If you know me, you know staffing trips to Israel is basically my part-time job at this point.

Since October 7, 2023, I’ve been back to Israel several times—each trip carrying its own mix of heartbreak, pride, anger, hope, & about a million feelings in between. But this trip? This trip hit different.

Because being Jewish right now doesn’t come with easy answers. It’s complicated. It’s messy. It’s heavy.

For almost two years, I’ve been re-learning everything I can—history, politics, pain, perspectives. Asking the hard questions. Challenging what I thought I knew. I’ve lost friends. Grown distant from people I once trusted. Watched the world say things that felt like a punch to the gut.

And yet—I’m still here. Still proud. Still questioning. Still fighting for a future I believe in.

Loving Israel doesn’t mean ignoring its flaws. It means loving a place because it's complicated—because it’s a home stitched together by survival, resilience, & hope. It means knowing that sometimes I feel safer in a dusty Jerusalem alleyway than I do in a Starbucks at home.

This trip wasn’t just about the places we visited. It was about healing. Remembering. Wrestling with hard truths.

It was ten days of standing on Masada at sunrise, snorkeling with judgmental fish, laughing until we cried, crying until we laughed again—& feeling, more than ever, the unbreakable, complicated, beautiful pride of being Jewish.

From Jaffa’s Streets to Ancient Secrets

We literally hit the ground running. Jet-lagged, emotional, & armed with iced coffee. Our first stop: Jaffa’s flea market, where vibrant colors, ancient stones, & a thousand smells fought for our attention.

Standing there at the crossroads of ancient history & buzzing modern life, I felt the tension that comes with being Jewish today—the way the past & present pull at each other, the way our history refuses to be forgotten.

Later at Beit Guvrin, we crawled through ancient caves & stood in Roman amphitheaters.

Touching walls carved thousands of years ago? It felt like reaching across time, a reminder that we come from a people who have survived every storm thrown at them.

The Desert’s Tough Love & Eilat’s Magical Moments

Next, we headed south into the Negev Desert, where the landscape doesn’t ask you to be strong—it requires it.

We started the day with a sunrise walk — optional, of course. This is a consistent tradition I take part in on every single trip I take part in — Israel or otherwise. There’s something about watching the sunrise in Israel that never gets old. Every morning felt like a reminder that even after the darkest nights, there’s still light.

We then met Amal at Huriyah Palace, a woman redefining strength in her community. Her story felt like a masterclass in resilience: fierce, raw, & inspiring.

Then we stood at the edge of the Ramon Crater, where the vastness stretched farther than my brain could process.

It was humbling in the best way—the kind of view that forces you to remember how tiny & precious we really are.

Luckily, Eilat came next with the exact energy boost we needed: a stunning sunrise over Jordan’s mountains, neon coral reefs, Red Sea sparkles, & hikes through the Red Canyon — a bucket list destination.

I started each morning in Eilat with the sunrise — because honestly, how could you not? The first day, it was just me & an old friend, sitting by the water as the sun rose over the Jordan mountains. It wasn’t just beautiful — it was healing. We talked for over an hour, words pouring out as the sky turned pink & gold, stitching old wounds back together one sunrise at a time.

The next morning, a group of my participants joined us, buzzing with excitement to experience something you don't get to do every day. Each sunrise we caught felt like a small, stubborn promise: that even after everything, hope still rises. Life still finds a way. & somehow — so do we.

Sunrise Glory, Dead Sea Floats, & a Holy Shabbat

Masada was pure magic. We climbed the Roman Ramp before dawn, huffing, puffing, laughing, & wondering why we didn't do more cardio before this trip.

But when the sun rose? Everything stopped. Gold poured across the desert, lighting up history, bravery, loss, & hope.

At this point, I think I’ve seen more sunrises in Israel than I have at home — & honestly? I’m not mad about it. There’s nothing like standing there, wrapped in sleepiness & gratitude, watching the world wake up in a place that's been waking up for thousands of years.

