In June 1967, a high school friend and I spent six consecutive nights driving from our homes in Albany, New York, to the top of John Boyd Thacher Park in the Helderberg Mountains. We arrived just before midnight carrying a portable shortwave radio, hoping to catch the English-language broadcast of Kol Yisrael, the Voice of Israel.

In those days before the internet, before cable news, and before information arrived instantly, that five-minute broadcast was our lifeline. As the clock struck midnight, we would search the dial for the familiar seven beeps that preceded the announcement: “This is Kol Yisrael, the Voice of Israel.”

Our hearts pounded with anticipation as we listened to reports of a tiny Jewish state fighting for its survival against enemies sworn to its destruction. When the war ended, the pride that swept through the Jewish world was unlike anything I had ever experienced.

For Jews of my generation, Israel became more than a country. It became a source of pride. A source of inspiration. A reminder that after centuries of persecution, the Jewish people could once again stand tall.

Nearly six decades later, I find myself asking a painful........

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