Israel Memorial Day: A Silence That Screams

Jen Airley’s son Binyamin was killed fighting in Gaza on Saturday, November 18^th, 2023. May his memory be a blessing.

Israel’s national day of remembrance, a sacred pause to commemorate all those who gave their lives defending our land, our people, and our future — and all the innocents who fell victim to terror simply because they were Jews in their homeland.

As the siren wails across the country, we stand in a moment of silence — a silence that screams louder than any words.

In that moment, life halts. Cars stop in the middle of the highways. Shoppers freeze in place.

Children, soldiers, workers, leaders — all stand unmoving, heads bowed, hearts wide open. And though we are silent, our minds race in a thousand directions at once.

Grief fills the air — grief for shattered families, broken dreams, and futures that will never unfold.

The ache of sons and daughters who will not come home, of parents who will forever set an extra place at the table, of friends who will never again hear the sound of a familiar laugh.

And yet, alongside the grief, pride rises — the fierce, burning pride of a nation built by heroes.

The pride of being part of Am Yisrael, a nation whose sons and daughters have always stood ready to give everything for something greater than themselves.

Pride in soldiers whose courage and spirit embody the noblest dreams of our ancestors. At that moment, gratitude swells in the heart.

Gratitude for their bravery, for their sacrifices, for their role modeling of what it means to live and die with meaning.

Gratitude for every young man and woman who carried on their shoulders the destiny of our people, even at the cost of their own lives.

It is also a minute of prayer.

A prayer whispered in the silence, almost instinctively:

A prayer for peace. A prayer for safety.

A prayer for true unity — not only during sirens and funerals, but in the everyday life. A prayer that we should never need to add more names to the list of fallen.

It is a time of reflection — of realizing that the flourishing of Israel, the vibrancy of our cities, our fields, our homes, has been watered with the blood and tears of our finest.

Every stone in this country is built upon sacrifice. Our soldiers are no ordinary fighters. They are the living descendants of King David’s greatest students — warriors of both body and spirit.

They are honest leaders, the bravest of fighters, loyal friends, skilled protectors, singers and dancers, recognizing that they are but God’s messengers.

In unity.

Every soldier I speak with says the same: no one on the field cares what the other observes or doesn’t, what they believe or don’t, what they wear or not. It’s irrelevant. They are brothers and will risk their lives for each other.

King David taught his soldiers that a Jewish warrior fights with a sword in one hand and a harp in the other — knowing that strength and spirit must always walk hand in hand.

We remember our Binyamin every single day. His absence is a permanent, gaping hole in our hearts.

We remember our Binyamin who was killed fighting in Gaza every single day. His absence is a permanent, gaping hole in our hearts.

But Yom HaZikaron is different. It is a national day of mourning — a day when we are part of something bigger than our personal grief.

We stand shoulder to shoulder with a family — families of heroes — a family that is heartbreakingly too large.

On this day, standing by Binyamin’s grave on Mount Hertzl, tears will be streaming down our faces — but our heads will be held high. Humbled and honored to be the parents of this 21-year-old warrior who told us, even before war erupted, “If I have to give my life for the Land of Israel, that is what I will do.”

He said it not with fear but with calm conviction, with love and pride. He knew what he was fighting for.

He knew that some things are worth everything.

As the siren wails, I often find myself breaking down in tears begging God silently, “Please, let this be the last time. Let the siren become the shofar of Redemption.”

Enough is enough.

No more spilled blood and shattered hearts! Let the fighting stop and peace reign!

In my heart, there is an image that holds me together.

I picture God — like a parent standing at the edge of an airport terminal — arms wide open, waiting.

Waiting for me. Waiting for us.

Waiting for His children to run back into His embrace. He is waiting for us.

Yes, we are broken and we are tired. We are so lost in grief that we can barely lift our heads.

On Yom HaZikaron, we stand still — but our souls move.

I pray we are drawn closer to God, to each other, and to the collective memory that binds us together forever as Am Yisrael, the Jewish Nation.

May the memory of our fallen be blessed. May their sacrifices be a merit for us.

And may the next siren we hear soon be the sound of the great shofar that heralds the final Redemption, when tears will be wiped away and mourning will be no more, and with full conviction we run into God’s arms and we embrace each other forever.