Holding Both, Mourning and celebrating in Israel

A personal reflection from the Mazkira on the emotional journey between Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut.

Experiencing Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut in Israel was unlike anything I’ve ever known. The emotional contrast between the two days was stark, moving from national mourning to celebration almost immediately. Living through that shift has left me reflecting on what it means to be part of this country and this people.

The night before Yom Hazikaron, I attended Masa’s official ceremony in Latrun. I’ve been to Yom Hazikaron events before in the UK, but nothing has ever moved me in the way this ceremony did.

Listening to Omer Neutra’s best friend speak about him, not just as a soldier, but as the friend that she grew up with in America was incredibly powerful and brought the reality of what this day truly is to light. When I watched the video made by Hersh Goldberg-Polin’s parents, I felt genuinely broken. Seeing his life, his smile, his family, his friends and hearing who he was, not just the headlines, was shattering.

There were stories of soldiers lost in battle, of victims of terror, of parents who buried children and children who grew up without a parent and there they were in front of me.

The people left behind.

The grief in that space was tangible. For the first time, I truly understood that this wasn’t just their loss, it was all of ours. We are all part of the same people, the same story... Am Yisrael.

That night, I went to bed heavy with the emotion of it all. The faces and stories stayed with me, and I couldn’t shake the thought of how much has been given for this country to exist.

The next day I was with FZY’s Executive Director, Joel, and as we caught up, we read that wildfires started by arsonists were breaking out across the country. It was the worst fire Israel had ever seen. To face that, on top of a National Day of Mourning, I can’t express what I was feeling. I turned to Joel and said, "Only in Israel." And somehow, in the middle of all that sadness and chaos, I found a strange sense of clarity: my life here has meaning.

Due to the fires, most of the Yom Ha’atzmaut ceremonies were cancelled. And for me, that emotional shift didn’t quite happen overnight. That evening, I walked through Tel Aviv and slowly began to see the change. People were beginning to celebrate, and I struggled to make sense of how quickly things moved from grief to joy.

But then I realised...

This is Israel.

The emotional extremes, the unpredictability, the way life can change in an instant it’s all part of the reality here. And somehow, that gives everything more weight. The lows are lower, but the highs are higher too. And through it all, the meaning never leaves.

The following day was Yom Ha’atzmaut, and that’s when I felt it fully. The streets were filled with people, flags were everywhere, music played, and there was a real sense of pride and celebration. I was surrounded by friends, dancing, laughing, feeling part of something much bigger. That level of national pride; open, unashamed, and joyful isn’t something I’ve seen in many other places. And here, it felt genuine.

Looking back on those days now, what stands out to me most is the emotional depth of this country. Grief and pride sit side by side here. Mourning is followed by dancing. Pain is held alongside hope. And somehow, through all of it, life goes on not in a way that ignores the pain, but in a way that honours it.

To FZY members, especially those still figuring out what their Jewish identity means to them: be proud of who you are. Don’t be afraid to ask hard questions, to challenge, to wrestle with tradition or politics or personal belief. That questioning is part of what makes our community strong. But through it all, hold on to your identity. It’s not always easy, but it’s always worth it. Our connection to our history, to our people, to Israel, is something deeply powerful.

Stand by it, even when it’s complicated.

Especially when it’s complicated.

Being part of Am Yisrael means feeling the pain, the joy, the pride and the struggle. It means knowing that your identity is something living and real. And it means realising, like I did, that this life, this precious, messy, meaningful life as a Jew, is something to treasure.