Ben, far right, and his friends wait at the bus stop on the way to Boombamella, a three-day music and camping festival.

There is a common Israeli expression that has been repeated to me several times by family members and people I’ve met over this past year: “ta’aseh chayim.” The literal translation of this phrase is “do life,” but I think it has a much deeper and profound meaning.

When I left Doda Noga’s house after staying with her for the Passover seder a few weeks ago, I told her that I couldn’t stay longer because I had made plans to attend Boombamella, a three-day music festival on the beach in the South. She was disappointed that I couldn’t stay with her for more than a few days, but because she knew how excited I was about the music festival, she smiled and told me, “Ta’aseh chayim!”

Almost three months ago, I moved to Holon, a city just south of Tel Aviv, for the community-volunteering portion of Year Course. I wake up early every day to make the 40-minute trek to Mikve Yisrael, an agricultural school in Holon where I spend my mornings picking fruit, cutting branches and pulling weeds.

I have gotten to know the features of my small city—from the “square” where we meet for activities, to the gym and to various restaurants in my neighborhood. One of my local friends, Rafi, has a bagel, toast and frozen yogurt place a block from my apartment. When I told him my plans for an upcoming weekend of travel to the North to go on a hike in the Yehudia stream, he told me the same thing as Noga: “Ta’aseh chayim.”

So, at this point, it seems like “ta’aseh chayim” means enjoy life, have fun, do exciting things. If so, I have been doing just that as I continue to try to squeeze as many interesting and new activities as I can into the two-and-a-half weeks I have left in this country.

But after experiencing Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Remembrance Day), Yom HaZikaron (Day for the Fallen Soldiers) and Yom HaAtzma-ut (Independence Day) all in the past month, I’ve gained some new perspective on what it really means to “do life” in Israel.

On Yom HaShoah, businesses were only open for half the day. A siren went off at 10 a.m. and everyone in the whole country stood still, including cars on the highway, until it ended. The elementary kids at my school put on a tekkes (ceremony) in honor of the six million Jews who died. The seriousness of the day caught me a little off guard because back home, Yom HaShoah was just another ordinary day at school, with maybe a chance of attending synagogue at night for a ceremony.

Yom HaZikaron, considered the Yom Kippur of secular Israelis, was similar. I attended the tekkes at the Holon Military Cemetery, at which thousands of people showed up, leading me to realize that as an Israeli, you probably know someone who fought for and lost his or her life in battle during one of the several wars in the state’s history. A siren marked this day too, and I saw countless mothers crying near gravesites.

What really amazed me, however, was the transformation that occurred at sundown on Yom HaZikaron, when Yom HaAtzma-ut began. Suddenly the depressed and drained faces of the mourners turned to cheers as fireworks marked the arrival of the 60th birthday of the state of Israel. I attended a street party in the center of Tel Aviv that ran into the wee hours of the morning. The next day was full of joy, with barbecues everywhere and music playing. People on motorcycles would fly by screaming, “Chag sameach (happy holiday)!” and it seemed like everyone I saw was in a good mood.

It was astonishingly pleasing how the demeanor of the citizens of Israel changed so much, so quickly, and I realized that this is how everyday life is for an Israeli. Living under the constant threat of terrorism, one must be able to appreciate the good things in life without forgetting the dangers and the hardships that come with being surrounded by enemies.

This thought was strengthened after I visited Sderot on a siyur (field trip) this week. Sderot, a city near the border of the Gaza Strip in the western Negev, has suffered the effect of thousands of Kassam rockets launched from Gaza over the past seven years. We went to a house that had been hit just three days before, with the damage still very noticeable—one side of the house was completely destroyed and there were holes from pieces of shrapnel in the walls and fences surrounding it. A teenager who lives in the house talked to us about the attack. He seemed unfazed and planned to return to his home as soon as it was rebuilt.

What I’ve learned from these experiences and these past nine months in Israel is that here, you have to just keep on moving. Whatever hits you, as an Israeli you have to keep on smiling and not let disturbances, big or small, bother you. You have to “do life.”

Ben Degani is from Dallas, Texas, and will be attending the University of Texas next year. He enjoys hanging out with friends, playing ultimate Frisbee and listening to music.