You don’t not go
On September 4th, Yehuda Kurtzer spoke on a Podcast following the tragic murder of six hostages in Gaza, including Hersh Goldberg-Polin. He shared how this heartbreak coincided with his eldest son boarding a plane hours later to spend a year in Israel. Yehuda and his wife have always felt that “You don’t not go” — words that have guided their family’s connection to Israel. For them, and for so many others, this isn’t just a saying; it’s an ethos.
In a few short weeks, I, too, will board a plane to Israel — my second trip in less than a year, but this time with my kids and husband. I’m already hearing the questions from well-meaning friends and family: “Why now? Isn’t it too dangerous? Why bring the kids?” But my gut is steadfast, echoing those words: You don’t not go.
It is a privilege to live in a world where I can choose to go to Israel. I can pack our bags, buy our tickets (we did book 6 months ago, making this more affordable), and step into a land that, though far away, holds pieces of my soul. And yet, for me, this trip is about more than just a visit; it’s an opportunity to show up — to stand with Israel, hand in hand with my children. Supporting Israel from afar is crucial, but being there, with my kids — standing on the land, sharing moments with Israelis face-to-face — is an act of presence that resonates differently.
In Jewish tradition, hinei’ni, or “Here I am,” embodies the act of showing up when it matters most. I am called to be there for Israel, especially now, not simply out of duty, but out of love and connection. This is a crisis moment, and Jewish values teach us that we are to show up for family, for friends, for community, even — especially — in times of trial. There is something powerful in physically being present for those who can’t leave, who live each day with the weight of this ongoing conflict.
But this visit is also about my children. I want them to feel that Israel is not just a faraway land or an abstract idea. I want them to know that Israel is their home — a place that holds their heritage, their people, their history. Being in Israel now is a chance for my kids to witness not only the resilience of the land but also the joy and warmth of its people. Because I believe that sharing Jewish joy and cultivating a love for Israel are essential to Jewish continuity. In a world where so many forces work against the survival of Jewish identity, grounding my children in love for Israel and pride in their heritage is an act of hope and defiance.
This war is not about land – rather, a war around democracy, good vs. evil, a war that at the deep root is about anti Jewish hate and bigotry. (Thank you, Jonah Platt for the reframe) I want my children to understand that even in the hardest of times, Israel stands. And I want them to feel that resilience, to know that when you love something, you do not abandon it in its time of need. This visit is about teaching my kids the strength and courage of Israel and of the Jewish people. It’s about witnessing how Israelis put one foot in front of another despite heartbreak, and showing my children that they are part of this family. That we do not shy away from our home, that our roots are deep, and that this land is a place of both sorrow and joy.
Am I scared? A bit.
Are my kids scared? No.
Will we go? Yes (unless the flights are cancelled).
When people ask, “Why now?” I can only answer with Yehuda’s words: you don’t not go. For my children, for our community, for the legacy of Jewish resilience — you don’t not go.