As soon as I stepped off the plane at Ben Gurion Airport, memories of my childhood in Israel flooded back. I’ve always loved airports. The planes, the movement, the feeling that anything is possible. I want to be a pilot one day, and there’s something about walking through an airport that makes me feel at home. Though I don’t see myself living in Israel, it’s still a special place for me. I spent most of my early years as a child here while my mom was the Jerusalem Bureau Chief for the New York Times.
As we drove to Sderot, I was struck by how beautiful Israel looked—just miles and miles of green fields. I had expected to see remnants of war, rubble everywhere, but the landscape was unexpectedly peaceful. While Sderot showed signs of the recent conflict, the rest of Israel didn’t feel like a warzone at all.
You could almost imagine that nothing was wrong at all.
We spent seven days in Israel as part of the Teen Israel Leadership Council (TILC), Jewish Federation’s program designed to educate and empower the next generation of Jewish leaders. From the moment we arrived, we hit the ground running—meeting survivors of the October 7 attacks, experiencing an immersive VR simulation, visiting memorials at Nova and Kfar Aza, and hearing from Michael Oren, Israel’s former ambassador to the U.S. As our director, Linda Scherzer, often says, he is one of the most powerful voices in advocating for Israel.
One of the most meaningful moments of the trip was volunteering at Save a Child’s Heart, an organization that brings children with congenital heart disease to Israel for life-saving treatment. I think everyone on our trip felt the same way—it was an incredible experience. For a few hours, we were in a space filled with joy, play, and laughter, completely separate from the hard-hitting stuff. It was a much-needed reminder of the good that exists in the world.
The day of the BBQ we found out about the fate of the Bibas family.
We were on the bus, heading out for a day of agricultural volunteering, when our guide, Tuvia, announced that the bodies of the Bibas boys had been returned. It was a National Day of Mourning.
I didn’t know much about the Bibas family before that moment. I hadn’t even known they were redheads. But all I could think about was their father. For 500 days, he had probably known, deep down, that his wife and kids were gone. But until now, there had still been a chance—some sliver of hope to hold onto. And then, just like that, it evaporated. The weight of that realization was crushing.
And then we learned that Shiri Bibas’ body wasn’t even in the coffin. The news was appalling. I can’t put into words the mix of emotions I felt—sadness, mourning, anger. I never knew them, never met them. But standing there, in Israel, in that moment, it all felt deeply personal.
With all this heaviness weighing on us, we arrived at agricultural volunteering. A chance to focus on something tangible and put our energy into physical work. Our task was to fill 200 buckets with strawberries. I like having clear goals, seeing the results of my efforts, and this gave me something to work toward.
That night, we hosted a BBQ feeding IDF soldiers. It was my first time manning a grill. I don’t cook at all back home in Montclair, and I completely ruined the first few sausages before Michal stepped in to save the day. Eventually, I got the hang of it, even though I hate touching raw meat. As we ate, I got to talk with the soldiers. You think we’d talk about war. But we didn’t. Instead, our conversation was “normal,” filled with the little things of everyday life.
It showed me that there are real people under these helmets—not just soldiers, but individuals with their own lives, interests, and personalities. Not everything they do or think about revolves around the war. They’re part of the military, but they’re also just people.
Talking with the soldiers made me think about something I’ve considered before—joining the military. Not the IDF, but back home in the U.S. Throughout the trip, the idea of fighting and even dying for your country came up again and again. Overall, this trip was a mix of deep moments and classic touristy spots like Tel Aviv and Ein Gedi. For two kids on the trip, it was their first time in Israel. Seeing everything with them made me realize how lucky I am to have experienced these places.
Looking back on my time in TILC, I had no idea what I was signing up for. I didn’t realize how much we’d focus on college campuses and advocacy. Then, just two weeks before our first meeting, October 7 changed everything. Linda had to pivot the entire program, and suddenly, we weren’t just learning history—we were living through it.
I never really watch or read the news. It just depresses me, and I’d much rather talk to people on the ground or with other peers. I like to learn from people not screens. Getting to explore Israel’s history with the same group of peers over the last two years has been enlightening. We came from all different places, political leanings, and levels of Judaism, and that made our conversations even more interesting.
On Shabbat in Israel, I visited my dad’s best friend, and I grabbed one of his kippahs (head covering) to wear during the meal. When I realized I’d forgotten to take it off I thought why not see what it’s like to wear it the rest of the day.
The perfect ending to the trip was the Omer Adam concert. I barely knew one song, and even then, I only knew about a quarter of the words. But that didn’t matter. Five thousand people—teens and adults—were screaming their hearts out, singing at the top of their lungs. It was my first concert ever, and it made me want to go to one where I actually know the words.
Even in such a heavy time, with bodies being returned and war looming over everything, people were still living.
Fully. Loudly. Alive.