Thoughts about home from my army cot

My daily life is usually about sourcing tiles and working on kitchen layouts. But these days, you might find me wearing khaki on an army base on Israel’s southern border, often the only woman in the room, and usually the oldest.

I first served in the IDF at 18 as a lone soldier and new immigrant with broken Hebrew. More than 20 years later, I am back. This time, I have a business, four children and an entire life that does not stop when I put on those army greens.

The moment you enter the army, your life outside becomes irrelevant. Whether you are a parent, a business owner, or the person everyone depends on at home, you become part of a huge system, with a role to fill and a job to do.

The men serving alongside me are fathers, husbands, and business owners. On base, they are soldiers doing unglamorous work that allows the rest of us to continue with everyday life. At the end of the day, they do not go home to the people they love. They get a cot in a shared room, barely edible food, and another day in uniform.

But mostly, I cannot stop thinking about the women at home while their husbands are patrolling the borders.

They are working, managing school, homework, carpools, meals, and bedtime, and trying to give their children some sense of normal. They do not receive a uniform, a schedule, or a chain of command. They simply keep everything going, for weeks, months and, since October 7, years, while they themselves are worrying about their husbands on the front lines.

One sacrifice is heroic and dressed in khaki. The other happens quietly at the kitchen table late at night. Both are holding this country together.

And then while sitting on this dusty base, I am opening up plans of new homes and having conference calls with clients across the world about the dreams about to happen in their new homes. Home is where we return to, disconnect from the outside world and become ourselves again. It is where we walk in the door, take off our shoes, and put down some of the weight that we carry.

A functional kitchen layout makes family life happier. A calm bedroom offers somewhere to breathe. Good storage means one less frustration. When life demands so much, a home should be an island of calm that supports the people living in it.

I joined miluim because I felt that, at this point in Israel’s story, it was where I needed to be. I did not expect the time on this remote base on the Israeli border to make my professional work feel more meaningful, but it has.

Helping people live better is a privilege. It is also about creating a safe place to land, a place that feels completely and only yours when you return.

To the women holding everything together alone: I see you. May you always have a warm, safe home.

And to the men, and women, giving up weeks and months of their lives to serve our country: May you always have a warm, safe home.