Matti Friedman, a Canadian author and journalist, was raised in Toronto and now lives and writes in Jerusalem.
Have you seen the red, shouting for miles around?
Once there was a field of blood here, and now a field of poppies. …
Have you seen the white? Child, it’s a field of weeping
The tears have turned to stones, the stones have cried flowers
That fragment comes from a Hebrew song that became famous in 1971. It’s part of the secular canon of works known here in Israel as “memorial songs,” sung at military funerals and played on the radio on the country’s Remembrance Day.
I learned the song “There Are Flowers” not long after I arrived at a kibbutz in northern Israel from Toronto at age 17. The kibbutz kids discovered I could play guitar, and I was pressed into service to accompany a group of them in a rendition of “There Are Flowers” at a memorial ceremony.
I didn’t think much about it at the time, but later I became a soldier myself, and then a writer, and I’ve spent the past few years writing a book about war and pondering the way we talk about it. People engaged in conflict need to develop a language of grief.
People engaged in conflict need to develop a language of grief.
Religion has traditionally offered one, but in Israel’s early years people weren’t looking for the old mourning rituals that Judaism had to offer. Neither were they particularly interested in warlike language — “warriors,” “glory,” and so forth.
They turned instead to the natural world.
In “There Are Flowers,” the narrator admonishes a child not to pluck the flowers, whose lives are so brief to begin with. In Hebrew, “plucked flowers” is a term sometimes used for fallen soldiers, cut down before their time.
The song was written by the Israeli poet Natan Yonatan. Two years after it became popular, his own son, Lior, died in the 1973 Yom Kippur War.