The moment when the sun disintegrates, splaying colors across the horizon, it is not yet night but not quite day either. This is the twilight, more vexingly known in Hebrew as “between the suns” or bein hashmashot. Why the suns? Aren't we leaving the sun behind for the darkness? Though it is possible that sun is simply a synonym for day, the Gaon of Vilna teaches that the “two suns” referred to are the sun as it is visible and as it is hidden from the eye. And this time between the visible and the hidden is and always will be a time of uncertainty in which what seems impossible is possible, such as the first bein hashmashot after the creation of human beings when the Sages taught all future miracles were prepared.
Today bein hashmashot marks a more contemporary creation story. The Day of Memory, Yom Hazikaron, for all of those killed while serving in defense of the State of Israel and in acts of terror gives way to Yom Haatzmaut, the day of celebrating the birth of the State of Israel. This space in between is not only a transition. One day encompasses the deepest grief including for those that are most recently bereft and one day the joyful triumph of Israel’s persistence in the midst of horrific violence. Like all occurrences of bein hashmashot, this time is both days and neither. These moments intimate that these intense and seemingly irreconcilable realities can not only follow each other, but exist in the same moment. Like the disintegration of the sun as it melts into the colors that otherwise are unseen. Like the naming of the second sun, which shines without being seen. This moment now passing is and always will be a time to remind us that there are moments that reveal the impossible. Maybe a miracle is found there in which grief and triumph both give way to hope and peace.