Showing Up for Israel, Finding a Home for Ourselves

Before we boarded the plane to Israel, I thought about the goals of the trip. In addition to some good family time, breaking the routine, etc. I really had one goal: to show my daughters, Avie (8) and Mila (4), that Israel is their home. Not in the abstract sense, but in the real, tangible way that a home anchors you. I wanted them to see that Israel is not just a place they hear about in stories, on the news, learn about in school, or a faraway land on a map; it is a country that unapologetically welcomes them, a place where they can live loudly and proudly as Jews.

For 12 days, we immersed ourselves in Israel. We split our time between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, using these vibrant cities as our base while we explored other areas of this small country. We wandered through ancient streets and modern markets, sang songs, ate (so much food!), and witnessed the incredible diversity of life in a land that is complex, beautiful, safe yet at war, sad, hurting, and thriving — all at once.

The streets, normally buzzing with tourists, were quiet. Cafes that should have been filled with the hum of different languages were eerily subdued. It is a country that is tired. Shopkeepers wore tired smiles and restaurants were beyond grateful for us choosing them. The palpable emptiness was a stark reminder of the times we are living through. Tourism in Israel is at an all-time low, and the absence of visitors left a visible mark on the country making our presence even more noticeable.

Everywhere we went, people asked us the same question: “Why now? Why would you come now?”

This trip wasn’t just about the sights or the food or the history. It was about fostering a connection — planting seeds of love for Israel in my daughters. It was magical to see their wonder, their curiosity, and, most importantly, their pride begin to take root.

One of the most poignant moments of our trip was visiting the site of the Nova Festival. We went with a dear friend, also known as uncle Daniel in our home, who survived that day. While I didn’t go into the details with my daughters, I felt it was important for them to understand, in a way they could process, that what happened there matters deeply. Standing in that space, alongside someone who embodies resilience, brought home the duality of Israel — its pain and its strength. My daughters handed out cards of hope to soldiers there to bare witness which was met with smiles, hugs, and gratitude. And while the spot is so deeply tragic, seeing my own kids there bringing joy during tragedy highlights the paradox of hope that Israel and the Jewish people are living in.

We also brought the girls to Kibbutz Sa’ad, a place that holds deep personal meaning for me. It’s where I once lived (as did my husband), and it’s also where the same Nova survivor found refuge. He was saved by a Holocaust survivor living at the kibbutz, completing a profound circle of hope. For my daughters to witness this, even in the smallest ways, was to show them the power of connection, the strength of our community, and the enduring spirit of our people.

These moments — standing at the intersection of tragedy and survival, of despair and hope — underscored the importance of teaching my daughters not just about the beauty of Israel, but its depth, complexity, and resilience.

What struck me most during our time there was watching my daughters’ hearts open to Israel. Avie and Mila met family and friends who embraced them as if they had known them forever. They walked streets steeped in history, learning the stories of our people, and felt the pulse of a nation that is as vibrant as it is resilient. The explored hikes that were core memories of my childhood with a tour guide who has been a key mentor in my life. They tasted warm pita fresh from the oven, danced to the rhythm of Israeli music, and absorbed the beauty of places like Mahane Yehuda Market, the dead sea, and the beaches of Tel Aviv.

As we prepared to leave, I asked Avie about her highlights, and she mentioned two key things. The first was volunteering with Shuva Ahim, an organization helping IDF soldiers near the border of Gaza (if you do not know about them you should). The second was hiking in Ein Gedi. As we continued to talk, two themes emerged: her sense of responsibility to the people of Israel and her wonder at the beauty of the land. For Mila, it was about the ice cream every day and all the people we met. Pretty on brand for a 4-year-old. For me, it was seeing my daughters begin to understand that Israel isn’t just a country — it’s family. It’s a place that holds our stories, our struggles, our triumphs, and our joy.

Israel is far from perfect. It is a land of contradictions, of deep complexity, and of pain. But it is also a land of hope and resilience. It’s a place where we, as Jews, are welcomed not as guests but as family. And that’s what I wanted my daughters to feel — the unshakable knowledge that they belong here, no matter where life takes them.

Yes, it felt different to choose to take them in the midst of war. But it also felt necessary, even urgent. We didn’t just visit Israel; we showed up for it. And in doing so, Israel showed up for us.

I left Israel knowing that this trip achieved what I had hoped: Avie and Mila now carry Israel in their hearts. They’ve begun a lifelong relationship with a land that is theirs, a place that will always welcome them home.

As parents, we can give our children many gifts, but few are as precious as the sense of belonging. This trip was our gift to them — a foundation of connection, pride, and love for a place that is not just part of our history but part of their future. And while our journey is far from over, I am grateful for these 12 days that opened their hearts to the magic, meaning, and quiet resilience of Israel.