At the Dead Sea, we floated weightlessly, surrounded by mountains that have witnessed every version of human resilience. It felt like a hug from the earth itself—a reminder that even in the harshest conditions, beauty thrives.

That evening, we welcomed Shabbat at the Kotel. I placed a note between the ancient stones—a prayer for strength, for peace, for clarity in a complicated world. Standing there among thousands of Jews from every corner of the earth, I realized:

Being Jewish isn't easy. But it’s everything.

Facing the Past, Finding Strength in the Present

I've been to Yad Vashem before. Many times, actually. But this time—the weight felt different. After October 7, after watching the world grow colder toward us—walking through Yad Vashem wasn’t just an act of remembrance. It was a call to action.

The shoes, the photos, the last letters sent before silence—all of it screamed:

"You don't get to look away."
"You don’t get to forget."
"You don't get to give up."

Walking out of Yad Vashem into the sunlit view of Jerusalem’s Old City—where life buzzed, where kids played, where history stands tall—I felt it again:

The stubborn, fierce, unbreakable spirit of our people.
We are still here.

Heartbreak at Nova: Red Poppies & Forever Memory

Nothing could have prepared me for the emotion of standing at the Nova festival site for the third time. It was a place built for music, freedom, laughter, & life—& now it’s a memorial.

The echoes of what was lost hang in the air, as heavy as the desert heat.

Before we entered, I asked someone to read a poem out loud:

**In Flanders Fields**
By John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved,
and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Hearing those words made my throat close.

Because here in Israel, red flowers—especially the crown anemones & poppies—symbolize remembrance. They represent the blood of the fallen, the cost of our freedom, the promise that we will never forget.

At Nova, a permanent installation of giant red poppy statues now stands in the sand. Seeing them in person—bright against the scorched earth—undid me.

It wasn’t just art. It was grief, frozen in time.
It was love refusing to fade.

We are the Dead.
Take up our quarrel with the foe.
Hold the torch high.
Don't break faith.

One of the most meaningful parts of the trip was getting to plant trees in the desert, near the Gaza envelope.

Planting trees in Israel is a tradition deeply rooted in Jewish history & culture. It’s more than just planting something green — it’s a symbol of growth, renewal, & the unbreakable connection between the Jewish people & the land of Israel.

Being part of that legacy, even in a small way, felt incredibly special — like planting hope directly into the earth.

Tel Aviv Energy: Life, Laughter, & Finding Hope

After all the heartbreak, Tel Aviv hit like a splash of cold water & a shot of espresso. The beach, the bourekas, the hustle, the hope. This city lives, loudly & unapologetically.

Our last full day in Israel was pure Tel Aviv magic. I started the morning with one final sunrise — standing on the beach, coffee in hand, watching the pink sky stretch out over the Mediterranean. Even after everything we'd seen, the world still knew how to be beautiful.

Then we hit the food tour — Bourekas, falafel, sabich, shakshuka... every bite was a celebration of tradition, innovation, & pure chaotic deliciousness. We stuffed ourselves on a food tour, wandered Carmel Market like kids in a candy store, & danced in the streets because sometimes that's the only answer to grief—to live bigger.

Walking Tel Aviv's streets, I realized:

Hope isn't naive. Hope is defiant. Hope is survival.

As we wandered the Tayelet (Tel Aviv’s beachside boardwalk), soaking in the sun, the music, the salt in the air, the feeling of just being hit — being alive, being young, being Jewish, being free. Spending our last day here, with sand between our toes & hope stitched into every step, was the perfect ending to a trip that changed us in ways we’re still figuring out.

How Do You Wrap Up 10 Days That Change You?

You don't.
You carry them.
You stitch the sunrises, the stories, the tears, & the prayers into your heart.

Being Jewish today isn’t easy.
It’s standing at the crossroads of history & the present, holding impossible contradictions in both hands.
It’s loving a country even when it breaks your heart.
It’s fighting for peace while carrying the memories of those we’ve lost.
It’s choosing life, again & again & again.

& I wouldn't trade a single second of it.