What to do on Yom HaZikaron (Israel Memorial Day)? Besides attending memorial ceremonies in the morning, we faced the task of finding appropriate activities for an entire afternoon with kids at home (school is dismissed at noon on Yom HaZikaron).
Suddenly, it dawned on us, for the first time since making aliyah nearly 10 years ago, we have neighbors who are bereaved parents. Too many, in fact. Four families in our new community of Mitzpe Yericho had a son killed since Oct. 7, 2023.
My wife and I wanted to do something for these families on Yom HaZikaron, though it is hard to know what would be meaningful or appreciated. We decided to bring some baked goods and cut fruit and, more importantly, a handwritten note. Eventually, we went to knock on the door of the first family, Idit and Achiyah Eliyahu, the parents of Ariel Eliyahu of blessed memory. He was killed defending the Gaza border on Oct. 7.
Half expecting there would be no answer, given the solemn and private nature of the day, we planned on leaving our items outside the door. If they answered, perhaps we would exchange a few words and a hug, and continue on to the next family.
We were completely caught off guard to find their front door wide open. A stack of bumper stickers memorializing their son beckoned from a small table propping the door open. We peeked inside.
Dozens of people filled their living room, which was also filled with a wide array of fruit platters, veggie platters, borekas and all sorts of desserts. “Bayit Patuach” it is called, we later learn, “Open House.” Growing up in America, I knew the concept of an open house as when, say, a family or school opens its doors to prospective buyers or students, for example. In Israel, apparently, it refers to bereaved families opening their doors on Yom HaZikaron to visitors paying homage to their loved one killed in battle.
In our state of shock, we were slow to process this unexpected scene. Meanwhile, our kids processed very quickly that lots of yummy food was at their fingertips. Before we knew it, we had to navigate four young kids boisterously piling food on their plates as if they were at a birthday party, but in a setting wholly inappropriate for that. There was no need to leave them with a bitter taste about this visit; after all, they didn’t know any better — and surely the bereaved parents wouldn’t have wanted that to be their experience either.
Parents know better than to bring little kids to a shiva house, but little did we know that many bereaved families’ homes on Yom HaZikaron are essentially a re-creation of shiva. What a fashla, as the locals would put our misstep. Thankfully, we found a quiet place in the yard for our kids to eat, and the Eliyahus were gracious enough to reach out to us a couple days later, extending their appreciation for our visit.
Our embarrassing initiation into this custom aside — wow. What a powerful custom, on so many levels.
These families are far from forgotten on this day, not sitting alone, nor grieving by themselves. (To be sure, not every family has this practice, as some do prefer privacy on these painful days.) These families’ pain is the nation’s pain, and the nation shows up to embrace them.
Many of the visitors to the Eliyahus were friends of the fallen soldier. Still connected to the family. Still coming back to remember him, to keep his legacy alive.
The atmosphere of the house was far from dark or depressing. The pain of the soldier’s death was less fresh than at a shiva house. The family took turns sharing memories and stories of the caring soul Ariel was, always looking to help others, no matter how awkward or unconventional the circumstances were.
There were even laughter and jokes, celebrating who he was in life. Indeed, there is much to celebrate about his life, not least of which is that he finished studying the six divisions of the entire Mishna before his Bar Mitzvah and the entire Talmud (2,711 folio pages!) by age 18. Interspersed, everyone sang together, songs of hope and encouragement, peace and redemption.
As the parents themselves said, we alone did not lose our son. Our nation lost our son. To live in Israel is to be part of something larger, part of which is that we are not alone in our personal losses. The Jewish nation shows up and carries each soldier like a son, brother, a friend.
What a powerful way this was for us to go into Yom Ha’atzmaut (Independence Day) this year. Truly feeling we are one nation.
One last interesting tidbit. There is no announcement about this open house, no message sent in a local Whatsapp group. No start time and no end time. Apparently, it is simply something one knows about, if only one is tuned in sharply enough to the rhythms of Israeli life.
Ten years after making aliyah, there is clearly still much to learn. To some degree, we will always be outsiders. Luckily, though, outsiders living on the inside.
© IJN 2026