Israel marks the 78th anniversary of its independence on May 14, after a year filled with extraordinary tension, uncertainty and loss.
It’s been a year when everything felt different.
The intensity of the campaign for the hostages finally abated with the joyous return of the last 20 living hostages in October and the solemn repatriation of the bodies of the remaining Hamas captives in January.
But that went only so far in helping ease the ongoing trauma of Oct. 7. Even though almost 90% of those evacuated from southern and northern border communities in October 2023 have returned, there are continuing debates among members of several kibbutzim over whether to tear down and rebuild, or leave some of the most devastated areas as a stark memorial to the families and friends who were murdered there.
The awareness of an existential threat has been in the back of the mind of every Israeli since before the state was declared, but Oct. 7—and the recent wars with Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis and Iran—brought it into clear focus. Running for protected spaces at all hours of the day and night when missiles are directed at you will do that.
Israelis have endured hundreds of Iranian missile attacks, and we know the routine.
Despite the damage and the injuries, however, it’s a very different feeling from that night of April 13, 2024, when there was an early warning that a triple-wave of Iranian drones, cruise and ballistic missiles was about to rain down on us. We went to bed fully dressed, ran downstairs to the shelter in the basement when the siren sounded for the first wave and stared wide-eyed at the neighbors as the whole building shook from repeated blasts. The subsequent waves never came, and we all assumed that was that.
The intensity of the 12-day war of June 2025 and the eventual participation of the United States in its final days allowed us to think that there might be no more trips to the basement. Summer vacations for anyone not on reserve duty went on almost as normal.
School started on Sept. 1, but after interruptions for the High Holidays and Chanukah, the start of war with Iran on Feb. 28 brought students back to pandemic-style learning. Kids here have not had a complete frontal learning school year since 2020.
As the country closed down, following strict Home Front Command instructions, for more than five weeks as a result of the U.S.-Israel war on Iran—“Operation Epic Fury”/“Operation Roaring Lion”—it was small-business owners, families with kids at home full-time and the spouses of the thousands called up to reserve duty who suffered the most. Managing the stress of hustling children to safety multiple times a day and keeping them occupied close to home, while worrying about a husband or wife on the front lines, sent many parents into full-blown crisis mode.
We learned to dread the “cleared for publication” media announcement that meant another soldier in the Israeli Defense Forces had been killed. Stories of intergenerational sacrifice continue to surface. In late March, IDF Sgt. Elhanan Aviad Wolansky, 21, was killed in Southern Lebanon. He was named after his uncle, Avraham Yitzhak, who was murdered in the Second Intifada.
The Wolansky family was one of 224 who joined the ranks of the bereaved this year. By now, the circle of Israelis connected to bereaved families extends to almost everyone in the country.
Every Memorial Day, I remember Maj. Benjy Hillman, the eldest son of close childhood friends who was killed in Lebanon in July 2006, just three weeks after we had all danced at his wedding. He was fighting to protect us from Hezbollah, just as the IDF is to this day.
Memorial Day for Fallen Soldiers and Victims of Terror is one of the Israeli national holidays that arrive in short order right after the conclusion of Passover. In a normal year, Yom Hashoah, Yom Hazikaron, Yom Ha’atzmaut and Yom Yerushalayim (Holocaust Remembrance Day, Memorial Day, Independence Day and Jerusalem Day) take us through the highs and lows of modern Jewish history in the space of five weeks.
This year, that all felt different as well.
Until the last moment, it wasn’t clear whether the traditional celebrations for Yom Ha’atzmaut would take place. Would the lull in missile fire from Iran and Hezbollah hold so that it would be safe for thousands to gather to celebrate in the streets and city squares at night?
Would the Home Front Command instructions be lifted to allow hordes of Israelis to descend on every inch of spare green space in the country to practice their grilling skills?
In the end, the central official celebratory extravaganza of the evening of Yom Ha’atzmaut, usually broadcast live from Mount Herzl in Jerusalem, was pre-recorded, and the fireworks were canceled.
Several cities chose to curtail celebrations, but not Jerusalem. Music throbbed through the night in the streets in and around the Machane Yehuda open-air market, and crowds filled the parks during the day to take advantage of the only day in the year that feels like a Sunday.
When the entire country came to a standstill on Yom Hashoah to commemorate the 6 million Jews who died in the Holocaust, it resonated more than in a normal year. The notion of “in every generation, there are those who rise up to kill us … ,” which is recited during the Passover seder, was certainly at a heightened level of consciousness on this Holocaust Remembrance Day.
I’ve lost count of the number of wars and campaigns that I’ve experienced since making aliyah in 1998. There have been many painful episodes throughout that time.
During the Second Intifada of the early 2000s, when suicide bombers plagued the country, my friends and I would make a point of going to sit at a cafe in Jerusalem near one that had been bombed the day before—davka to show defiance against the terrorists. I was close to two explosions, and the sight of body bags on the streets of Jerusalem will never leave my mind.
I spent the first half of 2005 covering the planned eviction of thousands of Jews from the thriving communities of Gush Katif in the Gaza Strip. Accompanying the distraught women of Netzer Hazani, who arrived at the Western Wall in Jerusalem after being forcibly removed from their homes that August, a few days after Tisha B’Av that year, was one of the most painful events I ever experienced. That unilateral expulsion undertaken by a right-wing leader led to decades of displacement for several friends who have struggled to keep their families and communities together.
Israelis face external threats together and exhibit remarkable resilience; as the old Hebrew expression goes, “We survived Pharaoh, we can survive this, too.” It’s the internal challenges that have the potential to pull us apart.
One of the greatest challenges is changing the attitude of Haredi leaders who fail to recognize that their followers must share in the burden of protecting the country and take part in the modern economy for Israeli society to continue to flourish.
When that is accomplished, Israel will feel different in a positive way.
