Today is Yom HaZikaron in Israel, the memorial day for the 23,269 Israeli citizens who have fallen in battle or from terrorist attacks since the beginning of the State. So far, my experience has been vastly different from memorial day in America. At least where I live, serving in the American military is not heavily emphasized, and I hardly know anyone that has or plans to. Because of this, not everybody knows somebody or is related to someone who has died serving for the military. But here in Israel, a much smaller place, everybody serves in the army, and everybody is somehow connected to somebody who died fighting. For this reason, Memorial Day is a much more somber, mournful event in Israel than in America. Last night, we went to a memorial service at the kotel, at which various Israeli leaders spoke, including the President, Shimon Peres, and the Chief of Staff of the IDF. Just getting to the Old City was much more of an ordeal than usual, and walking to the temple mount we were surrounded by hoards of people and IDF soldiers guarding the city. I could not understand what the speakers were saying, but the mood was indicative of what they were saying. During the singing of Hatikvah, I found myself looking up to the top of the Kotel, to see two Israeli soldiers standing exactly where the soldiers who retook the Temple Mount in 1967 stood after conquering the Old City. I was thankful for what they had done, as if they had not I could not have been standing there at that time, honoring their comrades who fell in fighting for control of our holiest site. During the ceremony, I really got the sense that this day meant a lot to everyone.

This morning, though, I really started to understand exactly how much this day means to the citizens of Israel. Fortunately, only two members of Kibbutz Palmach-Tzuba have lost their lives since its establishment in 1948, both relatively recently. Halfway through Jewish History class, we all gathered outside of the rooms, and walked to a small cemetery for the Kibbutz that I didn't even know existed until today. Further up the hill from most of the graves were those of the two fallen soldiers, and above that was a memorial to the members of the Palmach, the IDF strike force, that founded Tzuba. After hearing a little bit about who the soldiers that died were from our teachers, we attended the memorial service of the members of the kibbutz in front of the soldiers' graves. While I could not understand what anybody was saying, the ceremony was very moving nonetheless. Among the speakers was the younger cousin of the soldier who died most recently, who is now in the same unit that he was at the time of his death. After his speech, I watched him tearfully embrace the soldier's father, as many members of the crowd also cried. The ceremony ended with an emotional singing of Hatikva, Israel's national anthem. Seeing everybody there, people who have lost loved ones and soldiers who are still putting their lives at risk, made the losses Israel has suffered very real to me. It has always seemed distant to me, as if soldiers of the IDF never actually die, they just protect us. But today it was extremely evident that in the fight, there will always be victims, and they are all people. This made me feel even more grateful for all of the people who risk their lives for Israel. They put others above themselves, and do everything they can to make sure we can continue to have a safe, Jewish nation. Without them, I wouldn't be sitting here looking out at Jerusalem.