It’s 4:00 am, and the all too familiar ring of Israel’s early warning missile alert system goes off.
My eyes are still half closed and as I use my phone’s backlight to navigate to the safe room, shut the windows and prepare to quietly move my children so as not to wake them up. I check the news to see where the attacks are originating from, grimly relieved to see that this morning’s wakeup call is sponsored by the Houthis, meaning I would likely not have to spend more than ten or fifteen minutes in the shelter, after which I will try to get another hour of sleep before starting my day.
It is almost inconceivable that in a modern, Western society, we spend our nights contemplating whether we are hearing the interception of a ballistic or cruise missile or Katyusha rockets lobbed from Gaza. But through it all, we wake up the next morning, groggy and half asleep, as the barista from the local coffee shop asks how you’re sleeping and watch as fellow Israelis wait for the bus to go to work. The duality of life in Israel, amidst the adversary and chaos, and dedication to preparation, safety and routine is equally saddening as it is empowering.
No one promised it would be easy. To build a sovereign Jewish state, to gather a scattered people after two thousand years of exile, to take the memory of persecution and turn it into a promise of renewal—none of this came with guarantees of peace or ease. Since its founding, Israel has stood not only as a homeland, but as a living paradox: a nation shaped by both ancient prophecy and modern ingenuity, by war and innovation, by trauma and triumph.
And yet, for those of us who live here—or those whose feel a connection from around the world—Israel is not just a headline or a battleground. It’s home. A complicated, breathtaking, soul-stirring home.
But this is the beauty of Israel. It is a country where contradictions are not only endured—they are lived. Where children fall asleep with their backpacks packed “just in case,” and wake up for school the next morning with the same wide-eyed wonder. Where soldiers hug their parents goodbye before boarding buses to their bases, and where weddings, concerts, and soccer games still take place even as sirens interrupt the soundtrack of celebration.
While the world often debates Israel in binary terms—right or wrong, occupied or occupier, Zionist or anti-Zionist—life here tells a far more layered story. Yes, we are a nation at war. But we are also a nation that loves fiercely, argues loudly, builds constantly, and embraces difference with a kind of stubborn hope. Our politics may divide us, but our shared destiny unites us.
In cafes and buses, universities and supermarkets, you hear the conversations. Not just about Hamas or Hezbollah or Iran—but about rent prices, summer plans, mental health, start-up dreams, education reform. The war is never far—but neither is life. And that is what makes Israel different. We don’t pause life for conflict; we live life through it.
Yes, nobody should have to endure rocket attacks or war, on any side, but this is reality that we live in. It is easy to feel helpless while government officials, foreign leaders and international bodies dictate the trajectory of the future of our country. It is frightening and isolating to see seemingly innocuous gatherings like the Glastonbury Festival or Pride Marches become a soapbox for antisemitism and hateful rhetoric.
But unlike the polarizing conversations raging on college campuses or online, the conversation here is not whether Israel should exist, but how it should thrive—ethically, democratically, Jewishly, inclusively. We argue not because we’re divided on the basics, but because we care deeply about getting it right. And that’s what real self-determination looks like.
Life in Israel is certainly not simple, but our sense of mutual responsibility gives hope and purpose in making a difference in the lives of our fellow Israelis. Whether it is alleviating the burden of parenting from a neighbor whose spouse is serving in Gaza or just bringing joy and music to the tent city that spouted up overnight in the Dizengoff Center underground parking lot so Tel Aviv residents could have a safe place to weather the nightly rocket attacks.
Over the past month, more than 40,000 volunteers stepped up to support the relief efforts at home, helping to sort rubble from destroyed buildings in Bat Yam or Be’er Sheva, running supplies and warm meals to soldiers on the front lines, or volunteering to operate hotlines for emotional support.
Never before in the history of the Jewish people have we been more prepared to handle the threat that has plagued our nation throughout generations. And while a large part of our safety is owed to the technological advancements in our early warning missile detection system, the Iron Dome, David’s Sling, but the true strength of this tiny nation comes from the will, determination and support of our people, both domestically and around the world.
We, the Jewish people and supporters of Israel around the world, are not defined by war, but by our unwavering resilience and shared commitment to building a better future—whether in Tel Aviv, New York, or anywhere in between. Across the globe, countless organizations and grassroots efforts are making a real impact. I urge you to be part of something greater than yourself. Whether it’s as simple as checking in on a friend, or as bold as boarding a plane to stand with us on the ground, every act matters. This is the spirit of Zionism—steadfast, compassionate, and deeply rooted in collective responsibility.
