you!” Never has that felt more true. It’s as simple as that: Israel, we love you. Happy birthday to Israel. 76 years is no time at all in the lifetime of a country, and yet how much you have achieved, and you should only go from strength to strength.
It only seems appropriate to share some of my favourite Israeli recipes:
