Simone Maman, whose 25-year-old son Eitan perished in the 1997 helicopter crash that killed 73 soldiers, goes every Friday to the military cemetery in Be'er Sheva.
"He did not have to fly that day, he switched with a friend. It was supposed to be his last flight, and then he was to continue with his studies," she says.
This year, Memorial Day has special meaning for Simone. Her 19-year-old granddaughter Eden, Eitan's daughter, will attend the ceremony in uniform for the first time. Eden has enlisted in the Air Force and intends to continue in her father's footsteps, in the squadron in which he served.
"Eden told me she is closing the circle and serving where her father served. On this Memorial Day, it is more difficult," Simone says. "I still can't digest it, even after 18 years. To me, it's like it happened yesterday."
Also visiting the Be'er Sheva military cemetery were Sarah Hasson and Arik Spector, whose policeman brother Yigal fell in 1978.
"My brother served in intelligence and an informant killed him. We lost my father before him when the fedayeen shot at his jeep in 1953," Sarah says. "Our brother Yigal took care of us, he was 'the man' after my father. He was a man of Israel through and through. We will not forget."
Spector said that they visit Yigal's grave on the day before memorial day, in order to tidy it.
"Tomorrow will be crowded, so we come the day before to clean the headstone. My brother loved the cactus plant, the Negev and the desert. We try to maintain that. He lived a vibrant life and had a wonderful family, and it was cut short."
'I remember my son every day'
At the grave of Benny Avraham at Kiryat Shaul cemetery in Tel Aviv, sit his mother and sister. Benny Avraham and two comrades were abducted by Hezbollah on the Lebanon border in 2000.
"He was kidnapped and returned in January 2004 in a prisoner exchange with Hezbollah," says his mother, Edna. "Memorial Day is important for all the people of Israel, even though I remember my son every day. Not a day goes by that I do not remember my child who disappeared, but almost all of Israel has one relative or another who fell. I'm pleased every time we find a soldier whose burial place was unknown – it is important."
This is the first time that they are marking Memorial Day without Haim Avraham, the father of the family, who passed away in July and who took the search for his son to the international stage.
"This Memorial Day is especially difficult," says Benny's sister, Dafna. "Dad was a symbol of the struggle and devoted his life to the memory of my brother. What I remember best of Benny is that he had a friend who was keeping bad company, and my brother actually saved him. This was the essence of Benny. We were privileged to let other people know him, and ultimately bring him to Israel to be buried."
'He was like a son to me'
At the grave of Amit Nadav, who fell in action in 1970, sits his wife, Aviva, mother Dina and adopted family member Dror.
"We never forget, we are reminded every day," says Dina, aged 94. "He was an exceptional person. He wanted to be a pilot but I would not sign, so he went into the infantry".
Aviva, who was married to Amit for 18 months before his death, says: "At the time, they did not take people without siblings to serve in Shaked (a unit of the Golani Brigade), but he would not give up. He completed his compulsory service, moved to Gaza and we got married. Ravit, our baby, was three weeks old when he was killed. His father was killed in the War of Independence. Although it is terribly painful, the cemetery is an amazing place and well-cared for, and we come here to honor his memory."
Rachel Hanan from Haifa, arrived at the city's the military cemetery before noon to visit the grave of her brother-in-law, David Hanan. "He was my husband's little brother, but he was like a son to me," she says.
Rachel's son will visit the grave on Memorial Day itself, but she will be elsewhere – at a memorial for her sister's son, who also fell in battle.
"We are Holocaust survivors, I was in Auschwitz and I lost my whole family, as did my sister's husband. How, after such a thing, can you lose your eldest son? It's inconceivable," she says.
"My husband's brother who is buried here should never have been in that battle at all. He volunteered and the Syrians shot him in the head. I came today because I can't be in two places at once tomorrow, but my son will be here.
"I'm pleased to see how well-maintained this place is, that it is not neglected, even in the older areas where there is no longer any family to visit."