JERUSALEM — We were kids in June of 1967. We were horrified by the sudden responsibility that was put on our shoulders, and we were extremely nervous about our real ability to prevail. I wasn't quite 10 years old.

The Six-Day War was the founding event of our lives, the constitutive moment, shaping the development, nature, and destiny of the State of Israel — and of me.

I grew up in the southern town of Ashkelon, less than 10 miles from the Gaza Strip — then part of our most dangerous and threatening enemy, Egypt, which was headed by its legendary absolute leader, Gamal Abdel Nasser.

Weeks before the war broke out, most of the fathers in my class were called to miluim (reserve duty). The kids took upon our too narrow and young shoulders the responsibility of keeping calm, spreading a sense of security, and preparing our homes and families for the upcoming war. That's what our fathers told us to do when they put their uniforms on, kissing us goodbye.

I clearly remember the hard physical work, digging a deep pit in our back yard to hide in when the bombs and missiles arrived. I insisted that it should be in the upside-down "L" shape of the letter "resh" and that we split the family between its two wings; in that way, I thought, in case we get a direct hit, at least some of us would survive. I recall painting the headlights of our family car blue so if we had to drive at night, perhaps evacuating our injured, we would not be seen by the enemy's jet fighters. I remember putting tape on the windows of our home so when the bombing started we would not be hit by the broken glass.

I was in charge of mobilizing my friends, filling hundreds of sacks with fresh sand that we shlepped on our bicycles, one at a time, from the nearby seashore, distributing them all over the neighborhood to protect the older people from the upcoming disaster.

Forty years later I can still feel the fear.

The young State of Israel was on paper a bit more mature than me in 1967, but suffered from the same syndrome: The founding fathers of the country, the people who created and shaped it only 20 years before — people like David Ben-Gurion, Chaim Weizmann, and the rest of the old Labor Zionist leadership — were dead or out of power. Israel was by itself, relying on the young, mainly native, generation of military leaders. The responsible adults were youngsters like Moshe Dayan, Yigal Alon, Shimon Peres, Yitzhak Rabin, and Ezer Weizman. We probably liked them but we didn't revere them as we had the old leaders, and I am not sure we trusted them 100 percent.

I believe that what I experienced as a child in Ashkelon during the prewar period is similar to what Israeli society in general felt: "We are now strong, we have a state, we have a Jewish army, we won the Independence War and the Sinai campaign. But we are also small, young, and vulnerable. We still remembered the Holocaust of only 20 years ago. Anything can happen, and we need to prepare ourselves for the worst-case scenario."

And than came the war and the tremendous victory. It was rapid, strong, elegant — and surprising. Suddenly the prewar hesitations and nervousness were seen as pathetic. In the next couple of weeks, we laughingly uncovered our L-shaped pit, planted palm trees in the hole, happily erased the blue paint from our headlights. We patiently, slowly peeled the tape from our glass windows.

We Israelis, young and old, were sure that this was the last war and that our enemies had learned their lesson once and for all. Our self-esteem and self-confidence were sky high. Little David reunited Jerusalem and defeated the Goliaths of the Middle East in only six days. What followed was amazing, inspirational: the victory albums, the day trips to Gaza and the West Bank, the visits to the Old City and the Kotel. They filled us with lots of pride, patriotism, and positive spirit — but at the same time with arrogance, disrespect, and destructive euphoria.

In the years since those sweet, naive moments after the Six-Day War, both the country and I grew up. I am turning 50; the country will soon be 60. In those years I would like to think we have both accumulated wisdom, understanding, and an acceptance of our limitations. It didn't take long for us to learn that it was not the last war and that we are not almighty. We had to fight time and again, sometimes bitter and difficult battles. We lost too many youngsters, and we are still coping with the same basic situation. Since the time of the glorious war, my father retired from the military, I served and retired, my older son served, and my other son is soon going in. We are not saying anymore that this or that war is the last one. We now understand. We are now mature.

In spite of all that, and although this small country is intensively eventful for better and for worse, the Six-Day War remains the most critical and meaningful landmark in our history and destiny. It certainly is for me. The implications are in all walks of life. And although one can easily connect anything that is on our agenda today to the war and its aftermath, I will dwell on one aspect that is integral to my personal and professional life: Israel-Diaspora relations.

