At 11 a.m. on Tuesday, Israel’s annual Memorial Day, the hundreds of families gathered in the military cemetery in the southern city of Beersheba fell silent as a siren wailed to honor the country’s war dead.
Minutes later, a commotion broke out as Itamar Ben-Gvir, the ultranationalist minister of national security, began speaking on behalf of the government, and loud shouting matches erupted over the graves between the families who opposed his presence at the cemetery and his supporters.
Many mourners left in shock and tears after the ceremony, but the angry confrontations continued outside the cemetery gates. Locals who supported Mr. Ben-Gvir, and had applauded his speech, hurled insults at people who criticized them or were protesting quietly, calling them “leftists,” “anarchists” and “traitors.”
Despite prior calls for unity by the country’s political and military leaders, who had appealed to Israelis to put politics aside for one day, the scenes in Beersheba laid bare the depth of the fissures in Israeli society as the state celebrates the 75th anniversary of the nation’s founding in 1948.
For 16 consecutive weeks, hundreds of thousands of Israelis have taken to the streets to protest an effort by the government — the most right-wing and religiously conservative in Israel’s history — to overhaul the judiciary in a way that critics say will undermine the country’s democracy.
As Israel prepared to usher in the start of its Independence Day festivities on Tuesday evening with a state ceremony featuring a traditional flag parade, musical performances and fireworks, the atmosphere in the country was muted. Many citizens said they wondered if Israel could survive its political and social divisions as well as it had survived its outside enemies.
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said Adi Lugasi, an artist, who had come to the Beersheba military cemetery as she does every year from her home in Ramat Gan, adjacent to Tel Aviv. Her father, who was killed in the line of duty at the age of 33 in 1974 in the Golan Heights, is buried here.
“The feeling is very difficult and we all know why — because an extremely controversial man insisted on coming here,” she said, referring to Mr. Ben-Gvir, who was rejected for military service on grounds that he was too extreme and had been convicted of incitement to racism and support for a terrorist group.
Irit Isaac, 47, a resident of Beersheba, had come with her family to honor her brother-in-law, who was killed in 1997 at the age of 20. She said Mr. Ben-Gvir was doing his job by coming and representing the government and noted that he spoke briefly and respectfully, avoiding any political discourse.
But she said she could not hear him properly because her brother-in-law’s grave was near the perimeter fence of the cemetery. Anti-government protesters were singing outside to try to drown out Mr. Ben-Gvir and some of his supporters rushed out of the cemetery to confront them.
“I am so disappointed in my people who didn’t respect this day,” Ms. Isaac said. “They didn’t let us mourn.”
The government’s proposal for judicial change is currently on hold to allow time for talks with opposition parties to try to reach some consensus. But it has already caused a major upheaval in Israeli society, underscoring longstanding resentments and fault lines. Surveys have shown that about a third of Israelis fear it will end in civil war.
Critics say the plan will weaken the country’s Supreme Court, remove protections for minorities and undermine the democratic character of the state. Supporters of the government sworn in late last year say the judicial plan is a necessary one that will give more power to voters and their elected representatives and curb the authorities of an unelected judiciary.
The ceremony in Beersheba, a city of about 220,000, was expected to be a flashpoint once it was announced that Mr. Ben-Gvir had been assigned to represent the government there.
Some of the city’s bereaved families had engaged for days in agonized discussions on a WhatsApp messaging group about how to respond to Mr. Ben-Gvir’s attendance after he refused their appeals to stay away, or at least not to speak.
There were suggestions of wearing earphones and listening to mournful songs or singing the national anthem while he spoke. Others decided to keep any protest outside the cemetery gates so as not to disturb those who felt differently. Several families visited the cemetery in the days before Memorial Day, having decided to avoid the official ceremony altogether.
After protests, at least half a dozen politicians canceled their planned appearances at other military cemeteries around the country in recent days. They included prominent ultra-Orthodox politicians who did not perform compulsory military service and some ministers from Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu’s conservative Likud party.
Mr. Netanyahu spoke uninterrupted at the main state memorial ceremony at Mount Herzl in Jerusalem. He is also from a bereaved family. His brother was killed during an Israeli commando raid to rescue hostages from Entebbe, Uganda, in 1976 and is buried in the military cemetery on the mount.
“I know the sadness and grief, the pride and longing,” Mr. Netanyahu said, adding, “Together, we will stand as brothers — and we will ensure our independence for generations.”
But several other politicians were heckled at other cemeteries. Gila Gamliel, a Likud minister, was prevented from speaking by Druze demonstrators in Isfiya, a Druze town in northern Israel and made do with laying a wreath. Another Likud minister, Ofir Akunis, gave his right to speak over to a bereaved mother at a cemetery near Tel Aviv.
The chief of staff of the Israeli military, Lt. Gen. Herzi Halevi, had issued an extraordinary appeal earlier this week saying, “We must respect the cemeteries and ensure they do not turn into places of dispute. There is a deafening power in restraint and silence.”
“We must only remember, mourn, and pay our respects,” he added. “If only for a moment. If only for one sacred day.”
That was not possible in Beersheba.
As soon as Mr. Ben-Gvir arrived on the podium, protesters could be heard shouting “Shame!” and “Go home!” Others began to sing. Some members of the audience said they had come specifically to support Mr. Ben-Gvir, as well as to honor the dead.
One bereaved mother incensed by the protest screamed insults at the protesters, calling them “stinking anarchists,” among other things, as her relatives tried to calm her down.
Ms. Lugasi, the artist, who was a baby when her father was killed, blocked her ears and sang the national anthem, along with others around her, while Mr. Ben-Gvir was delivering his speech. But, she said, the day had “played out more in his favor than against him, from what I could see.”
Myra Noveck contributed reporting from Jerusalem.
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