On October 7, Danielle Zuckerman woke up in a panic to sirens and yelled to her husband, “We need to go!” but he was calm, telling her, “Everything’s fine, we have to see where it’s coming from.” The 38-year-old Danielle grabbed their 14-month-old daughter and headed for the stairwell, since the old Tel Aviv apartment building has no working bomb shelter.
“From that point on, everything changed,” she recalled. They went to her parents’ house in Herzliya, where her sister’s family was also staying. Even though it has a shelter, and is in the center of the country, she still felt a mounting panic.
“It was terrifying: we didn’t know what was happening, so at any given moment we thought there would be terrorists jumping over the fence and shooting [through] the window and killing everyone. There were messages circulating that they’re going to attack our electricity and our water and all the major things we need, like the Internet, and we won’t know what’s going on – everything’s going to be down.” Like most Israelis, her social media feed was filled with obituaries or people kidnapped.
Four days after the attack, Zuckerman got her family group of 10 to go to Athens. But soon her husband wanted to return to Israel, so for the sake of marital harmony she went back with him. That night, though, she found herself in the stairwell with the baby three or four times because of rocket attacks.
At any other time, Zuckerman says, she might have been okay, going to a shelter, dealing with the sirens, but this was her first time in wartime with a baby.
“It was really, really, terrifying,” she said. “I couldn’t do it with my daughter.”
Zuckerman returned to Athens and ultimately went to Florida with her daughter, her parents, her sister and her kids, while their husband stayed in Israel.
“We’ve been here in Miami/Aventura for three weeks,” said Zuckerman, whose daughter is at a Jewish early childhood center, sponsored by a local donor. (Her sister’s kids are also in a Jewish day school there). “We feel very safe here, and we’ve been very welcomed by the Jewish and Israeli community.”
Israeli parents leave for the US with children amid the war with Hamas
Zuckerman is one of thousands of Israeli parents who left the country because of the war. Many left in order to protect their children, to get help with the kids while their husbands are serving reserve duty, and to provide children with some sense of normalcy. Since Israeli schools and daycares are on hiatus or only open intermittently, the first stop for Israelis coming to America is Jewish day schools.
“After Hamas attacked Israel on October 7, 2023, many Jewish day schools and yeshivas began sharing that they were receiving inquiries from families that included Israelis who were already located in or had traveled to North America who wanted their children in a Jewish setting at this time,” according to “Enrollment Trend Report: Israeli Transfers to Jewish Day Schools and Yeshivas during the War in Israel,” published by Prizmah: Center for Jewish Day Schools. In October there were almost 1,000 inquiries requesting enrollment for Israeli students at 114 Jewish schools in North America that participated in the survey, with 80% of the schools reporting they are already enrolling students.
“It’s mostly new Israeli families who are coming to North America and Canada – they’re thinking it’s temporary, but they’re not sure for how long they’re going to stay,” said Sarah Eisenman, chief community and Jewish life officer at the Jewish Federations of North America.
She said Israeli families coming here are comprised of working professionals, mothers whose husbands were called up for reserve duty, with kids “in and out of Zoom school.” Israelis are going to places where they know people, to communities that have “significant Israeli populations,” she said, like New York, Boston, Miami, Boca, Toronto and LA, as well as growing communities like Las Vegas. Since Israel joined the Visa Waiver Program on November 1, Israelis no longer need a visa to get to the US.
“Many of these families are seeking safe and supportive places for their kids where they wouldn’t see antisemitism,” Eisenman said.
“Our students are beyond excited to welcome the new students to the classroom,” said Arielle Endelman, director of enrollment management, Hillel Day School of Metropolitan Detroit, a day school with 585 students that has accepted some 20 Israeli students in the last month and is expecting five more. “The classes that don’t have new students are complaining, ‘Why don’t we get to have new students in our class?’” she said, noting that the community has been more than generous to help situate families, donating school supplies, art supplies, clothes, and car seats, sponsoring lunches for new students. One family that owns a car dealership even offered cars, she said. “Our students have been so warm and welcoming to make these students feel like this is their school and home.”
Even though it may be difficult for schools to absorb new students on the spur of the moment – especially during fall enrollment season for next year – it is something that must be done, said Stephanie Ives, head of school at Beit Rabban, a nondenominational day school in New York City with 137 students that has taken in 13 Israeli students to date. “It was pretty obvious to us that this is what we had to do. Everyone was on the same page: ‘Yes, let’s do it, let’s figure it out.’”
While Israelis who can come to America now may be privileged – with citizenship, or family in America, or financial means to stay here, Ives said, “it’s so destabilizing and disorienting. I think all parents, no matter what’s going on in your life, if you know kids are being taken care of, your whole level of anxiety is substantially reduced. Part of our role, of the Jewish people, is to help these parents have slightly less anxiety,” she said. “There’s never been a time in Jewish history not to open your doors to other Jews.”
NONETHELESS, WITH the high cost of Jewish education a constant concern, some question who will bear the financial burden of hosting more than 1,000 new families – up to 10% of students at some schools. The Prizmah survey found that 52% of the schools are offering free tuition, with others extending “pay as you can” programs.
In New York, UJA-Federation is offering a grant to help Jewish schools, with $5,000 per new Israeli student.
“It’s fluid, it’s evolving; we don’t know how long families will be here,” said Chavie Kahn, director of day school & yeshiva strategy at UJA-Federation of New York. “If they’re here for 30 days, it’s different than if they’re here for six months. There’s an ongoing conversation with the schools and UJA-Federation as they meet the needs of the students and the crisis continues,” Kahn said.
