Finding Refuge in Israel
I served in the IDF in the 80s. My American kids are forging their own relationship with our homeland
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.
“Mom, I was on the beach in Tel Aviv and there was a missile attack. Don’t worry, we saw the Iron Dome shoot it down. We’re okay.” It was May 2024, and my daughter was reassuring me over the phone. She and my son—both college students—were interning with Onward, a program that encourages Jews to spend time in Israel. And although there were some red alerts and false-alarm missile attacks, they felt a sense of belonging. All year, on their college campuses, they’d had to sidestep encampments, quit clubs that issued anti-Israel manifestos, and downplay their Jewish identities.
Before October 7—before Hamas massacred thousands of Israelis in the name of so-called resistance—many American Jews were ambivalent about Israel. I was never one of them. I raised my kids to understand that Israel is the homeland of the Jewish people. An imperfect place, but a Jewish refuge forever.
This summer, Israel may have been physically less safe than the U.S., but it offered a sense of psychological safety that was missing in the diaspora. Throughout the Western world, antisemitism (under the guise of anti-Zionism) was spreading like Covid—seeping not through the air, but through TikTok, Signal and Telegram; infecting a new generation with lies and blood libels that I had only read about in history books.
Many of my acquaintances asked how I could let my kids go to Israel this summer. But I thought this summer was exactly the right time for them to go. They witnessed the collective trauma that Israel is experiencing. They visited the Nova site, where hundreds of peace-loving festival-goers their own age were gunned down. But they also watched the sun set on the beach in Tel Aviv, waded in the warm waters of the Mediterranean. They tasted the best ice cream and hummus in the world.
When I was 18, I made aliyah and joined the IDF. During my two years in the army, I learned about Israeli resiliency and the Israeli appetite for life. I experienced my first bout of blood-curdling fear in 1987, when a terrorist flew a hang glider over the Lebanese border, near the base where I was stationed. Later, during the First Intifada—the first bloody Palestinian uprising—I was moved to the West Bank town of Tulkarm.
Living in Israel taught me so much. I relished the sense of community and the chance to meet Jews from countries I didn’t even know had Jews. But Israel wasn’t perfect. In the 1980s, there was sexism in the army and prejudice against Sephardic Jews. The government was heavily socialist and overly bureaucratic. The threat of terrorism was constant. I ultimately moved back to the U.S. But I never lost my connection to Israel.
When asked if they were scared to be in Israel, my college-aged kids said that they weren’t.
“My mom isn’t afraid, so neither am I,” they replied. I was beyond proud of them. This summer, they learned more about the Jewish spirit than I could ever hope to teach them. They were welcomed into Israeli homes for Shabbat dinner and visited Tel Aviv hotspots with the locals. More than anything, they learned that Israel needs us as much as we need Israel. They need our protection, help and encouragement.
My kids will carry the memories of missiles, Hostage Square and the Nova site along with the memories of sunny days and delicious food. The bitter with the sweet—just like the Jewish story.
Shanti Ariker is an evening writer and daytime lawyer living in California. Her work has appeared in Simpsonistas Vol. 3 and the beginning of her memoir will appear in an upcoming anthology of the San Francisco Writer’s Conference as non-fiction writer contest finalist.
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.