Back From Israel To A New Reality

By Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence

When we arrived home from Israel last Thursday afternoon, my mind was spinning in a hundred different directions—getting back to the kids (at least the ones who noticed I’d been away), unpacking, figuring out the groceries, and starting Shabbat preparations.

We got home just as the kids came in from school, so there was no time to sit, catch my breath, or even figure out what needed to happen first.

It was the kind of moment all parents know too well—dropped straight into the action, no warm-up, just “keep moving, keep going.”

I made the rounds of hugs and gifts, wrote grocery lists without even checking the fridge, and ordered yet another night of takeout—to the kids’ delight.

Around 9 p.m., as we finally began unpacking, my phone started pinging with messages.

One after another, all with the same strange tone:

“Good thing you got home when you did.”

At first, I replied simply, “Why?” Then I turned to my husband and asked if anything had happened in Israel since we had gotten home.

He looked at me and said, “You could say that.”

I was stunned. What? When? How had this happened—and how was I only now hearing about it?

I had been answering messages with cheerful heart emojis, completely unaware of the unfolding news.

As the initial shock wore off, we began piecing together the situation—still jet-lagged, still trying to process it all—and realized how close we had come to not making it home before the airspace shut down.

That old sense of urgency—the mental muscle memory of dealing with the unexpected—came back quickly.

It wasn’t unfamiliar.

We called our family members—the ones we had just left—and I tried to process what was happening to the country we’d so recently left behind.

We had been there for just a few days—for a shalom zachor and bris—and, like many families this time of year, in the middle of that end-of-school-year chaos.

In between the simcha and family visits, we squeezed in visits to relatives’ graves in Beit Shemesh, a few fun outings (including glass blowing in Caesarea), and, of course, a few necessary trips to the mall.

There were also the small joys—shockingly good gas station food (something you just don’t find here in the States), afternoons with the grandchildren, and evenings helping with dinner and homework after gan.

And there were sirens. Two of them, both late at night.

One came while we were babysitting. I heard the alert on my husband’s phone and rushed it to him.

We quickly gathered the baby from her crib and hurried into the mamad (safe room), hoping she wouldn’t cry and wake the other kids.

Thinking back now—and hearing from family how often they are woken these days, night after night, with frightened children unable to go back to sleep—it breaks my heart.

Our flight home was full of yeshiva students returning after a year in Israel.

Since we landed, I’ve spoken with parents who were prepared for emotional airport reunions—only to find their children stuck in Israel, with no clear idea when they’ll be able to fly home.

Planes were turned around mid-flight.

Families have been left split—spouses on different sides of the world, life continuing in limbo.

A friend sent me photos of her brother’s bombed apartment in Tel Aviv.

And every night now, we sit in front of the television watching what looks like a fireworks display—but is, in reality, another night of missiles aimed at destroying our Homeland.

Even as the crisis intensifies, life here moves forward.

While our family and friends in Israel face fear and uncertainty, we are here unpacking knapsacks, preparing for summer, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy. While there’s an element of survivors’ guilt surrounding us, there’s also the need to keep going for our own sake as well as for our children.

And yet, beneath it all, I feel frozen, haunted by what is happening over there. People are walking around like zombies—sleep-deprived, weary. Schools, shuls, restaurants—all closed.

It is a heartbreaking contrast to the thriving, beautiful Israel we left just a week ago—a land of holiness, modernity, life, and joy.

Nowhere else in the world do you find such contrasts—ancient and cutting-edge modernity, resilience amid the fear, kedushah and everyday life—all in one place.

The people of Israel have always lived under threat.

But now, that threat feels heavier. Neighbors who once used proxies now openly attack, raining down missile after missile.

You’d think they would have learned we’ve got G-d on our side. But still, they continue to attack.

We are living through a moment of history, one that we will tell our children and grandchildren about. A time when the Jewish people stood strong, when our emunah and our unity were tested, and when, G-d willing, we will see good emerge from darkness.

May we merit to see this end swiftly, in our favor and may we see the day when the people of Israel no longer have to live under the shadow of hatred and terror. 

Malkie Gordon Hirsch Magence is a native of the Five Towns community, a mom of five, a writer, and a social media influencer.