Rabbi Shimon ben Yocḥai teaches: The Holy One, Blessed be He, gave Israel three precious gifts—and each was given through suffering (Berakhot 5a). One of these three gifts is the Land of Israel.
That the Land is a gift is evident to anyone who has set foot upon it or who calls it home. From the snow-capped Mount Hermon in the north to the golden sands of the Negev and Arava in the south; from the Mediterranean coastline to the shimmering waters of the Kinneret and the salt-laden stillness of the Dead Sea; from the lush oases of Ein Gedi to the blossoming forests of the Galilee—the Land is breathtaking in its richness and its beauty.
The Torah itself sings the praises of the Land’s physical beauty and splendor, calling it “a land flowing with milk and honey” rich with “streams and springs and fountains issuing from plain and hill—a land of wheat and barley, of vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey” (Deuteronomy 8:7-8). But it testifies to its spiritual dimension as well: “a land which the Lord your God looks after, on which the Lord your God always keeps His eye, from year’s beginning to year’s end (Deuteronomy 11:12) and “You shall not defile the land in which you live, in which I Myself abide” (Numbers 35:34).
Yom Ha’atzmaut is the day we celebrate this divine gift—the miraculous return to the Land and the establishment of a Jewish state within it after more than two millennia of exile.
Yet the second part of R. Shimon’s teaching is just as true. Yom Hazikaron, which precedes our celebration, reminds us of the suffering and immense sacrifice that have accompanied this gift. On this solemn day, we bow our heads in memory of over 30,000 fallen soldiers and victims of terror—more than 2,000 of whom have been lost since October 7—and we cry out for the 59 Israelis still held hostage by Hamas. And once again, we are forced to confront the harsh reality that our struggle is not yet over, and that, tragically, these numbers may rise by this time next year.
This raises a painful question: if God intended to bestow upon us the Land as a gift, why must it be accompanied by such anguish? Why not give it as a parent might give a cherished gift to a child—freely, lovingly, and without pain?
Perhaps the answer lies in the nature of gratitude and memory. A child who receives a gift may enjoy it in the moment, yet quickly take it for granted and eventually forget it. But a gift acquired through sacrifice is etched deeply into our consciousness. When we suffer, we often gain clarity about what truly matters. We learn to cherish our blessings and recognize their value—not as entitlements, but as privileges. Thus, through suffering, God wanted to teach us to express gratitude and appreciation for the gift of the Land and never forget it.
This lesson feels especially urgent today. In the immediate aftermath of October 7, we witnessed a stirring sense of unity, as people from all backgrounds and walks of life came together to defend our Land. Yet, in recent months, old divisions have resurfaced and our discourse has grown bitter once more. It is as if we are living out God’s warning: that without suffering, we may lose sight of the profound gift that God has given us.
But are we destined to endure suffering in order to remain in the Land?
A careful reading of the words of Rabbi Shimon offers hope. He does not say that God gives these gifts through suffering in perpetuity. Rather, He gave them that way. The implication is that suffering is not the eternal condition of our presence in the Land—it is the price paid until we fully claim the gift as our own. When that happens, we will be able to speak of suffering in the past tense.
When will that day come? Perhaps when we have triumphed over our enemies from without—and more crucially, when we have succeeded in building a moral, respectful, and holy society from within.
