Why Israel Feels Like Home, Holland Never Did

This week, I ended up in a heated discussion. It started on my Facebook page, where I dared to write what many might think but few ever say aloud: how much I dislike the Dutch attitude. How deeply I find Dutch society hypocritical. And yes — how I never felt at home in the Netherlands. I even call it Horrorland.

It’s not a secret that I feel the exact opposite about Israel. That’s my home. But when I said that, an (ex-)Dutch woman who also made aliya told me I was “not normal” for idealizing Israel so much. Her argument? Life there is too hard. When you’re sick or old, no one has your back. In Holland, she said, at least the state supports you. The government gives you money.

But let me tell you something — those who know me, know my story. I’ve traveled. I’ve lived in Germany, Syria, Israel. I’ve seen the world through a different lens than most Dutch children growing up in one static place. And no — I don’t romanticize countries I’ve left. What I feel is real. I’m not the person who forgets the bad and glorifies the good. I remember everything.

Let me try to put it into words.

In the Netherlands, we pride ourselves on being “normal.” There’s a toxic culture of conformity. “Just act normal,” they say — as if being different is a disease. As a kid who had seen more of the world than my classmates and even my teachers, I wasn’t praised for my perspective. I was punished for it. I was too loud, too aware, too different. That’s not welcomed in Dutch society. You have to fit in. Keep quiet. Blend in like sheep. Even when it looks like people have opinions, they’re often just echoing each other. There’s a deep fear of standing alone — so people keep their heads down and follow the crowd. That kind of society breeds cowards, not thinkers.

Culturally, we suppress emotion. Don’t laugh too loud, don’t cry in public, don’t visit without an invitation — and if you do come over, be content with one dry cookie. It’s all grey. The skies, the houses, the streets. The nature — flat and repetitive, endless grass and water. Everything feels cold. Sterile.

And yet — many Dutch people think they live in paradise because they’ve never tasted danger. They don’t know conflict. They’ve never had to fight for survival. War is a distant concept from their grandparents’ generation. So, we fight each other over nonsense — parking spots, TV shows, minor political differences. We poison our atmosphere with trivial arguments because we don’t have real threats. We are spoiled — and blind to how fragile peace really is.

And then there’s Israel.

Yes, the life is hard. Most people work six days a week. The weekend is barely a breath. And yet — you feel life there. You feel it in the music on the beach, where people sing and dance with no audience, just because it brings joy. You feel it in the warmth of human connection, in the pride in people’s eyes when they speak of their country, in the way strangers hug you like family when you’re in pain.

Yes, there is stress. Constant threats. Bomb shelters. Real fear. But also, real celebration of life. Freedom isn’t taken for granted — it’s cherished. Because they know what it means to lose it. That’s why the Israeli army, despite all criticism, is often called the most moral in the world — because soldiers are trained to think with both their head and their heart. I’ve seen compassion in places of chaos. That’s not just propaganda — it’s reality.

When I last visited in 2022, I tried to look at Israel with an open mind. I wanted to be honest. And yes — I saw changes. I felt a shift. People seemed more ego-driven. Less unity. Less pride. The Israel of my youth, where most people were Sabras or children of Holocaust survivors, has changed. Now I hear Russian spoken everywhere. Signs in Ben Gurion airport are in Hebrew, English, and Russian.

And here’s where it hurts: I believe deeply that when you make aliya, you must embrace the land — and that includes its language. Hebrew is the soul of Israel. If you water it down, you dilute identity. A million Russian immigrants arrived since 1990, and I respect that — but I also expect that Hebrew be learned and honored. Language is not just a tool — it’s a vessel of culture.

Still, walking through the streets, I felt that spirit — that Israeli energy. And now, during wartime, I thought that spirit would roar louder than ever. I expected unity. Instead, I saw protest, discontent, arguments. But I also saw something else — the truth.

In Israel, people can criticize their government. They can shout in the streets. That’s not weakness — that’s freedom. That’s what democracy looks like in a western country. However, I wish people understood that now is not the time to criticize the country. Now is the time to unite. I ran a poll among my Israeli and Jewish friends:
“Be honest — do you think Israel will survive this war?”
The answer was unanimous: Yes. Of course. We have no other choice.
We will survive. We will win.

And there it was again. The spirit. The invincible faith. No other nation holds onto hope like Israel does — not because they’re naïve, but because they know despair so well.

So, am I idealizing Israel?

Maybe. For the world outside — yes. I feel it’s my duty to show the beauty of Israel because there’s enough mud thrown by anti-Israel media and politics. But I also see the flaws. I see Jews paying more taxes, Arabs paying less. I see discrimination in employment. I see a broken legal system — not unlike the one in the Netherlands. But I weigh it against something far more important than fairness on paper.

I weigh it against freedom. Joy. Purpose. Spirit. Connection.

And that — I only feel in Israel.

I rest my case.