When Parents Want Their Kids Home During a War

Over the past few weeks I’ve received a surprising amount of pushback on some of my articles and posts supporting parents who are trying to get their children home from Israel for the holidays.

What struck me most wasn’t that people disagreed. It was the intensity of the reaction. Some people seemed very troubled by the urgency parents were expressing, by the lengths they were going to in order to get their children out of the country (some of those were very valid concerns), and by the message they felt that might send about Israel.

Notably, most of that pushback was coming from Americans living in Israel.

Some of the responses weren’t just disagreement though. They were frustrated that I wasn’t encouraging parents to do the opposite: To tell their kids to stay in Israel, to remind them that this is “where they belong,” that this is their “home,” and that leaving sends the wrong message.

This piece isn’t about criticizing anyone’s choices. It’s an attempt to step back and understand what might be underneath the strong reactions on all sides.

Because the reality is actually quite simple.

If a young adult has been away from home for months and wants to spend the holiday with their family, wanting to come home, and being stressed that they can't, is completely understandable. It’s not a lack of commitment to Israel. It’s not a sign that they feel like they “don’t belong” there.

Pesach is, for many families, a deeply family-centered holiday. Even in an ordinary year, many parents would naturally want their children home, to be together with relatives, and to share traditions that are hard to replicate from thousands of miles away. For many families, Pesach is one of the few times each year when multiple generations are all together at the same table.

And for parents who are thousands of miles away from their child, certainly during a stressful and tense time geopolitically, the desire to bring them home, even temporarily, is one of the most natural reactions in the world. For many families, those feelings are not in conflict. A parent can want their child home and still feel deeply connected to Israel, even wishing they themselves could be there (like me, hi).

All of this back and forth made me start to wonder what might be behind the intensity of some of these responses.

One thing I’ve noticed is that this reaction seems to come more often from Americans who made aliyah than from Israelis who were born and raised there.

To be clear, this is not true of all olim. Many Americans living in Israel have expressed the same empathy for parents that Israelis have. But the strongest pushback I’ve received has tended to come from this particular group, which made me curious about what might be going on beneath the surface.

Many Israelis understand very well why a parent in the United States might want their child home during a difficult period. For them, the reality of living in Israel is complex and familiar. They don’t need to turn it into a symbolic test of loyalty.

For some people who made aliyah, though, Israel is not only a place they live. It is part of a deeply meaningful life decision. 

Many immigrant communities experience what sociologists sometimes describe as “identity consolidation.” When people move to a new country for ideological reasons, not just practical ones, their identity around that choice can become especially strong and clearly defined.

For many olim, Israel represents a conscious life decision. It can be a statement about values, the fulfillment of a dream, or a sacrifice made for something they believe in deeply.

Because of that, their relationship to Israel can sometimes carry a more symbolic or ideological weight than it does for people who were simply born there.

For Israelis who grew up in the country, Israel is home. It’s where life happens. It’s complicated, stressful, meaningful, frustrating, and ordinary all at the same time.

But for many olim, Israel can also represent an idea, a commitment, a dream realized, or a life choice that required tremendous courage and sacrifice.

When something becomes symbolic like that, people tend to react strongly when they feel that symbol is being treated differently than they would treat it themselves.

So when parents say, “I want my child home during a war,” some people may hear something more layered than what is actually being said. They may hear: Israel is a place you leave when things get hard.

Even though that is not what those parents are saying at all.

This dynamic is subtle, but it may help explain why reactions like this sometimes appear more among immigrants than among native Israelis.

None of this is meant to minimize the emotional reality of living in Israel right now. Families there are raising children, sending them to school (or zoom school), running in and out of bomb shelters, dealing with immense stress and navigating uncertainty in ways that people thousands of miles away cannot fully understand. 

When parents rush to bring their children home, some people may experience that as though Israel is being treated as a place to escape from rather than a place to belong.

Sometimes there is also an unspoken feeling that if we are living with the hardship of a situation, others shouldn’t be trying to avoid it. That instinct is human, but it can also make it harder to recognize that people in different circumstances may make different choices. And for people who have built their lives around the belief that Israel is home, those reactions can touch something deeper than the immediate situation itself.

But there is an important reality we need to hold onto.

A college student spending a year abroad, a young adult learning in Israel for a gap year, or someone temporarily living there is not in the same position as a family that has made Israel their permanent home.

Telling a young adult who misses their parents and wants to be with their family for a holiday, and certainly in the middle of an objectively scary war, that “this is where you belong now” ignores the reality of their life. Belonging is not something you can declare for someone else.

In some of the conversations I had, there was also strong pushback against language suggesting that students were “stuck” in Israel. While I was careful not to use that language myself, it was clearly how some people were interpreting what they were seeing or hearing in different spaces. Some people felt that framing was unfair or misleading.

And while I understand the instinct behind that reaction, dismissing that language can also invalidate the experience of young adults who genuinely feel that way. Being thousands of miles from home in the middle of a war, with no clear sense of when or if they’ll be able to return for a holiday or that family simcha (celebration), can feel overwhelming, even if they are technically “safe.” But even beyond the uncertainty of the moment, many of these young adults have been away from home for months. Wanting to see their parents, hug their siblings and grandparents, sleep in their own bed, and be together for a family holiday is a very human desire.

Appealing to someone’s Zionist identity or their connection to the land in that moment may come from a place of conviction, but it may not meet the emotional need that person is actually experiencing.

The instinct to be close to family during difficult times is not fragility or a lack of commitment to the land of Israel. It’s attachment. It’s family ties, and it’s a normal and healthy human response.

Parents wanting their children home and people in Israel choosing to stay are not opposing moral positions. They are simply different realities.

The problem starts when we turn those different realities into judgments about each other.

In times of fear and uncertainty, it’s very easy for communities to start framing certain responses as the “right” or “loyal” ones. But when we do that, we lose the ability to see the humanity in the choices other people are making. The moment we start turning those different realities into tests of loyalty or commitment is the moment we stop listening to each other.

Parents who want their kids home are not abandoning Israel. And people who have built their lives in Israel are not wrong for feeling deeply committed to staying.

Both of those things can exist at the same time.

Maybe instead of asking which response is more loyal or more committed, we could start by asking a simpler question: What might it look like to extend empathy to people whose circumstances are different from our own?

Wishing everyone a happy, healthy and SAFE holiday. Wherever you are. 

Next year in Jerusalem!!! 🇮🇱❤️