How Important is Israel to You, Really?

“Yalla, phones need to be put away. Make your last calls, and in one hour, all the phones are to be locked in the safe.” I can still hear my commander uttering the words that we had all been dreading, though we knew they would inevitably be said. It was the official signal that Israel’s anticipated ground operation into Gaza had officially begun. I was the only one in my tzevet (team) that was still holding on to some kind of hope that maybe we wouldn’t have to go in. Maybe a diplomatic solution would be reached? Maybe the air force would just continue its work without boots on the ground? But as I finished calling my mom and girlfriend one last time and locked it in the safe not knowing when, or if, I would see it again, the visceral reality of our mission was crystal clear. I knew a ground offensive was the justified response to October 7th, but of course when you’re part of the first unit to enter Gaza on foot, that justification carries a different weight. In the first moments we crossed the border from southern Israel into northern Gaza, I briefly recalled what was important to me: my family, my team, and my mission. 

October 7th, as dark and incomprehensible as it was, gave us the opportunity to remember what really is important to us. We began to hold our loved ones a little bit tighter, cherish the small moments of happiness with our friends, and unify around common values as a nation. For many, Israel has become an even larger part of our lives and identities, especially for Jews living in the diaspora. But just how important is Israel to you, really? The next anecdote will help you understand what I mean. 

As we made our way through dozens of apartment complexes rooting out Hamas terrorists and infrastructure, there was a recurring theme amongst a large majority of the homes; in nearly every apartment, a picture of Jerusalem (more specifically, the Al-Aqsa mosque) was hanging in the living room. Were they simply paying homage to a Muslim holy site? Maybe, but that doesn’t explain why I never saw photos of Mecca or Medina, both more religious in the Muslim faith than Al-Aqsa. I couldn’t read the Arabic writing on the photos, but the images of Jerusalem tended to elicit a sense of pride and honor. It was fascinating. Though many of these people had never been to Jerusalem in person (at least over the past 20 years), each household exhibited a deep and fervent connection to the city. On numerous occasions, the pictures of Al-Aqsa were positioned alongside photos of a shaheed (martyr) or Yassar Arafat. It was clear that Jerusalem was far more than a religious site for Palestinians, and it represented an important symbol for their own identities. 

One night, after completing our missions as we sat to eat dinner (canned tuna and a piece of bread), I began to think about this interesting predicament. I, and the rest of the IDF, were participating in one of the most important and consequential military operations in the nation’s history. We had clear goals, and felt that we were fighting a justified war given the events that unfolded just weeks prior on the 7th, where my own team had lost two soldiers, Or and Tomer Z”L, fighting in southern Israel. In other words, we were fighting for what we believed was important to us: our families, our fallen friends, and our home. However, as the long shadow of the war reached the corners of the diaspora, Jewish communities became suddenly and violently aware of just how fragile their existence was in places they had once felt comfortable. For many Jews, Israel quickly became the focal point of their identities, whether by choice or indirectly. 

The Palestinians have made it quite clear what’s important to them, as it’s visible in almost every Gazan home and explicit in their demands abroad: to capture Jerusalem, a euphemism for eradicating Jews from the land. For so long, both in Israel and the West, we have heard slogans like “from the river to the sea” and never understood how serious these demands were. Instead, the West indulges their chants as “harmless speech”. When Palestinian terrorists are lionized as “martyrs on their way to Jerusalem”, we never cared to understand the real motivations behind the attack. Instead, we attribute the attack to the consequences of “suffering under occupation”. This is, of course, not to say that Palestinian suffering does not exist, or that everyone that shouts anti-Israel slogans wants to eradicate the Jewish state. But we, in the West, should at least start taking Palestinians for their word. Jerusalem is just the beginning, and it exists as an important symbol within their identity and mission. 

As I’ve since been released back into civilian life, I have had the time to think about the future of the country and our people as a whole. There is a pressing question I shall present to you, the reader: do you have a picture of Jerusalem in your home? I’m not necessarily talking about a physical photograph like the ones I saw in Gaza, rather the symbol in your life that reminds you, every day, of your strongest connection to Israel. Is it the mezuzah on your door? Your Magen David necklace? Is it the friend you have that lives in Tel Aviv that you think of when you hear about a terrorist attack in Israel? Maybe it’s religious, maybe it’s cultural. Regardless, we should all find our Jerusalem. Israel cannot exist without an enduring and resilient connection with the diaspora. By not kindling and deepening our individual relationships to Israel, we risk losing the bridge that has connected the heart of the Jewish world to its communities around the globe. While I personally believe peace will come when Palestinians abandon the fantasy of “conquering Jerusalem” and reform their education systems to reflect that societal change, we have our own responsibility to remember what really is important to us. Outside of our immediate family and friends, how are we as a people keeping Israel and its existence an important and central aspect of our lives? 

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