Vacation in Israel: If Not Now, When?

I thought about cancelling my family’s recent spring break trip to Israel dozens of times. In mid-March, as the fragile cease fire began to combust, my New York Post alerts would scream at me daily from my inbox. Each missile fire from the Houthis or attempted bus bombing from Hamas would send me into a tizzy, waking me in a cold sweat, forcing me to second-guess the decision to take our kids to such a dangerous corner of the world. Was I putting my family in harm’s way? Was it responsible? Was it right? 

Many of our friends thought we were crazy for going. They understood our desire to support Israel, to learn and teach our children about it, but they worried about our safety. And who could blame them? Any American who has eyes and ears, let alone a New York Times subscription, would worry, with the media hysteria covering only chaos and destruction there. But once I was able to quiet the noise from all around, I knew that my husband and I were not doing something irresponsible. This confidence, I now realize, was a confidence in Israel, that the miracle of its founding, its survival-despite continuous attempts by powerful nations to annihilate it–and its extraordinary success are no coincidence. My bet was on Israel, and deep down I knew that going was exactly the right thing to do. “If not now, when?” asked a wise friend. So we went. And our trip was nothing short of transformational for my entire family.

So many Israelis we met throughout our travels thanked us for coming to visit at this tense time. They were incredibly grateful for our support, financially and morally. The tourism industry has plummeted since October 7, and the English that could be heard at all the popular sites and hotspots just a few years ago has all but evaporated. “You could have gone anywhere on spring break,” our ATV tour operator told us, “but you chose to come here. In the middle of a war. That means a lot.” For our three young children, being thanked for visiting taught them everything they needed to know about why we came. 

I had not visited Israel in thirty years and had always thought about it as an ancient place, the source of Jewish history, relevant only to our past. But this trip changed my callow understanding, showing me that Israel is a living, breathing history, where the same patterns unfold again and again and again. Jerusalem is like a time capsule of civilization–the birthplace of the Jewish people and then the conquest of rising empires for thousands of years in a never-ending cycle of building and destruction. The holiest sites for Judaism, Christianity and Islam sit in the Old City nearly on top of each other, explaining the timeless feuds and the messianic attachment to this tiny sliver of land. With all of the devout living and praying there, there is a palpable sanctity, an otherworldliness, unlike any other place. 

In fact, the reality of ultra orthodox Jews living alongside religious Christians and Muslims in the Old City’s tiny neighborhoods defies the common narratives. Meandering the winding cobblestone streets of the Jewish and Arab quarters, we were surrounded by people of all faiths living side by side in devotion to their different Gods. We stopped for lunch in the Arab quarter, eating falafel and hummus served by Israeli Arabs who didn’t flinch at the fact that we were Jews. I was shocked to learn that almost 40% of people living in Jerusalem are Arabs, and 21% of all Israelis are Arabs. How plainly misunderstood Israel’s demographic make-up is. This “white colonialist apartheid nation” is one of the most ethnically, racially and religiously diverse societies I’ve ever visited.

In Tel Aviv, the diversity within Israeli Jewish life was striking. The religious, in varying forms from Haredi to modern orthodox, and the secular may often disagree politically, but they too live side by side, sharing the same overarching desire to live peacefully and freely even if they disagree on the means to do so. It is such an interesting and beautiful mix of tradition and modernity, secular and spiritual. In my leafy suburb in Northern California, I rarely see people who are religious, who dress differently, who have different political beliefs or levels of education. With over four hundred times more land mass than Israel, Americans have self-segregated into blue cities and red cities, making the places we live so homogenous and insipid. Israeli society, on the other hand, is a portrait of the varying ways humans can interpret what it means to live a good life–the streets are dotted with tattoos and nose rings as well as sheitels and tzitzit.

Tel Aviv isn’t just colorful; it’s electric. A modern, cosmopolitan wonder on the sparkling shores of the Mediterranean, it is buzzing with life. The energy is incredible. The vibe is just so cool–Brooklyn, Paris and Barcelona cool. I didn’t know what to expect, considering everything they have suffered since October 7, and that they are still in the middle of a war. Would it be somber and quiet? Would the air be heavy with sadness? It was decidedly not. Cafes and markets overflowing with people, delicious smells emanating from all around, beaches packed with surfers and sunseekers, Israelis have refused to give up living. We went to restaurants with DJs spinning, where tables turn into mini dance floors by midnight – it was St. Tropez in the Middle East. And the food! Oh, the food (but that’s a separate article)!

