"Why are You Still in Israel"

I will not lie. I thought of leaving Israel twice over the100 days and counting of the war.

The first time was immediately after October 7th. I was consumed by the thoughts of leaving because my nerves were shot, and I couldn't lower my resting heart rate to steady double digits.

Almost every waking moment, I was questioning and planning my exit strategy. Should we be evacuated by the United States? By boat or plane? Wait for a flight? Change my flight? Where should we go and for how long? And what if we don't go? I was deep in the struggle to secure my kids' lives, but to do this, I had to leave behind my husband and dogs. Two wild and protective dogs and one trembling half chihuahua who never leaves my side. It was excruciating.

And then we left. I was away with the kids for one month, desperate to go and devastated not to stay.

I had a soft landing, and I am forever grateful for the open house invitations. We chose to stay at my mom's and stepdad's small two-bedroom house, with no room to unpack, but hospitality and compassion spilling into everything we did. We were a little famous in their retirement community, if you want to know the truth. Everyone only had nice things to say, and they would greet the kids at the swimming pool by announcing, "Those are the kids from Israel,"  for everyone to hear. It was restorative to walk outside and not fear for my life and take long showers upon my return. And, of course, there were trips to Target to keep the kid's spirits up and my bank account down.

The second time I wanted to leave was soon after I returned to Israel after our month away. War notwithstanding, daily life is difficult in Israel despite my almost seven years (total) of living here. I don't have a strong local community to lean on, and the language barriers with my kids' schools can slay even the most dedicated Hebrew learner. Anyone will tell you that the nearly dozen WhatsApp groups, in Hebrew, for the kids are a deal breaker on most days. Advanced ulpan didn't prepare me for these struggles. But, despite these daily challenges compounded by the war, the real reason I wanted to leave was because I missed my mom.

But, then I remembered my time in Florida and my obsessive interest in the news that made my heart sink. Antisemitism is up around 400% in the United States. I watched videos of people ripping down posters of kidnapped men, women, and children. People who wouldn’t dare rip down posters of lost dogs or missed connections. I was pushed beyond my limits at some of the comments and posts glorifying October 7th, and I struggled when people voiced their belief that Israel is equal in its approach to war. I also became acutely aware of the fear of being Jewish. This wasn't the first time I faced antisemitism, but it was the first time where the hostility towards Jews felt more public and violent.

I read terrifying stories about what campus life is like for Jewish students and the struggles they face both in and out of class. And the masked people confidently yelling, "from the river to the sea," without any idea what that means for Israelis. Or maybe they know and are chanting it anyway. I also learned about all the newly minted Middle East experts who rely on TikTok and the BBC for their news and don't dig deeper to find context and truths. And, because, if I am being honest, silence is way worse than the screams, but the worst is not knowing which way the conversation will turn when I bring up Israel. My time in Florida was slowly consumed with the thought that if my goal is to protect my children then the United States might not be the place to be right now.

It is not only the almost 400% rise in antisemitism and increased fear of being Jewish that anchors me to Israel. My decision to stay is more personal. It is more emotional. It is challenging, and sometimes, it is the decision I fight against with all my might. Like today.

Israel is the one place that can match my energy. Daily life is filled with drama, passion and noise. Something simple, like standing in line at the grocery store, can become a docu-drama. Once during the rush of Friday morning grocery shopping, a woman close in age told us, in no uncertain terms that we "disgust her soul" for not holding her spot in while she shopped for more items. We didn’t even know she was in line.

Not even the food is simple or boring, and people have strong opinions about how and what to cook. Basic meals are filled with spices, stories, and traditions. There are arguments about whether to cook the meat before you stuff the koobeh or let the meat cook in the soup. I am lucky enough to devour koobeh as a staple because, well, this is Israel.

And music is loud, emotional, moody, and danceable. Blasted from car stereos and school bells. There is action and emotion everywhere in this tiny country.

Israel is my history. Being Jewish is woven into the fabric of everyday life. There are hamsas and Hebrew blessings on candles in the dollar store, and my children’s school offers kosher food by default and alternative activities on Shabbat so they can easily follow the laws without feeling left out. The streets are named after Jewish figures, and I can stumble on ancient ruins walking to the grocery store that solidify my place in history. It is a country full of shuffled people and stories and for once I feel right at home with my unsettled movements.

Israel is for kids. My kids bring home high grades in a language that they are still mastering, a language that has been part of our culture for thousands of years, and they know it, slang and all. Their school is innovative and offers them study options, like dog training, architecture, or earth sciences, and all the Jewish holidays are off without questions or special circumstances. Their worldview is expansive since they are friends with kids whose families are from around the globe. Places like Morocco, Ethiopia, Iraq, and India. They learn those stories and weave them into their own. Although they are wading through frustrating and sometimes scary and dangerous daily life circumstances, they have a country behind them to help push them along. Here they can stand tall and be connected to their history and future.

Israel is our home. And while there are days that I would rather pack my bags and retreat back to the mountains of Montana, I know that I need to stay. At least for now. And perhaps now is not the right time to visit, but I know when you do, you will also fall a little bit in love with this tiny piece of land in the Middle East.