Making the Turn: Yom HaZikaron to Yom Ha’atzmaut
From Mourning to Celebration
Tomorrow night we dance.
How do you actually make that turn — from mourning to celebrating?
And is it healthy, or is it just something we do because we have to?
The question came up at a small gathering of women — a group a friend and I recently put together. The intention was simple: to pause, to reflect, and to make Yom HaZikaron a little more meaningful through thoughtful conversation.
Several questions were offered, but this one stayed with me.
Maybe because this is my first Yom HaZikaron in Israel.
Maybe because tomorrow is Yom Ha’atzmaut.
Or maybe because, as I sat with it, I realized — this isn’t new to me.
This is what I’ve been living.
Maybe that’s part of what drew me here — a place that knows how to carry pain and still keep moving forward.
For years, life has been a rhythm of challenge and joy, heartbreak and growth — moments that didn’t make sense at the time but somehow led me exactly where I needed to be: to making aliyah, to building a life here in Eretz Israel.
The things that felt like they were happening to me… were, in hindsight, happening for me.
And maybe that’s what this moment is too.
On Yom HaZikaron, we sit in the weight of loss — remembering those who gave everything, selflessly, for the safety of this country and its people.
And then, almost without pause, we move into Yom Ha’atzmaut — into celebration, into gratitude, into life.
It feels abrupt. Maybe even uncomfortable.
But maybe it’s also intentional.
I felt something similar years ago, on a trip to Poland.
Walking through places shaped by the Holocaust — surrounded by stories of devastation, loss, and unimaginable grief — there’s a weight that stays with you.
And yet, those journeys often don’t end there. They continue to Israel.
Not to erase what was seen or felt, but because staying only in that space would leave the story unfinished.
Because the response to that darkness wasn’t just memory — it was rebuilding. It was חיים (life). It was the rebuilding of a home where Jews could live, breathe freely, build lives — and never be persecuted again.
And maybe that’s what we’re doing now, too.
The transition isn’t about leaving grief behind.
It’s about refusing to let it be the final chapter.
Not continuing to live — to truly live, with joy — would be a disservice to those who gave their lives fighting for this country.
And that stayed with me.
Because maybe the turn from mourning to celebration isn’t unnatural at all.
Maybe it’s the most honest response we have.
To carry the weight of what was lost — as a people who have known persecution throughout history — and still, time and time again, choose to move forward, to rebuild, and to live with resilience.
And maybe, for the first time, I’m not just witnessing that transition — I’m living it.
