I was at the Memorial Day ceremony at Habima Square in Tel Aviv, which is like Israel’s Lincoln Center. This is not like America’s Memorial Day — there are no barbecues or celebrations. This is Israel: a small country, where everybody has lost somebody.

The commemorative siren sounded and thousands of people fell completely silent, some cried, a few dogs howled back at the siren. I saw two female police officers holding hands, one had tears in her eyes.

The siren ended and the ceremony proceeded, with speakers and prayers, but then, suddenly — screams.

“Screaming” isn’t really the right word — it was coming from all directions and sounded more like a huge high frequency roar, but not like in a sporting event. I can’t quite describe it; it was like hearing a tornado approach.

Then people were running, thousands of people, like a human tsunami — so I ran too. Because when something like this happens in Israel, you get to safety first and ask questions later.

To view a video of some of the event, click here.

Like most people around me, I first focused on getting some distance between myself and the event location, not knowing whether I might be about to run into something dangerous. I turned onto a side street because it seemed like a safe direction to go, then I saw some people running into a building, and I ran there too because it simply seemed to make sense. I found myself in someone’s apartment with about 20 other people.

I don’t remember falling along the way, but I noticed my knee was hurting, and my pants were ripped, so apparently I had.

One of the people in the apartment was crying and panicking, a young American girl, probably high school age, who didn’t speak Hebrew. So I sat with her explained what little I knew, as a few of us tried to give her some degree of comfort. I could at least offer a familiar American voice to talk to.

I also walked around and asked people if anyone had cell phone reception or had heard any news, and for the most part the answer was no. Later, when everything seemed OK, I thanked the apartment owner for “hosting” us and stood outside with the American girl waiting for her mother to come get her.

An Israeli woman nearby seemed concerned and I offered to walk her home. She thanked me, and told me her husband thanks me too — he was on the phone from Gaza where he was serving in combat that very night.

So what actually happened?

According to reports, several suspicious people, apparently wearing what appeared to be combat vests, tried to force their way through security into the ceremony. The suspicious people were arrested without further incident. Some conflicting reports said the suspects had attempted to attack police. Whatever it was, something about the interaction triggered a panic, which spread.

The police officially say this was not a “security event” but it’s important to remember that at the time, none of us knew that. We knew only that there was an urgent need to run, possibly for our lives.

I don’t mean to compare this small experience to some of the more dramatic ones Israelis have faced and continue to face: our hostages, our lost loved ones, our fallen soldiers, and more. But I can say this: in 14 years, I’ve been in my share of bomb shelters, and heard my share of sirens, yet this is the first time I’ve been inside of what one might call an “event.”

Meanwhile, terrorists successfully managed to set the countryside around Jerusalem on fire, cancelling numerous Memorial Day and Independence Day events and setting Israelis to work fighting the blaze.

It is well understood by all Israelis that terrorists favor large crowds and symbolic events for their attacks. A Memorial Day ceremony in Tel Aviv would be an ideal target — this reality was in the back of everyone’s mind from the beginning — which probably contributed to the rapid and dramatic reaction of the crowd.

And there’s something simply amazing about that: knowing that we realistically might be walking into danger, we came anyway. We came by the thousands, to HaBima Square and to other ceremonies across the country. We also show up to our jobs, and our lives, we take public transportation, we visit parks, and malls, protests and yes, even music festivals. The day-to-day courage of ordinary Israelis is remarkable, and touching beyond words.

There’s an Israeli expression: on Memorial Day, we acknowledge the painful cost of having a state; on Yom HaShoah (Israel’s Holocaust Remembrance Day) we acknowledge the cost of not having one.

And finally, on Independence Day, we celebrate. Celebrations are muted this year: due to the fires around Jerusalem, the hostages in Gaza, and our loved ones in the IDF fighting on seven different fronts.

Nonetheless, I wish you all a Happy Independence Day from Israel.

Daniel Pomerantz is the CEO of RealityCheck, an organization dedicated to deepening public conversation through robust research studies and public speaking.

The post Panic on Memorial Day: Sights and Sounds From Israel first appeared on Algemeiner.com.