My mother is Korean and my father is Israeli. I grew up Modern Orthodox, in a Zionist home, waving blue-and-white flags at my Jewish Orthodox school on Yom Ha’atzmaut. Before October 7th, I grew up hearing stories of my grandparents who survived the Holocaust, and my grandfather who served in the IDF and narrowly escaped death several times fighting for Israel. Yet it still felt like a distant land – eons and miles away from my hometown of Miami, Florida.

Many of my friends have made Aliyah, and when they initially told me they were moving to Israel, I did not relate. Why would I ever leave the comforts of America? People risk everything to cross borders and come to this country, and I’m lucky enough to be a citizen. Israel was simply a part of me – my Israeli family, my cultural identity.

I expected Birthright Israel to be fun, but I didn’t realize how much it would teach me. I considered myself a Zionist who already knew so much, having grown up half-Israeli and Orthodox. But the Israelis on our trip showed us the best knafeh in the Shuk, taught us how to play Israeli games over Shabbat, and brought us snacks from the Shuk for a Friday night Oneg. Our tour guide poured us coffee at the top of a mountain and explained how Israelis use their traveling teapots to identify other Israelis during their travels. They showed us how to connect – asking the kind of deep, soul-searching questions only Israelis know how to ask, surprising to an American used to small talk. I lost count of how many times we laughed, sang, and danced, making our way through the beauty of Israel.

I also lost count of how many times tears flooded my eyes. At the top of Har Hertzl, the soldiers with us shared memories of the friends they lost in the war. When asked, “How many of you lost someone in this war?” every soldier raised their hand. Walking among the caskets adorned with flowers, candies, and mementos – representing the lives lost in terror and war – I understood something profound. Israelis live every day under the threat of rockets or a terrorist with a knife in a café, yet still run into the streets for a Zumba class. Because life is not promised in the land of Israel. To live in Israel is to live at any cost, to fight against the darkness of terror and those who seek to wipe us out. Even if we fall a hundred times, we rise again – infinitely throughout our history – because our G-d taught us to cherish life.

I have to thank Birthright for breathing new life into my understanding of my Jewish identity – for reminding me to live life with pride and values, because we only have today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? At Yad Vashem, I remember seeing portraits of young men who fought in the Polish resistance during the Holocaust. The same burning fire that ignited them to take up arms and fight to the end now burns in my brother, and in the other soldiers fighting for us today.

Through Birthright, I had the gift of reuniting with my brother – a lone soldier – after a year and a half. He was sitting on the couch in our hotel, gun slung across his chest, wearing sandals. I embraced him, sobbing, finally understanding why he chose to leave his family – even when we begged him not to go – and to fight for a country he wasn’t born in. He wanted to continue the legacy of our great-grandfather, a Holocaust survivor who escaped from Poland only to fight for his life once again in Israel. That Friday night, we made the blessing over challah and wine with Reena, a Holocaust survivor. She asked us to share an “aha” moment from our trip. My brother shared that his had been receiving his beret during his initiation ceremony. He explained that to defend the country of Israel is a privilege – one we haven’t always had.

I left Israel with a deep understanding of the home and the lives we are fighting for. Israelis taught me not to take a single second for granted. Not to cry over spilled milk, because waking up to a quiet sky without rockets, or sipping coffee in Tel Aviv uninterrupted by terror, is never guaranteed. When I was 18, I cried over boys. In Israel, the 18-year-olds cry for the boys and girls who never got the chance to become men and women. One soldier told us he was most surprised by how much we knew about the war – and even more so, by how much we cared to know.

I’d like to thank the donors of Birthright Israel for making it possible for me – and other  young Jews – to walk on Jewish soil. The soil that holds thousands of years of our people’s history, the history our soldiers are still fighting for today.

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