Like modern Israel, I was born in 1948. She is young and vibrant; I am old and contemplative.

I have always considered myself blessed to have been born in the US of A, a country hospitable to Jews, affording me opportunities and freedom to follow my dreams, to raise a family in my faith, to worship and observe as I desired, and to succeed at my chosen professions, relatively free of the obstacles and persecution imposed upon my people for millennia. It would be churlish of me not to be grateful for these blessings and advantages, and I am, I think, appropriately appreciative. I stand and salute the American flag, I am inordinately pleased when a US athlete stands on the podium to receive her medal, I tear up at the playing of the national anthem and God Bless America, and, unlike some United States Senators, I root for the US in its war with Iran. I voted, I paid my taxes, and, for the most part, observed traffic regulations.

Then, because it was always my wife’s dream, and because my location has never had much impact on me (I can be unsociable pretty much anywhere), we made Aliyah. Ours was “Aliyah lite.” I was retired, we had acquired comfortable housing, and we encountered no struggles with malaria or marauding fedayeen. My comedic struggles with the language were irritating, but not a pioneer-category hardship. She was happy; I was content.

Eventually the occasion arose for me to vote for the first time in an Israeli election. The state kindly conducted two prior inconclusive elections in order to give me time to complete the citizenship process, which was truly a comedy of errors. At one point, to my wife’s horror, I offered to show physical evidence of my brit milah to the lady at misrad hapnim when she questioned my Rabbi-attested Judaism. Nevertheless, I both avoided arrest and eventually became a citizen and was prepared to cast my first ballot in my new (and eternal) homeland.

I have enjoyed the privilege of voting in elections for more than a half century. But this was different.

It is hard to describe my (totally unanticipated) feelings, emotions, pride, sense of fulfillment, satisfaction, appreciation, accomplishment, and awareness of destiny . . . but mostly, the gratitude. I stood there in the voting enclosure, absolutely overcome with a sense of indebtedness. To God, of course, who sustained me and brought me to that day. But that applies anywhere and everywhere. My overwhelming feeling of gratitude at that moment was directed more to those parents and children who struggled, in peace and war, to make this dream a reality, against all odds, against all opposition, against what must have seemed like the will and power of the entire world. They were people who sacrificed and succeeded, because failure was not an option. There were no alternatives left for the Jewish people; for them, there was no place else to go and nowhere else they wanted to be.

And what a price they paid. The graves on Mount Herzl, the lives taken in battle and terrorism, the endless war against implacable foes whose goal was not peace, or even mere victory, but annihilation, spoke soundlessly to me. I could vote in free and fair elections because two thousand years of Jews had sustained a dream, and two or three generations of Jews were prepared to live and die for the fulfillment of that dream–the restoration and survival of a Jewish State.

Following that experience, I was in Israel for my first Independence Day (Yom Ha’Atzmaut). Today, on Yom Ha’Atzmaut, I think back on that day with wonder. Who knew that as I observed the revelry and sheer joy of a people celebrating (with dance, song, parades, and grilled meat) their freedom, independence, survival, endurance, victory, success, resilience, and sheer perseverance, I too could get caught up in the enthusiasm and–finally–begin to appreciate the miracle in which I lived?

Those two experiences crystallized some of the thoughts and emotions that had been percolating for decades. I suspect that I am hardly unique, and I hope that my message will resonate with a receptive audience.

There is no rational explanation for Israel. No self-respecting science fiction or fantasy writer would presume to strain a reader’s credulity with an account as unbelievable as the one surrounding the State of Israel’s re-emergence in the twentieth century and its continuing success in the twenty-first. The destruction of European Jewry, the hostility of the controlling mandatory government, the antagonism of Europe, the active opposition of the US State Department, the scarcity of water and arable land, the unceasing and implacable enmity and attacks of the Arab nations, the wars (any one of which could have ended the enterprise permanently), the boycotts, the absorption of waves of immigration of destitute populations, the terrorism, the implacable enmity of the United Nations, the hatred of our neighbors, the depravity and bestiality of Hamas, the power of Hezbollah and Iran . . . the list goes on and on.

