When Memorial Day is just another day

For the first time in my life, I will be away from Israel for the “Yomim”: Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), Yom HaZikaron (Israel Memorial Day), and Yom Ha’Atzmaut (Israel Independence Day). Until these days were upon us, I didn’t realize the impact that being away would have on me. I find myself breaking down in tears each time I think about it.

In Israel, these days are not just a day off school and work — they are deeply felt and observed. Not being able to stand beside my family in our moshav as the sirens pierce the stillness has left an unexpected void within me.

And that is why the Yomim are so powerful. First, we remember the six million murdered in the Holocaust — those who perished because we didn’t yet have a Jewish state. Then, we mourn those who gave their lives for the state we built: the soldiers as well as the victims of terrorism. And only after we’ve honored those sacrifices do we celebrate the miracle of our state’s existence. It’s a sacred sequence of memory, mourning, and pride. And this year, for the first time, I will not be there.

This year, I will be in New York, where I now live. I’m here with purpose – advocating on behalf of the country I love, continuing the fight my grandparents, Holocaust survivors, couldn’t because they did not have a state to call home.

On October 7th, 2023, when the unthinkable happened, I was called back to serve. I reported to the south with my combat medic unit, retrained, and deployed to the Gaza border. There, I treated wounded soldiers returning from scenes too horrific to describe.

One memory in particular has stayed with me: a soldier — only 19 — lay in front of me, bleeding and shaking. When I looked into his eyes, I felt like I was looking into the eyes of my little brother, also a 19-year-old soldier. The eyes looking back at me held the fear of death, and it shook me to my core. While we were treating him, I held his hands in mine and said a prayer that he would survive.

This Yom HaZikaron, just as last year, I don’t know if his name is on the list.

To protect our mental health, my friends and I pledged not to ask about the injured soldiers we treated after they were transferred. Once, I saw a familiar face on the news – a soldier I had treated. They announced that he was killed in action. It was too heavy a burden to carry, knowing the fates of each soldier. So, we decided to avoid social media and the news. We couldn’t think about them — we had to stay focused on the task at hand. But the weight of not knowing still lingers.

This Memorial Day, that list is longer than any in recent memory. More than 1,200 civilians and soldiers were murdered on October 7th. Many hostages have since been killed in captivity. Hundreds of soldiers have fallen in the war that continues to this day. Yom HaZikaron is not just a national memorial—it is a national wound; one we all carry.

In Israel, we honor that pain together, collectively — standing still beside our cars on highways, on the sidewalk, in shops and in homes — as a siren echoes across the land and the country pauses for a two-minute siren. Television broadcasts tributes to those lost so we can learn their stories. The radio only plays sad songs. Stores are closed. Every town has its own ceremony to honor the fallen. We grow up observing the day in a way that shapes each of us — our understanding of sacrifice, of service, of what it means to love a country so deeply that you’d give your life for it.

In the US, where Memorial Day often means BBQs and beach trips, that kind of somber unity and heartfelt pause may seem unfamiliar. But as Jews in the diaspora, it’s more important than ever to commemorate the Yomim. In a time when Israel’s right to exist is questioned, when antisemitism is on the rise, and when headlines reduce war to politics and numbers, we must remember the names, the lives, the stories. We need to stand with those who carry the cost of freedom.

We must remember why we mourn—and why we celebrate.

Even here, far from home, I will pay my respects. I will watch the names of the fallen scroll across the screen of Israeli television and listen to sad songs on Israeli radio. I will FaceTime with my family, symbolically stand still with them for the siren, and cry together – though we are thousands of miles apart. And I will find a ceremony to attend here, in the vibrant Israeli and Jewish community in New York.

I encourage others—whether Israeli, Jewish, or simply supporters of truth and justice—to do the same. Remembrance is not confined by borders. Nor is solidarity.

Four years ago, I was crowned Miss Israel. Eighteen months ago, I was treating trauma on the Gaza border. Today, I am in New York, advocating on behalf of Israel as the official spokesperson for Israel Friends, an organization near and dear to me because of the trauma care and emergency aid they provide to save lives on the frontlines. While I may not be in uniform anymore, I am continuing my service—this time, through advocacy.

This year, while my heart is in Israel, I will not be home for Yom HaZikaron.

But I will remember.