From Memory to Meaning: What the Yoms Ask of Us

Shabbat Shalom,

This past Sunday, our community marked Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day, a day of commemoration for the unimaginable. In the coming days, we will again come together for Yom HaZikaron, honoring those who gave their lives in defense of the State of Israel, and then, almost jarringly, into the celebration of Yom Ha’atzmaut, Israel’s independence.

These three “Yoms,” placed so closely together, create a rhythm that is at once disorienting and deeply profound. We move from grief to memory to pride in a matter over the course of a week. From ashes to sacrifice to sovereignty.

And perhaps what is most striking is this: these are not ancient holidays rooted in biblical text or rabbinic tradition. They are not thousands of years old. They are, in Jewish terms, brand new; less than three generations removed from the events and people they memorialize.

There are still those among us who remember. Who carry experiences that cannot be replicated. Who witnessed both devastation and rebirth. We are living in the overlap of memory and history, where the past is not distant; it is present, breathing, and asking something of us.

There is something both strange and sacred about that.

Strange, because as Jews we are accustomed to anchoring ourselves in ancient time; in Exodus, at Sinai, through stories passed down across millennia. And yet here we are, observing holidays born from events our parents and grandparents lived through, events that still shape our daily reality.

And sacred, because we are not just inheritors of these moments. We are their stewards.

Here in our St. Louis community, we see that responsibility brought to life in very real ways.

The creation of the St. Louis Kaplan Feldman Holocaust Museum stands as a permanent testament to memory. It ensures that even as survivors leave us, their voices do not. That future generations, our children, and their children, will not just learn about the Holocaust, but will encounter it, grapple with it, and carry its lessons forward. There is a deep sadness in knowing why such a place must exist. And yet, there is also profound pride in knowing that our community chose to build this space.

Sadness and pride. Memory and action. Necessity and hope.

These are not contradictions. They are the very essence of Jewish life.

The proximity of these Yoms reminds us that Jewish life has never been linear. Joy and sorrow are not separate chapters. They are intertwined threads of the same story. The siren that brings Israel to a standstill on Yom HaZikaron gives way, almost immediately, to the dancing of Yom Ha’atzmaut. The tears do not fully dry before the celebration begins.

This is the challenge and honor of the Jewish condition: to carry both.

To remember the darkness of Yom HaShoah while refusing to let it define the entirety of who we are. To honor the sacrifice of Yom HaZikaron while continuing to build, to protect, to stand up. To celebrate the miracle of Yom Ha’atzmaut with pride, even as we know the work of securing our future, here and in Israel, is ongoing.

And that brings us to our responsibility.

As we sit here today, less than three generations removed from destruction and rebirth, we must ask ourselves: what will be asked of us by the generations that follow?

They will not know survivors in the same way we do.
They will not hear firsthand accounts of 1948 or 1967.
They will inherit not memory, but narrative.

And it is up to us to shape that narrative.

Through institutions like our Holocaust Museum.
Through advocacy that combats antisemitism and ensures we can stand tall as Jews.

Through travel to experience the beauty of Israeli culture first-hand.
Through the everyday choices we make to live proudly, visibly, and unapologetically.

Our tradition teaches us, “L’dor v’dor,” from generation to generation. But that transmission does not happen on its own. It requires intention. It requires ownership. It requires each of us to see ourselves as links in a chain that must not and will not break.

The Yoms are a reminder that Jewish history did not end in the past. It is unfolding in real time. And we are not merely witnesses, we are participants.

So, as we move through this powerful stretch of days, may we carry their lessons with us:

To remember with intention.
To act with courage.
To protect with urgency.
To celebrate with pride.

And above all, to embrace both the sadness and the strength of this moment, not as opposing forces, but as the fuel that drives us forward.

Because one day, not so far from now, it will be our time that future generations look back upon and ask: What did they do with the moment they were given?

May we answer that question with clarity, with conviction, and with an unbreakable commitment to our people and our future.

I look forward to seeing many of you at the Staenberg JCC for Yom HaZikaron this coming Monday, and at the Fox Building as we come together in celebration for Yom Ha’atzmaut on Wednesday.