What I Owe the Country That Raised Me

Why I’m flying home to vote, and what belonging asks of us

I am on my way to Israel.

It is a long way to travel to cast one ballot. But the decision to go was not complicated.

I have made the USA my home for now. I have built a life here: a career, relationships, a community that matters to me. I am not passing through.

And yet Israel is home in a more foundational way. It is where I grew up. Hebrew is my first language. So much of who I am was formed there. My family is there. I served in the Israeli army. People I love continue to serve. My family also knows the unbearable cost of that service.

When Israel is at war, when its society is divided, when its future feels uncertain, none of it feels distant. And when I imagine my own future, I see myself back there.

So, I am going home to vote.

In Jewish life, we talk a lot about connection to Israel. We invest enormous energy in strengthening it, especially for the next generation. We talk about belonging, peoplehood, history, memory and homeland. But lately, I have been thinking about what must come alongside connection: responsibility.

Connection is about how we feel. Responsibility is about what we do.

If Israel is central to my Jewish identity, if it is home, if I care about Israel as it is today and as it might become, then what does that belonging ask of me? For me, the answer is also a matter of citizenship, of having a voice in decisions that will shape a country to which I remain deeply committed.

I could have stayed in New York and followed the election closely. I could have read the polls, called my family, argued with friends and worried about the outcome. But having an opinion is not the same as showing up.

That distinction matters to me as an Israeli, and it matters to me as a Jewish leader.

I have come to learn that leadership and belonging are deeply connected. Belonging means recognizing that you are part of something larger than yourself. Leadership means accepting some responsibility for what happens to it. It is easy to say what others should do. It is harder to ask what we are willing to do ourselves, particularly when the choices are imperfect and the outcome is uncertain.

Israel is living through a complex moment. The questions facing the country go to its core: security and democracy, Jewish identity and shared society, the cost of living, and ultimately what kind of country Israel will be.

For the people who live there every day, those choices carry a weight I do not pretend to carry from Manhattan. They shape what it means to send a child into the army. They shape whether Israeli families can picture their futures there and what kind of society the next generation will inherit. The consequences are immediate and daily.

Living abroad requires humility about that difference. I cannot claim to experience Israel’s daily realities in the same way as those who live there. I need to listen, especially when the people closest to me see things differently. But distance does not erase belonging. And humility does not require stepping away from responsibility.

My decision to make America my home for this chapter of my life did not end my relationship with Israel or my obligations to it. My loved ones live with the consequences of Israel’s choices today, and I expect to live with them myself in the future. I care not only about the Israel I left, but about the Israel I will return to.

And that Israel is not an imaginary one. I love the real Israel. The extraordinary, imperfect one. The Israel that can make me proud and keep me up at night. The Israel I can support and challenge, argue with and fight for. Belonging does not require agreement. It requires refusing to become indifferent.

That is true of leadership as well. We take responsibility not only when we agree with the decisions being made, but because we believe we have a part in what happens next.

I do not believe everyone who feels connected to Israel has the same history or obligations. Responsibility will look different for each of us. Nor do I believe my ballot carries more weight than anyone else’s. But my connection to Israel asks more of me than following the news and caring deeply from afar.

One ballot will not decide Israel’s future. One election will not settle the questions dividing Israeli society. Still, a single vote is not meaningless because it is small. It is one way a citizen accepts a share of responsibility, rather than leaving every choice to someone else.

In a few days, I will exercise my right as an Israeli citizen to vote. I will think about the country that raised me and the future it can have. I have a voice in that future, and with the privilege comes the responsibility to use it.

I am proud to be on my way home to vote.