There are days when it is hard to open the computer.
This is one of them.

Once a year, we stop. We really stop. And we try to understand—or at least touch—what cannot truly be understood.

The people we remember today are not just “the fallen.” They were people who were here—with lives, with families, with dreams. And they are the ones who made it possible for each of us to go on living our own lives.

To keep working.
To keep growing.
To build a family.
Simply… to keep living.

And that is perhaps the hardest thing about this day: to understand that our lives continue because theirs were cut short.

There is a tendency to use big words on this day. But the truth is much simpler—and much heavier.

So I want to pause for a moment and tell you about one person.

Amir Skuri

Amir.

Amir and I served together in the Givati Brigade. He was a company commander, and I was a team commander under him. Above both of us was Asaf Hamami, our direct commander. I wrote about Asaf here last year, on this day.

And for me, the connection between them goes far beyond military command. It is the same line. The same spirit. The same quiet leadership that begins with truly seeing people.

Hours, days, nights—training, planning, working together. But who Amir was could not be measured by rank.

He did not lead by shouting. He did not lead by force. He simply drew people after him. Quietly. With a smile. With complete presence.

And there was something rare in him: the ability to truly see people. To understand what moved them, what they carried inside, and to connect them to something greater than themselves.

And that made you want to be better around him. Not because you had to—because you wanted to.

On October 7, 2023, Amir was among the first to go out and defend the residents of the Gaza border communities. He fell in battle at Magen Junction, while leading his fighters.

And at that point, words are no longer really enough.

Because behind every story like this there is a person. A friend. A family.

This Memorial Day is not only a day of sorrow. It is also a day of responsibility.

A responsibility to remember, but also a responsibility in how we live. Not out of guilt, but out of choice.

To choose life.
To choose meaning.
To choose not to take what we have for granted.

Amir, dear friend, we go on. Not because it is easy, but because that is what you left us here to do.

May the memory of all the fallen soldiers of the IDF and the victims of terror be blessed.