From Texas to Israel and Back

Leaving Israel is never easy, and this time was no exception. I wasn’t ready to leave. I hadn’t said proper goodbyes to my family and friends. I knew my time in Israel was coming to an end based on the reopening of Ben Gurion Airport, but I didn’t want to accept the fact that I was going home.

Last summer (2024), I came to Israel to volunteer for Sar-El, which is a program that places international civilians on Israel Defense Forces (IDF) bases to aid soldiers in logistics work. This was my second time in Israel after a family vacation in 2022, where I traveled the country and learned so much. My family was nervous for me to fly alone to Israel, but they decided to join me about a week and a half later to visit family after I finished my volunteer service.

My volunteer service in 2024 was on Re’im near the Gaza border and was one of the most meaningful weeks of my life. I aided the soldiers in crucial logistics work in order to take some burden off of them. I wanted the soldiers to understand that although the world is filled with so much hate, especially from people in my generation, there are people on the right side of history.

Returning back home to Texas, I continued my mission to educate about Israel and fight antisemitism through the stories I heard and the experiences I had while volunteering. I titled my college essay “1 Mile from Gaza” and wrote about the transformative experience I had volunteering, and how the experience put the flame back in me to keep fighting hatred. I knew I would return to Israel as soon as possible to volunteer again, but I hoped that the war would be over. I always have red alerts enabled for areas where my family lives so that I can check on them when things happen. I am tired of my family having to constantly rush to shelters, specifically my 6 and 4 year old cousins being accustomed to this unfair reality.

I returned to Israel this summer to again volunteer for Sar-El and was placed on a base near the Lebanon/Syria border. The work I did was difficult but meaningful, and then everything changed when a historical conflict began. You can read about my experience with that in my op-ed from June 17th (https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/i-came-to-help-israel-witnessing-history-unfold/). My father arrived in Israel on June 12th and was supposed to volunteer with me the following week, after how much I’d praised the experience from the previous summer.

Departing later than originally planned was no problem for me, and I was in no rush to leave. I had found plenty of ways to volunteer and help the IDF while volunteers were prevented from going to bases, and was happy to stay much longer helping. My father and I volunteered at an organization called Thank Israeli Soldiers for countless hours, helping pack gear for soldiers. Aside from us, a friend of mine and the families who run that organization, there were no other volunteers. My family and friends at home, especially my mother and sister, have been worried about us, and for that reason, I knew I needed to travel home as soon as possible.

Many had evacuated through Jordan or Egypt, but I didn’t feel safe doing that. I didn’t want to have to hide my Jewish and Zionist identity and risk it. I found a somewhat affordable route to return home, which required us to go from Israel to Athens, Athens to London, and finally London back to Dallas. I was not looking forward to the 12-hour layover in London after the amount of violent antisemitism and anti-Zionism I’ve heard about and seen in pictures and videos.

On the flight from Athens to London — the second leg of the journey — I was seated next to two strangers. The man on my right noticed my bag and immediately asked about Israel. He told me he had lived on a kibbutz for five years and that he loved Israel. The woman on my left, a Gen Z passenger wearing an Arabic necklace, noticed my yarmulke and Israeli backpack patch and immediately shoved my bag off the seat and onto the floor, even though it wasn’t in her way. She slid as far from me as possible and began texting her mother on WhatsApp.

I couldn’t help but see her phone screen. She texted her mom “HELP” in all caps, then wrote that she was sitting next to a “Jew” who had an Israeli flag and a “Jewish cap thing.” She said she was scared, and that she was crying. Her mom replied, “Oh well,” then “There are good people and bad people.” My seatmate responded, “He’s evil.” Her mom told her, “All Israelis are not bad,” followed by a chilling reminder: “Remember you’re in power.”

The woman then scribbled out postcards to her mom and dad, thanking them for her childhood and telling them that if this “Jew” killed her on the plane, she loved them. I hadn’t even spoken a word to her. When I finally handed her a water bottle the flight attendant passed to me, she snapped, “Don’t talk to me.” I calmly replied, “Clearly, you’re uncomfortable, but you don’t need to be. Nothing is going to happen on this flight, and I’m happy to talk if that would make you feel better.” She ignored me and moved to the back of the plane.

That was just Day 1 of over 30 hours of travel.

Day 2 began in London — and it didn’t get easier. Security at Heathrow was nothing short of hostile. I was told to remove my boots even though the person before me wore taller ones. I was sent back through the metal detector twice, even though it never beeped. Then came two rounds of pat-downs, a metal detector wand scan, and two separate swabs: one for drugs, one for explosives. My bag was searched in front of me, item by item. When I saw everything was marked “cleared” on the screen, I asked what the issue was. The officer insisted I remove one last item — a bag that held my Israel necklace and Jewish star. Three officers joined to watch as they examined it. They ultimately confiscated a single roll of tape and let us go.

They didn’t find anything because there was nothing to find. But they were never looking for contraband. They were reacting to who I am — a proud Jew, a visible Zionist, and someone who refuses to hide his identity from anyone.

This entire experience didn’t scare me into silence — it reminded me why I speak out in the first place. From the base near Lebanon and Syria to the aisle of a flight out of Athens, I’ve seen once again what it means to be visibly Jewish in a world that doesn’t always want to see us. And I’ve made my choice: I won’t hide.

I didn’t come to Israel for comfort. I came to serve, to learn, and to stand tall, and I’m bringing that same strength back home with me. I may be returning to Texas, but everything I’ve seen, felt, and endured will stay with me.

Because being Jewish, being Zionist, and being proud — that’s not just something I wear on my bag or around my neck. It’s who I am. And I’m not going anywhere. Am Yisrael Chai.