And yet, Israel not only endured, it prevailed. It built mighty armed forces, of necessity. It established educational networks and world-class universities. It reclaimed land and water. It developed irrigation systems and water technologies that have transformed agriculture around the world. It became a world leader in life sciences and technology. It remained democratic, even in the face of an occasionally intransigent indigenous fifth column. And it welcomed Jews from around the world–from the Arab countries that cast out ancient Jewish communities in equivalent numbers to those Arabs who left or were expelled during the War of Independence, from war-torn Ethiopia, from anti-Semitic Soviet Russia–welcoming any Jew who wanted to be part of a free people living in its ancestral home.

With open eyes, one sees the miracles everywhere–the children waiting in bus stops before school, the flurry of shopping before Jewish holidays, the Friday night family dinners whether or not the family observes Shabbat, the concern and attentiveness to other people’s children (and salaries), the satisfaction of a people who have finally come home and finally feel at home.

I was not among those who built this country with blood, sweat and tears. I lived a privileged life in the United States. Like many others, I supported Israel financially, economically, commercially, even starting an office in Tel Aviv with the support of my international law firm, and facilitating the aliyah of a number of families (mostly just lawyers, but still . . .). Nevertheless, I will never be able to claim that I was one of those builders of Zion to whom I was grateful in that polling booth, those people who paid the price.

There are many like me, both those who have made aliyah and those who have not. We missed out on the adventure of building a new Jewish commonwealth after two thousand years. I am not one of the recently arrived who judges those who decide on other courses of action; everyone needs to do what is right for them. But I realize now, standing at attention on my balcony during the siren to pay homage on Yom Hazikaron to those who gave the last full measure of devotion for our land and our security, just as I realized in that voting booth, that we are not absolved of the responsibility of keeping the dream alive.

Now is our time. We didn’t drain the swamps or man the trenches. But we all have the obligation, to the extent that we have the wherewithal, to help in the current struggle.

The existence of Israel is threatened by enemies of all stripes: Iran/Hamas/Hezbollah, the United Nations, “woke” (if ignorant) members of Congress, campus radicals with and without tenure who have abandoned academic integrity in favor of anti-Semitic indoctrination, ignorant, even if well-meaning, Jews who have adopted intersectionality as their preferred method of “tikkun olam,” notwithstanding the fact that it contemplates the destruction of Israel.

We must oppose those who would destroy Israel, whether by military means, or through the meretricious and insidious delegitimization of the BDS movement. We must call out and withhold support from the universities who give in to the anti-Semites who congregate in and infect academia. No day should pass in which we do not take some action in support of Israel, whether it is writing letters to the editor and to our elected representatives, signing petitions, opposing divestment, calling out false propaganda, demanding fairness for Israel. We must make ourselves heard in a meaningful way. We must make policy on Israel a touchstone of our political support–it is a sin, religious and secular, to support a candidate or institution that espouses policies endangering Israel.

Most significantly, we must reassess our alliances and commitments. We must reject alien forces, even those that identify themselves as Jewish, but are not animated by a single shred of authentic Jewish character, tradition, loyalty, or faith. “Not in our name” is exactly right. Nothing Israel or Jews do is in their name, because they are Jews in name only, having rejected the cornerstone of Jewish identity. Zionism is an inextricable part of Judaism.  Those people who take the side of our enemies against the Jewish State are to Jews as zombies are to human beings, mere caricatures devoid of any shared soul, destiny, values, or characteristics. They are Jewish, but they have chosen to be unJews, like the undead. I fear that they are beyond redemption; had they been in Egypt, they would have remained behind. Every Jewish soul is precious, so this is a fraught topic, possibly for a future column. For now, suffice it to say that we must support those who support Israel.

If physical involvement is not feasible, there are numerous causes in need of financial support. I serve as an ad hoc consultant for one of them, the National Jewish Advocacy Center, which is constantly on the front lines in defense of Jews and Israel. Shurat HaDin. The Lawfare Project. UK Lawyers for Israel. Pens for Swords. The Brandeis Center. The Deborah Project. There are many others.

If you decide to stand with Israel, ways to do so will present themselves. Seize them. Every day in every way you can make a contribution.

The people who made it possible for me to vote in a free Jewish State did their part. We will surely be accountable if we fail to do ours. This is our time. If we miss this chance, we may not get another.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)