Yet we learned that this vibrance is still just a fraction of what it was before October 7th. Israelis are resilient because they have to be, but they are still mourning those who were murdered and the survivors who will never be the same. They are preoccupied with the hostages who are still in captivity. On every store window, on billboards and signs, are the faces of the hostages and the yellow Bring Them Home signs that remind everyone that the nightmare is still ongoing. The plaza in front of the Tel Aviv Museum of Art has become Hostages Square, with art installations and protests in support of hostages’ return. Plus, Israelis are trying to get back to their daily lives, returning to the companies, kibbutzes and families they have had to leave for months on end to defend their country. They must balance this delicate dance between living and mourning, looking forward and remembering. Their pain is an undercurrent of daily life, but there is no resignation, only resolve. 

When terrorists send missiles over Israeli cities, which they regularly do, sirens go off, and Israelis get an alert on their phones. They have ninety seconds to get to a bomb shelter (it’s a shorter time frame outside of Tel Aviv, as little as thirty seconds closer to the Gaza border). This concept is mind-bendingly insane, and it is just a regular part of their lives. We personally experienced it once during our ten days there. While dining at a beautiful restaurant on the beach in Tel Aviv with friends, suddenly everyone’s phones started beeping in unison. The waiter, who was bringing out our appetizers and refilling our wine, announced that we all needed to go to the bomb shelter. He shuttled all the customers to the shelter where we waited for several minutes. All the Israelis around us were calm and orderly, more annoyed that their dishes were getting cold than anything else, but for us first-timers it was undeniably nerve-wracking. Our friends’ sixteen-year-old daughter pulled out an app showing which direction the missiles were coming from and therefore which terrorists were trying to kill them. “It’s the Houthis again,” she said. “Don’t worry, we can go back to our table soon.” This child, so accustomed to missile and rocket fire interrupting her regular sixteen-year-old life, was reassuring us. Once safety was assured and we were released from the shelter, the reality of the experience sunk in, and my fear faded into cognitive dissonance. The split screen between civilized society and rocket fire shooting through the sky was impossible to process.

But Israelis have no other choice, so rather than accept defeat or spiral into despair, they fight. They fight by continuing to live the lives they so beautifully built in this once desolate land. Standing in the historic town of Jafa and looking back at Tel Aviv, we saw cranes and buildings under construction as far as the eye could see. How remarkable that after October 7th, the most catastrophic attack on Israel and the largest mass murder of Jews since the Holocaust, with multiple terrorist organizations trying to destroy the country and drive its citizens into the sea, Israelis are building. They are actually building! Because of their unshakable hope, hatikvah, they continue to plan for a future that to outsiders would seem crazy.

And what they have built in the past seventy seven years in the face of constant destruction is truly miraculous. The combination of grit and ingenuity that enabled the early settlers to turn swamp land and desert into farms and forests has transformed Israel into an international powerhouse. Israel is one of the most important technology hubs in the world with the second highest number of start up companies outside the U.S. The number of leading companies in technology, aerospace, defense, agriculture and medical research that have come out of Israel is astonishing. Their desalination and gray water technologies have transformed Israel into a water independent country that now produces 20% more water than it needs. 

We visited the Peres Center for Peace and Innovation where we experienced through virtual reality some incredible technologies that Israel is currently developing–things like flying cars, mini robots placed into the human body to destroy cancer cells, and planes that travel through outer space. Plus, I had no idea before this trip that Israeli scientists developed cherry tomatoes! You’ve never tasted cherry tomatoes until you try Israeli cherry tomatoes. And all of this from a country the size of New Jersey with a population of only ten million, with murderous neighbors on its borders. Miracle is the only word to aptly describe this place. 

My husband, our three daughters and I were amazed with everything we saw and learned over the course of our vacation, but maybe most powerfully, by the ineffable connection that we felt to this land. Although my girls couldn’t fully describe that feeling, I know that it was a homecoming for them and for us, to a place that was ours even though my children had never been there before. A place where taxi drivers say shabbat shalom when you get out of their cars on a Friday or Saturday. A place where we, for the first time in our lives, were not a teeny tiny minority, not strangers in a strange land. The chasm between the diaspora and Israel feels much smaller now: it could easily have been my great grandparents who immigrated there instead of America, a different ship, but the same search for safety and freedom. This truly is the promised land, not just because of the biblical mandate, but because of the promise that it holds for us. It is a refuge, from the ashes of the Holocaust and all of the persecution before that. It is the control of our own destiny, our freedom. My family is not making aliyah just yet, but we have decided to go back for Passover next spring. L’shana Haba’ah B’Yerushalayim.