Although the Jewish Federations of North America surpassed $600 million for its Israel Emergency Fund, that is devoted to helping people in Israel, not Israelis abroad – even if they were displaced by the war. “Where there is significant need and the schools can’t absorb the cost on their own, most federations are actually stepping up,” Eisenman said. For example, UJA Federation of Greater Toronto is allocating $50 a day per child for the first month (with 140 children from Israel attending day school there, that’s about $150,000). The Combined Jewish Philanthropies of Greater Boston is also allocating based on the number of children (approximately 100 Israeli students are going to Jewish schools there.)
Some day schools have found themselves at capacity, and have even asked Israelis to “apply” on the regular application form before they give them an answer. That’s what happened to “Beth,” who preferred not to use her real name. She came to New York hoping to send two of her children to school here, but after one Conservative Jewish high school told her to fill out extensive application forms with no guarantee of admission or financial aid, she decided to go to Boston, where Gann Academy has a full-service system in place to help displaced families.
Other organizers find themselves trying to help Israeli refugees, only relying on private donations.
Liat Franco and three other Israeli-American women (Meytal Busani, Liat Lehavi, Dikla Egozi) set up a “war room” in Los Angeles trying to help some 70 refugee families who arrived from Israel because of the war. One girl survived the Supernova music festival. Another five teenage boys were displaced from the South.
“It’s so hard – who do you help first? Some people are displaced from their homes, others just left Tel Aviv,” Franco said, noting that they don’t differentiate. “You can’t judge people who left Israel; they’re in trauma.”
But LA – specifically, the San Fernando Valley – presents its own unique challenge. “Some families are living in people’s houses, others need cars because you can’t go anywhere without a car,” she said. She said some of the Jewish schools in the valley, like Ilan Ramon Day School, are admitting Israeli students, but other Jewish schools will not offer free entrance. “If I had funds to help Israelis, I could get them all into schools,” she said.
In the meantime, she has arranged for tickets to Disneyland and a visit to a Kfar Saba Urban Farm.
“It’s all therapeutic; it’s a very healing and supportive place,” said Israeli-American farm owner Limor Ness. “The animals give you support and unconditional love,” she said, talking about the 75 animals, goats, alpacas, tortoises, parrots, and “a turkey that adores hugs.” When the Supernova party survivor came to the farm, she sat in the barn and let the animals come to her. “They have a sixth sense – the horse came and put her nose on the girl’s back for hours, and gave her energy,” she said. “It’s a process: it’s very relaxing and very healing.”
IN EVERY home front war effort – whether it’s supplying equipment for soldiers or sending letters to Israeli schoolchildren or helping refugee families – there’s usually one powerhouse of a person who manages to pull it all together.
On New York’s Upper West Side, that person may be Erela Nornberg, a parent who founded “Israeli Hug Center,” a one-stop location for families arriving from Israel, housed at Congregation Rodeph Sholom, a Reform synagogue. “Everyone just kept saying yes,” said Nornberg, a family and marriage therapist whose children attended Rodeph Sholom school (one is still in fifth grade). When she asked Rabbi Ben Spratt for space in the synagogue, it gave her half a dozen spaces for the “hug” center, which has served dozens of Israeli families who fled the war. It’s open from 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. every day, offering breakfast, a workspace, a play space for children, mental health support, as well as activities for young children and older ones awaiting temporary admission into day schools.
“People have said ‘it’s such a mitzvah,’ but it’s really a blessing to our community,” said Rodeph Sholom Head of School Danny Karpf. “It’s really valuable for our students to feel more proximate to the situation [in Israel], to feel they are doing something meaningful to support children from Israel at this time.”
Many parents are overwhelmed by the support they unexpectedly found here, displaced during the war. Nili Shalam came with her husband and three girls to the city for the holidays, when the war broke out, affecting her relatives in Kibbutz Be’eri. They decided to postpone their flight back to Israel, and heard about Rodeph’s “Hug” center through a friend. Her husband went back to Israel, and their three girls (ages eight, seven, and four) started attending Rodeph, while Nili worked at her hi-tech job from the workspace.
Coming to the center every day, being with other displaced Israelis, crying, talking about what was going on, “gave me a connected feeling to the American Jewish community,” she said. “That surprised me. I didn’t think I would feel like that as a refugee far from home,” she said. “During such a horrible time for the State of Israel and for the Jews, the open hearts that the Rodeph community showed are the light in the darkness. This will enable to keep the connection alive.”
But now she feels it’s time to return to Israel, even though her girls are begging her to stay – going so far as writing her letters campaigning not to leave. Her husband wants her to stay in America, but her parents want her to return. “They’re a different generation, [the type that think], There’s a war here; you don’t leave!” So she’s going back on Shabbat. “In the end, I’m a citizen of Israel and it’s my home,” she said. “What can I do? We want to go back and lend our support. I hope it will be okay.”
Not all Israelis feel that way. “People are saying that we need to be one and help each other, and everybody needs to be doing something for the soldiers protecting us, for the people who were evacuated from their homes,” said Zuckerman, who noted that as a new mother, she couldn’t do much in Israel: she couldn’t cook meals or volunteer on farms. She feels that there’s judgment in Israel about the people who left. They say, “Where are you guys? How can you leave in such a situation? This is the time to be here, to show you’re Israeli, to show you’re strong – not to run away,” she said.
Everyone who was in Israel during the attacks has PTSD – even if you leave, she said. “If you hear a motorcycle and that vroom, you think that’s an alarm. If you hear an ambulance, you immediately turn around and look for some type of terrorism event; it doesn’t matter if you leave.”
She has a ticket back to Israel but is not sure she will go. “On the one hand, I want to be in my home with my husband and have stability. On the other hand, if I got out, am I being naive to want to go back?•”