Building on Shifting Sand: Raising Kids in Israel

I was raised in a quiet suburb in Westchester county outside New York City, where life unfolded among single-family homes and an unspoken script about how things were supposed to go. In high school, we often heard about the “American Dream”—that familiar vision of a house with a white picket fence. That image quietly took root in my mind as the standard for adulthood, stability, and financial success. After college, I wanted to see more of the world before settling into that life, which eventually brought me to Israel. There, I met my wife, Maya, and we started a family. But the idea of financial security I carried from New York quickly clashed with the reality of life here.

The idea to write this came up because it’s something Maya and I are always saying to one another how completely drained we are. Life here feels overwhelming right now. Let’s be honest—maybe true, uninterrupted downtime is a fantasy once you have young kids, no matter where you live. There’s always something demanding your attention. But lately, the imbalance in our lives feels extreme, almost unnatural. There’s never quite enough time to pause and breathe.

In Israel, financial insecurity isn’t an exception—it’s the norm. Most families don’t have the option of one parent staying home; both usually need full-time jobs just to cover basic expenses. Back in the US, where I grew up, stay-at-home moms were common in my neighborhood but not the norm by any means. My own parents both worked when I was growing up as well as my Maya’s parents. Here in Israel, dual incomes aren’t a lifestyle choice; they’re a necessity. Raising young children has become so expensive that exhaustion is practically the default state. It’s like trying to build something solid on shifting sand. As a teacher, I have some schedule flexibility that office workers often lack. Getting home earlier means I’m there when the kids arrive—a friend jokingly calls me a “soccer dad” (shout out to Yaron, another teacher). That proximity gives me a front-row seat to daily family life, but also the space to notice just how stretched thin everyone around us really is.

Looking back at my childhood in America, there’s a clear contrast with how kids grow up today. Cell phones didn’t exist yet; we used landlines, and meeting friends didn’t require scheduling it in advance. Childhood had a raw, spontaneous quality. That’s one of the big advantages of living in a Kibbutz. My older son is comfortable walking around by himself and meets his friends a lot of the time by just bumping into them while walking around. This is very different than what I heard from friends of mine in America where playdates/activities are usually more planned and organized.

On paper, Israel offers strong safety nets—like universal healthcare—that stand in sharp contrast to the US system. Culturally in Israel, there’s deep value placed on family and raising the next generation. But beneath that support lies a harsh financial truth: once you actually have children, it’s EXPENSIVE! Saving money or building disposable income feels nearly impossible. Daily life is like running on a steep treadmill where the finish line keeps moving. From groceries and fuel to school supplies, prices keep rising. Nowhere is this clearer than daycare: the cost for our youngest is nearly double what we paid for our oldest at the same age. It creates a constant state of mental and physical strain—where if you’re not worrying about security, you’re worrying about next month’s bills.

This financial pressure shows up in the most ordinary moments. Just last week, we went to a simple Asian restaurant with my in-laws. The bill came to nearly 600 shekels—about $200—for a modest meal. It gets to the point where you think: Why bother? If we’re going out, I might as well take the kids to McDonald’s. They enjoy it more, it’s far cheaper, and let’s be honest – does anyone actually enjoy going out to dinner with little kids? My kids and the idea of sitting don’t go together.

I remember my parents buying their home in New York. As a kid, I wasn’t aware of the financial strain behind it—it just seemed like a natural step. Here, that stress is impossible to ignore. Without some sort of help, buying a home is out of reach for most working couples. Many people I know are stuck renting long-term, or they buy small investment units in cheaper areas while still renting where they live. But whether you own or rent, most families with young children are struggling financially. Owning a home is a real advantage, but it doesn’t protect you from the rising cost of living. Housing near New York is also extremely expensive, but many of my friends there moved farther out to more affordable areas—though few are married with kids. In Israel, relocating hours away to save money isn’t really an option. You stay, put down roots, and face the economic pressure directly.

When my we first married, we bought an old apartment. While owning any property is a privilege, I soon realized I couldn’t imagine raising our kids there permanently. First we thought of moving to rent a home in the same city we lived in at the time but it was disillusioning. Most places in our price range were run down and honestly, it was a temporary solution in my mind. We wanted stability and permanence, not years of renting without the promise of ownership. When I learned about Kibbutz Gezer and that it was absorbing new families,  I told Maya we need to try to move there. I remember the first time we drove to Gezer and saw our future house we would move too. Maya looked at it and wasn’t into at all but in the end, she gave it a chance and we ended up moving there. We went through a long selection process which included a conversation with a psychologist (I’m not crazy he told me) before even moving into the Kibbutz . After a long process (years and years), we were finally voted in as members.

Living on a kibbutz gives our children safety, community, and daily consistency. But it doesn’t mean we’re fully insulated. When we were renting here, there was always the worry that we might be asked to leave. Even after building our own home, we do have more stability without a doubt but I would say homeownership doesn’t get rid of financial strain—it just changes its form.

The pressure extends beyond housing into everyday family life. Through social media, today’s kids are constantly exposed to travel and lifestyles that I didn’t see growing up. As parents, we navigate the quiet tension of balancing their expectations with our financial limits. Unless a family earns significantly more, I don’t understand how people afford big international trips every year without sacrificing something essential behind the scenes.

Okay, rant’s over—time to pick up the kids from daycare.