The cursor blinks on my screen, waiting for words I don't want to write. Another name. Another young life. Another mother's world shattered. As both a journalist and a soldier's mother in Israel, every casualty announcement sends waves of anguish through my heart, as it does with all of us living in Israel these days.
The difference is that they don't watch the news 24/6, and they have a choice about what they want to read - I don't. News doesn't stop for us at work (beside for Shabbat). We work through the day and the night, before Shabbat and Jewish holidays and as soon as Shabbat and the Holidays end, to keep our readers updated with the latest in breaking news and to let the world know what is really going on in Israel, so they don't have to read it through biased news sources (both Israeli and international).
Since October 7th, my keyboard has become a memorial wall. Each article I write carries the weight of a family's grief, a future unlived, dreams unrealized. I tell myself these stories must be told, these sacrifices must be documented. But my hands still tremble when I type, knowing that behind every headline is a mother who just received the knock on her door that we all fear.
The newsroom demands objectivity, but how do you maintain professional distance when each photo of a young man in uniform reminds you of your child's proud smile on enlistment day? The line between journalist and mother blurs with each casualty report.
There's a unique kind of heartbreak in being an Israeli news reporter and an soldier's mom at the same time. Yet there's also profound meaning in ensuring these stories are told with the care and dignity they deserve. Each article becomes a sacred task – not just reporting facts, but preserving memories, honoring sacrifice, bearing witness to both our nation's pain and its unwavering resilience.
We are living through historic times, yes. But history's weight falls heaviest on those who must carry both its burden and their own personal stakes in its unfolding. Every day, I pray that I won't have to write about another fallen hero article. Every day, I honor those who have given everything by telling their stories the very best that I can.
From my desk to the page, from my heart to the hearts of readers, I carry both the privilege and the pain of being a keeper of memories in these extraordinary times. Because behind every headline, every casualty report, every photo, there's not just a journalist typing – there's a mother who understands exactly what has been lost.
This is dedicated to the memory of a smart, brave, talented, wonderful, kind-hearted young man from my neighborhood, whom I was privileged to know (albeit only a very little): Zamir Pinchas Burke, who was murdered in Gaza 13 days ago, while defending our people and our homeland.
