My Soul Lives in Israel, Even in War

How the War in Israel Affects a Zionist Living Abroad: A Love Story Across Borders

There are moments in life when the distance between two places feels unbearable. When news from another land doesn’t just touch your mind, it shakes your soul. For me, that land is Israel. My body may live in the Netherlands, but my heart, my soul, my essence  they live in Israel. They always have. And now, in times of war and unimaginable horror, the ache of being far away is almost too much to bear.

Israel is not just a country to me. It’s my first love. My eternal love. I’ve said it countless times, sometimes with a laugh, sometimes with tears in my eyes: Israel is where I feel whole. Not even my closest friends or family fully understand it. They ask, “Why Israel? You’re not even religious.” Or, “Are you Christian?” And I answer, “No. I am not Jewish, not religious, you can better say I am Secular. But my connection to Israel isn’t about religion. It’s about identity. It’s about soul.”

This love was passed down to me like a sacred inheritance. My grandfather, a resistance hero during WWII, planted the seed. He never spoke of his wartime deeds, but his devotion to Israel spoke volumes. He gave that love to my mother, who passed it to me like a sacred flame. And when my father, a military officer, was assigned to a UN mission in the Middle East, our whole family followed. That’s when I first set foot on Israeli soil,  arriving in Haifa by boat in the middle of the night.

The moment I stepped ashore, I knew. This was home.

We lived in Tiberias, in a modest room rented from an Orthodox Jewish family. They embraced us with open arms and warm hearts. I still remember the Shabbat evenings,  the songs, the candles, the peace. We’d hold hands around the table, and I felt, for the first time, that I truly belonged somewhere.

The nature, the smells, the landscapes, they all became part of me. The scent of orange blossoms, the sounds of birds at sunrise, the shimmering waters of the Kinneret. I felt joy, love, freedom. We traveled across the Middle East: Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, Egypt, but nothing ever compared to the moment we crossed the border back into Israel. Every time, it felt like coming home.

Later, I lived in Jerusalem,  the beating heart of the Jewish people. That city, with its golden stones and ancient pulse, became the eternal address of my soul. In Israel, I was never the outsider. I was just me. A human being. Respected. Seen.

When we had to return to Europe, I was crushed. Homesick for years. Still am. I feared returning, afraid the Israel of my memory wouldn’t match reality. But when I finally went back in 2015, after decades away, the moment the plane descended over Tel Aviv, the tears came. And I knew: nothing had changed. It was still home. It always will be.

But now, my love for Israel is tested in ways I never imagined. On October 6th, 2023, I was monitoring hostile WhatsApp groups, something I’ve done quietly for years. I’ve created fake accounts, started an NGO back in 2014, anything to counter the hate, to stand for Israel. That afternoon, the chatter intensified. I knew something was coming. But it was Shabbat in Israel, and I couldn’t reach anyone.

Then came October 7th.

I woke up to horror. Unthinkable, gut-wrenching horror. Images, stories, names, all crashing into my morning like thunder. And I’ve never been the same. Guilt creeps in, irrational maybe, but heavy. Could I have done more? Should I have screamed louder?

Now, every day feels like a vigil. I wake up in the night, checking news. My heart races with every alert. I watch the hostage releases with shaking hands and wet cheeks. I live in a country where I’m safe, but my friends, my soul family, are under fire. Their lives are on the line. I don’t feel the rockets physically, but emotionally? I feel every hit.

And so I write. I cry. I pray. I fight in every way I can from afar. Social media, community work, advocacy. I do it all. Because this love,  my love for Israel, demands action. She is not perfect. No country is. But she is mine. And I will stand with her always.

To those who don’t understand: this isn’t about politics. This is personal. This is about identity, about memory, about belonging. It’s about a homeland that has endured against all odds, a people who choose life even in the darkest times.

To my beloved Israel: I am with you, always. You are my home. My heart. My soul. And though I walk foreign streets, I carry you in every heartbeat. We may be separated by borders and oceans, but never by love.

Am Yisrael Chai.