Before 1967, Israel was young and innocent. The memories from the shtetl life and persecutions of Europe were still fresh, and the founding fathers of our country instinctively understood the importance of Diaspora Jewry to our prosperity here. World Jewry felt the same, and the relationship were based on the intimate feeling of one big family.

On the seventh day and immediately thereafter, the world was still amazed by Israel's victory. Jewish communities around the world, mainly in North America, felt as if they were a part of that moment. Soviet Jewry started to wake up after so many years of neglect. The non-Jewish world began to take the Diaspora seriously.

Yet the public and leaders of Israel, probably as part of the general euphoria, didn't really care much. We were busy celebrating our victory, praising our heroism, trying to absorb the new reality and explore the territories that were suddenly extended to us. We were happy to hear compliments and expressions of admiration from our brothers and sisters abroad. But in our own direct, some say arrogant, Sabra way, we told them that they should keep sending us their money (which they did, with extreme generosity). They should lobby for us with their governments (which they did with much success). And, no less important, they should come and live here with us where the real action was (which they didn't do, but that caused them to become even more generous and active). Post-'67 Israel was full of self-confidence. We didn't need anyone to assist us or tell us what to do. We were the darlings of the world and the heroes of the Diaspora.

But with the years and with the accumulating crises and challenges that we faced, we matured and learned a lot, many times the hard way. Slowly but surely Israelis realized that we can't do it all by ourselves. Diaspora Jewry is a national asset to us, and we should treat it that way. At the same time, Diaspora Jewry discovered that it is facing severe identity problems and started to invest in its own internal needs. With time, both sides understood that they are important to the survival of one another and started to work on programs and projects that would ensure Jewish continuity on both sides of the ocean.

Ten years after the war, Menachem Begin came up with "Project Renewal," in which each Diaspora community would adopt a neighborhood in need in Israel and together with the government work to better it. Israelis and Diaspora Jews, mainly through the Jewish Agency for Israel and the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee, started additional partnerships, joint ventures, and encounters. These were not fully reciprocal, but the bottom line is that we are working together to find common ground and to try and understand and help each other.

The postwar syndrome of "you send money and we protect the country" is not relevant anymore. Initiatives like Israel Experience, Direct Absorption, Partnership 2000, birthright israel, Masa, Living Bridge, Diller Teen Fellows, "Nacie," and many others are examples of the new understanding.

United Jewish Communities of MetroWest NJ's leaders understood and implemented that very concept years ago and were pioneers in establishing geographical partnerships between New Jersey and municipalities in Israel. After 40 years, the partners in Israel are looking at Diaspora Jewry in a totally different way. For many of them, the names and faces of MetroWest became their extended family.

When I was 10, waiting nervously for the missiles from Gaza to land on my home, I didn't expect anyone from across the ocean to call me or show up. I didn't even know that they were there.

Forty years later, unfortunately and amazingly, missiles from Gaza are still falling on our homes as if nothing had changed. However, the 10-year-olds of Kibbutz Erez, facing Gaza, know that they have partners and friends in New Jersey. These partners and friends don't just write e-mails and send money. They help them cope with the frightening situation. Even more importantly, they visit the kibbutz on a regular basis, even when their own biological families from Tel Aviv are afraid to go down there.

That is not to say that everything is working fine. On the contrary, we are fighting an uphill battle. Too many youngsters on both sides of the ocean still think that it is not better to be together, that we are not really one, and that klal Yisrael is an old, irrelevant Jewish phrase. To them we say: Visiting each other, working together and getting to know each other are the only ways to keep our communities connected. It is literally about the spiritual, perhaps even physical, survival of both.

The symbolic bridge that connects the State of Israel and world Jewry is very narrow and weak, but we should not be afraid to cross back and forth. "The bridge walkers," those of us who feel comfortable on both sides of that bridge, should become the role models, leaders, and educators in our communities. Graduates of the above-mentioned programs should lead the way to others.

I don't know when the next crisis will come, where it will hit, and what shape it will take. I do know for sure that in case of emergency, but also in more routine times, the bridge should be more crowded than ever before.

---