Am Yisrael Chai

On Survival, Nine Months into this War

I admit it. I have never liked the Jewish rallying cry, “עם ישראל חי - Am Yisrael Chai - The People of Israel Lives.” It has always seemed to me to set the bar dismally low, as if survival were the best outcome we Jews could ever hope for.

I recognize that the slogan has resonated at certain moments in Jewish history. A Jewish British army chaplain appropriately announced, “Am Yisrael Chai,” during the liberation of Bergen-Belsen at the end of World War II. Protestors in New York rightly chanted, “Am Yisrael Chai,” when they rallied against the 1975 UN resolution equating Zionism with racism. Soviet Jewry activists in the 1970s and 1980s were onto something when they made Shlomo Carlebach’s musical version of the expression their movement’s anthem.

But the ubiquitousness of the slogan here in Israel since this war began has been a bit much. “Am Yisrael Chai” has been graffitied on highway overpasses, printed on flags, and painted on sheets that hang outside schools, drape over balconies, and stretch across fences. The video for Israeli pop singer Eyal Golan’s song, Am Yisrael Chai, has been viewed 23 million times since it was released shortly after October 7. For me, all this “Am Yisrael Chai” pride has felt contrived, bordering on triumphalist.

And yet, now that we have reached the nine-month mark of this war, I am reassessing my aversion to the catchphrase. Through these long nine months, I have learned that flourishing is not an available option during war. The best one can hope for is muddling through, staying afloat, doing exactly what the Am Yisrael Chai slogan celebrates—being alive. What’s more, during such uncertain times, survival is no minor event; it is a monumentally lucky one.

Perhaps I have arrived at this turning point in my thinking about surviving versus thriving precisely because the war has extended into its ninth month. The association is unavoidable: in these nine months hollowed by loss, new lives could have entered the world.

Of course, new lives have entered the world—and the families of some of Hamas’ victims. In March, Michal Lubnov, wife of hostage Alex Lubnov, gave birth to their second child. In May, Ella Haimi, wife of Tal Haimi, a murdered hostage whose body is still being held by Hamas, gave birth to their fourth son. This week, Ofri Bibas Levi, whose brother Yarden, sister-in-law Shiri, and nephews Kfir and Ariel were kidnapped, gave birth to a baby boy they will likely never know. Since the war began, some 30 wives of IDF soldiers killed in action have given birth (and a remarkable organization has stepped up to support them).

How did these women get through pregnancy and childbirth without their partners, while grieving murdered family members, or sick with dread about those being held captive in Hamas’ terror tunnels? How do we reconcile these new lives with those lost during the last nine months? I have no idea. The only words I can string together are, “Am Yisrael Chai.”