Birthright Israel Showed I Have Another Home

I'm from Atlanta, Georgia, and a junior at the University of Florida. I attended Jewish day school through eighth grade, where we learned in both Hebrew and English. That's where I got my first real sense of Jewish identity. But at a public high school, that faded into the background.

In college, I joined a Jewish fraternity. My new friends were more religious and more observant of Shabbat, so I started going every Friday. I also started debating people on campus who were pro-Palestine and very anti-Israel. It made me care more and more. I started thinking about the future I want—marrying a Jewish partner and having Jewish children. Judaism became the number one part of my identity. I'm proud to be Jewish. And I decided that no matter what, I was going on Birthright Israel that summer.

Being in Israel felt like home. The air genuinely feels different. It's impossible to describe until you feel it. Everyone is Jewish, everyone is like me. I’m not standing out in a crowd, carrying the weight of being the Jewish representation in the room. And being in Jerusalem—the center of the Jewish world—was overwhelming. When you learn about it, it's one thing. When you're experiencing it, it's completely different.

One morning, our group visited Schneider Children's Medical Center in Petah Tikva. This was where children released from captivity in Gaza had gone to recover — the kids from the videos I'd seen online. There's a little toy train that runs around the hospital on a timer. I remember all the kids gathering when there were about 20 seconds left on the clock, waiting, huddled together, so happy just to watch that train roll by. They weren't thinking about being sick. The hospital gives them a childhood, even while something so heavy is happening to them medically. They can still play with toys, do art, and be happy in the middle of all that darkness.

We rotated through activities — painting and crafts, and helping the kids build makeshift toy pandas and lions from kits. Some people wove bracelets for the children who weren't able to play. I spent time near the fish tanks with a boy named Ben, who looked at the fish the whole time with the biggest smile on his face. He was ill, but he seemed completely happy. Schneider Hospital does so much to entertain the children and give them hope.

What struck me just as much was that the patients aren't all Jewish. There were Jewish kids and Muslim kids in the same ward, playing together. People say Jews and Muslims can never get along, especially right now. But these kids aren't thinking about anyone's religion or the color of anyone's skin. They're just thinking about whether a kid is nice or mean. Somewhere along the way from childhood to adulthood, something changes. If everyone could stay like those kids, the world would be a far better place.

The staff also told us about a new initiative — a gift room inside the hospital, where the children can come and pick out a toy of their own. As a kid, no matter what's going on, you get a present and it makes you stop crying and forget the negatives for a minute. The idea that we could help give these kids that feeling made me so happy. Watching all of them smile, no matter what they were going through, is something I'll always carry with me.

Another inspiring part of the trip was meeting the IDF soldiers who joined our group. Their maturity was astounding. They are in the army, training every single day, protecting their country. For them, defending Israel is not a “have to” — it's a “get to.”

They let us ask them any question, no hesitation, no holding back. We asked them how they really feel about Palestinians. One guy told us, "I went to school every single day with Palestinians. I played chess with them. I carpooled with them." When Americans hear that, it sounds so strange. But once you're there and you talk to these soldiers, you realize that's reality. A Jewish guy and a Palestinian guy playing chess. It's not what the media makes it seem to be. When the time came to say goodbye to the soldiers, it was deeply emotional.

At the Nova Festival memorial, I couldn't even process the story at first. There was a sofer — a scribe — writing a Torah in honor of one of the people who were killed at the festival. Every person who visited could receive a blessing, write one of the letters, and touch his hand as he wrote. Being part of writing that Torah in someone's memory was incredibly meaningful.

At Har Herzl, the military cemetery in Jerusalem, people were picnicking. Life keeps moving. They don't have time to stop. That's where I finally understood why Jews place rocks on a grave instead of flowers. Other religions leave flowers, but flowers die — rocks symbolize something more permanent. We also went with a Chabad group, which gave me more of the spiritual side — not just seeing the sights, but understanding how they connect to my faith.

I wasn't looking forward to the geopolitical talk on the itinerary, but it turned out to be one of the most amazing lectures I've ever heard. Right as our trip was coming to an end, we went to the beach in Tel Aviv at night — one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. One evening we did a silent disco, walking through the city dancing with headphones on, music only our group could hear. We came across a couple taking their engagement photos, huddled around them, and started singing. They were so happy. Those are the memories I keep coming back to.

If I had to name the biggest way Birthright Israel changed me, it gave me perspective. It's so easy to look at Israel from the outside and think, how can people live there? After this trip, my question is the opposite: how can people not live here? Since coming home, I've become more observant. I started wrapping tefillin — something I did throughout the trip in places I never imagined, at Masada, at the Kotel, and at the Nova Festival site.

It also reminded me what I'm actually fighting for. When you're debating anti-Israel people constantly, you can lose touch with that. Birthright reminded me why it matters to have this land. In the past, when I traveled through Europe, I saw that you can't openly express that you're Jewish in a lot of places. For example, I visited the Jewish ghetto in Rome, and there were dozens of police officers guarding the school so the kids could get in and out safely. That's crazy to me. Even in America, there are starting to be places Jews can't live safely. Birthright shows you exactly why we need Israel.

When a few of my friends dropped out of the trip, I was angry. I couldn't understand why they wouldn't come. Now I just feel bad for them. They missed one of the best experiences of their lives because the war made them scared. I'd recommend Birthright to anyone. Every Jewish kid should get the opportunity to go to Israel.

If I could meet the donor who made my trip possible, I'd tell them how thankful I am. This experience changed my life. There is nothing better in this world they could give their money to than allowing young Jewish people the chance to go to Israel. As a Jewish person watching antisemitism rise so rapidly around the world, giving someone the opportunity to see this land — to realize that no matter what happens to them at home, at school, or anywhere, they have a homeland — gives them hope. Now that I know Israel, I'm less scared, because I've realized that no matter what, I have a home there.

If I could say it in one sentence: you gave me a tour of my second home. You gave me the chance to realize that I have a second home. I am so grateful for that.