Hebrew by InbalToday, I’m holding two countries in my heart — and two memorials.
In Israel, it’s Jerusalem Day, /yom ye-roo-sha-'la-yeem/.
In the U.S., it’s Memorial Day.
One marks the reunification of our eternal capital.
The other remembers those who gave their lives for freedom.
And as an Israeli living in America, I feel the weight of both — deeply.
Growing up in Israel, memorial days were never abstract.
Yom HaZikaron stops the entire country. Sirens sound. We stand in silence. We know the names. We’ve served alongside them. We’ve wept beside their families.
There’s no separation between "them" and "us."
Everyone serves.
Everyone remembers.
So when I came to the U.S. and saw Memorial Day marked with barbecues and sales, it was jarring at first.
But over time, I’ve come to understand the quiet dignity in how Americans grieve.
To the fallen, in every uniform:
We remember.
To Jerusalem — my forever center — we celebrate.
