September 1 marks the beginning of the Israeli school year. This year, the summer of 2025 felt longer than usual. From June’s war with Iran to August’s record-breaking heat, there were plenty of reasons why parents were more eager than ever to send their children back to school and reclaim some semblance of routine.

The first day of school is always a cause for celebration. Of course, it marks an academic milestone. But it also falls close to the Jewish New Year, a weightier yet equally celebratory moment where we mark the miracle of life itself: we are alive - let’s celebrate that life.

In that spirit, our neighborhood gathered in the park to celebrate the moment when our children stop spending most of their hours in front of the television and once again become someone else’s responsibility. Israelis don’t need much of an excuse to celebrate: a bouncy house, a sound system, and a few arts-and-crafts stations usually suffice.

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But this year was different: our oldest daughter, nearly 12, quickly scanned the party’s familiar offerings and decided she had outgrown these types of events. The younger two, devoted to their big sister, chose to head home as well. So we began preparing dinner while the music from the park carried into our apartment through the open balcony window.

מהפיכה של שמחה
כי כולנו משפחה 
Revolution of joy 
Because we are all family

As my wife started cooking, she turned on the radio. At the top of the hour, the news recap began. Among the headlines was the funeral of Idan Shtivi, murdered on October 7, 2023, at the Nova music festival. His body, along with those of Ilan Weiss and Ariel Lubliner, had only been recovered by the Israeli military in Gaza a few days prior.

The broadcast played excerpts from his mother’s eulogy:

“Idan had a pure heart, he always saw others and cared for the weakest in society."

Outside the party continued:

אלוהים, אלוהים
רק תשמור על הרוקדים
God, God
Watch over the dancers

“He was full of generosity, so sensitive and loving.”

תחבק אוהבים
שתמיד נהיה שמחים 
embrace the lovers 
who are always happy

“He was taken from the world at his peak.”

אלוהים, אלוהים
רק תשמור על הרוקדים
תחבק אוהבים
שתמיד נהיה שמחים
God, God
Watch over the dancers
embrace the lovers
who are always happy

“Idani, you are a child of God… I’m sorry I couldn’t watch over you and protect you.”

The paradox at play here is easy to recognize, and over the years has become something of cliché in Israel: we celebrate life as we bury our dead… and that’s what makes us stronger! And on a personal level, I can appreciate the complexity of the human experience - and of this moment in particular - when we have little choice but to accept that such contradictions must coexist.

But as a parent, I find myself wondering about my daughters. Sitting at the dining room table, preparing their school materials, they were also absorbing these two soundtracks: the celebratory noise of the neighborhood party and the sorrow of a grieving parent burying her son. Can my children make sense of these contradictions? How will they learn to balance between the extremes of the human emotional spectrum? Who will teach them to navigate this minefield of emotions, when as some reports suggest up to three million Israeli parents themselves suffer from symptoms of post-traumatic stress? Can I?

Maybe the best any of us can do is to demonstrate to our children with our own words and actions that it’s possible to live with both pain and joy, and to choose life despite the grief. Where is the school teaching that?