Since starting college in 2018, I’ve grappled with my Jewish identity. Without regular practice through Hebrew school, Sunday school, and Jewish sleep-away summer camp, my sense of “Jewishness” began to fade. While I engaged casually with Hillel at the University of Miami, maintaining Jewish traditions became difficult. After graduating in 2022 and moving to Austin, Texas, the demands of starting my career and establishing a new life overtook the priority of building a Jewish community.
On October 7, terrorists launched a horrific attack on Israel, killing anyone in their path and taking over 240 hostages. From the safety of my apartment, I found myself anxiously refreshing news updates. I leaned on my few Jewish friends in Austin as we watched the conflict unfold in horror.
As time went on, silence prevailed. Few friends reached out, asked questions, or even followed the news. It felt as though the world had turned a blind eye to the situation. We felt alone. As I reached out to my Jewish friends across the country, I realized we all felt the collective silence. This moment crystallized a shared fear: history had repeated itself.
As the war continued and misinformation spread, I struggled to keep informed. The constant barrage of disturbing images made it hard to focus. It’s exhausting to sift through data and false narratives, especially when they deepen divisions among family and friends. I didn’t know what else to do. If only I could see it for myself...
Taglit Birthright offers a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Jewish adults to experience Israel and build a lasting connection to their heritage. I knew it was more important than ever to visit Israel and see the country firsthand, especially at such a critical moment in history. Despite growing concerns from loved ones about potential dangers, my resolve only strengthened.
Fear is a choice
Amid the chaos of news, videos, live streams, political campaigns, and marches, I realized it is fear that evil people wish to instill in the innocent. Fear is a tool used by those who seek to exploit uncertainty. It grips the mind with a vice-like hold, distorting reality and stripping individuals of their agency.
In this state of panic and disorientation, control is seized not through direct force but through the subtle erosion of individual will, turning fear into a mechanism for domination and manipulation. For Israel, fear is not a choice; that is precisely what I saw throughout my experience in Israel.
From the moment I boarded my flight to Tel Aviv, surrounded by Israeli passengers, I felt a powerful sense of community. Passengers shared stories, laughter, and gratitude for our visit. In front of me sat an IDF intelligence officer who shared how sick she feels when data confirms upcoming terrorism attempts, knowing her defense orders could result in death. Next to me was a young IDF commander who, despite the ongoing conflict, refused to let fear overshadow his dreams. “I can’t be scared,” he said, a sentiment echoed by many.
Upon landing at an eerily empty Ben-Gurion Airport, the plane erupted in applause – we were home. We arrived at our first hotel in Tiberias, the northernmost town we were permitted to visit, as the North was an active war zone. This hotel – and countless others – was occupied by displaced families. They were evacuated as bombs descended on their homes. No one imagined they’d still be there 10 months later, with no end in sight. Yet, despite the dismantling of life as they knew it, positivity filled the hotel. For those displaced, fear does not prevail.
The Mifgash, or “encounter,” is a pivotal part of the Birthright experience, where Israeli professionals and soldiers join the trip as participants. Yuval, a 21-year-old former IDF commander, shared his harrowing story of being critically injured while serving on October 7. Trapped during an attack, he fought for survival, clinging to hope despite severe injuries from a bomb a terrorist planted under his armored vehicle. Yuval’s determination to live fully, even amid tragedy, encapsulated the spirit of the people I met. For Yuval, his family, and countless others like them, fear does not prevail.
'Experience our people firsthand'
One thing I’ve emphasized to non-Jewish friends back home is just how small the Jewish world truly is. No matter where we’re from, we all knew someone – or knew of someone – who was directly impacted by the events of October 7. In Israel, every citizen felt the devastation of that day. This became painfully clear during our visit to the Mount Herzl Military Cemetery, where 750 (and counting) IDF soldiers from this war have been laid to rest.
As I walked among the freshly dug plots, tears streamed down my face as I saw photos of fallen soldiers – young men and women, some just like me. The pain in Israel is not borne individually; it’s a collective, soul-crushing grief that permeates daily life. It’s a burden that has long existed, yet they keep moving forward, knowing that if Israel falters, there is no other home. For the people of Israel, fear does not prevail.
My experience revealed the power of community and collective effort in Israel. In Tel Aviv, we volunteered at Revital’s Hamal, an organization dedicated to providing homemade meals and comfort to Israel’s soldiers. Revital’s initiative is just one of countless efforts like it across the country. Many families have turned to efforts like Revital’s to stay busy and keep their minds occupied despite constant worry for loved ones on the front lines. For the soldiers at war and their families back home, fear does not prevail.
And fear does not prevail in Israel. The resilience of the Israeli spirit is rooted in something far deeper than fear – it’s founded on a profound sense of identity, community, and an unwavering commitment to survival. These are moments of immense challenge, and they are met not with paralysis but with determination.
Fear has no place in Israel because the people refuse to let it dictate their lives. Instead, they respond with strength, unity, and an unyielding resolve to protect their homeland and each other, proving that while fear may knock at the door, it is never invited in.
Returning to America and reflecting on the intense highs and lows of this profound Jewish experience, I found that nothing could have fully prepared me for the impact of being on the ground. During my trip, I asked many Israelis: “What message do you want to convey to those outside of Israel, observing from afar?” The response was nearly unanimous: “Please, come to Israel. Experience our history, culture, and people firsthand. Until then, it’s impossible to truly understand us.”
From my own experience, this could not be more accurate. I pray for a future where the narrative of Israel reflects its vibrant spirit, resilience, innovation, and hope, rather than only war and suffering.
One day.