The day after Independence Day brings with it a different kind of quiet – one that sharpens not only the contrast with the noise, but also the meaning that resonates within it.
A few years ago, we worked on a translation project for the World Zionist Organization, centered around a personal letter by the late Staff Sergeant Adi Leon, written before he entered Gaza, with the quiet awareness that he might not return.
At moments like these, translation stops being a technical task. It becomes a process of careful, deliberate decision-making: how to preserve a personal voice without "improving" it, how to convey emotion without overloading it, and where to consciously choose not to intervene, so as not to disrupt what is already whole.
The challenge is not only linguistic accuracy, but fidelity to the original – because in texts like these, every choice shapes how the story will be read and understood in another language. Our goal was not to rewrite, but to carry the text forward, clearly and precisely, in a way that honors the original.
On a day like this, it's easy to remember that these stories are not just memories. They are part of what holds language, culture, and people together. We are proud to take part in projects like this – to be there in both the defining moments and the quiet ones – as part of the story of the State of Israel since 1956.
May his memory be a blessing.