Finding Strength in the Storm

I came to Israel full of hope and idealism, ready to give back to my country through national service. Over the past two years, I’ve had the privilege of working with children with special needs — a role that impacted me more than I ever expected. But nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.

I was here on Oct. 7, when everything in the country shifted. I remember the fear, the uncertainty, and the suffering as the country came to a standstill. And now — living in Jerusalem — as the threat of Iran grows and the uncertainty deepens once again.

Going into Shabbat, I was preparing myself for what was to come. During dinner, the sirens began to wail and there wasn’t much time to react. We grabbed some water and went to the safe room, our food still on the table.

We stayed in the safe room for over an hour that night. As we sat on the floor, we listened to the sky. The loud booms overhead weren’t just sounds — they were a reminder. A reminder that even during Shabbat, even in moments of peace, danger is never far.

I often get asked, “How can you live there with everything going on?” And my answer is always the same: How could I not? This is where I’ve found purpose, connection, and strength. I am beyond proud to call Israel my home.

Israel has tested me in every way — emotionally, spiritually, even physically. But it has also given me more than I could have imagined: a sense of purpose, a deeper connection to something bigger than myself, and a community that doesn’t just survive hardship — we grow stronger through it.

I’ve seen the worst of what humanity can do. But I’ve also seen the best — people opening their homes, supporting one another through grief, and being there for one another. That’s the rhythm of life here: sorrow and celebration side by side. And somehow that contrast makes everything more meaningful.

I didn’t move to Israel expecting comfort. I came searching for meaning. And even with sirens, rockets, and uncertainty — I’ve found it. Not in safety, but in strength. Not in the quiet, but in the courage. 

And so I stay — not because it’s easy, but because this is my home.