Israel at 78

Iran War II. Holocaust Remembrance Day. Yom HaZikaron. Yom HaAtzmaut.
One after the other.

Six weeks of war during Pesach, followed by a ceasefire.

We keep hearing the phrase “Israeli resilience.” But the truth is, it feels like whiplash. How do we simply return to routine? Is it even possible to move forward and leave the past six weeks behind us?

I found myself stuck….unable to shake the heaviness, unable to return to normal routine.
Until I received a message from a friend in Texas.

“Natalie,” she wrote, “I know this may sound harsh. I’m not there. I’m not running to shelters day and night. But listen: your enemies want chaos. They want instability. They want to break your routine, your progress, your spirit. Don’t let them.”

She was right.

Living under constant threat….alerts, sirens, fighter jets, missile attacks, interceptions above our heads, always scanning for the nearest shelter…this creates a reality where nothing is steady. Everything is interrupted. There is no calm routine, no ordinary everyday normal.
And without routine, things begin to fracture: learning, family life, community, even a sense of self.

Routine is not a luxury. It is the foundation of a healthy life. And when it is constantly disrupted, the damage is real….even if it is not always visible.

But we will not let that define us.

We will not allow our enemies to control our story. We will not give them that power.

We will endure this chapter, and the next, and the next. And we will grow stronger.
Because we have no other land.

On Yom HaZikaron, we remember our sons and daughters who gave their lives to protect ours. And as the sun sets, grief turns to joy as we enter Yom HaAtzmaut.

In this fragile and demanding reality, I often think about my children. What does it mean for the children of immigrants to grow up here?

They are not visitors to this land; they see it with different eyes than mine and yours.

They are growing into its language, its burdens, and its beauty, and they are learning early on that strength is not optional. It is necessary in order to thrive here.

Our children are not witnesses to Israeli history; they are part of its living, unfolding story.

This year, more than ever, we are reminded that Israel is not only a place of memory and loss, but also of continuity. A country where grief and hope sit side by side, and where a new generation is already learning, from its earliest years, to carry both.