When Parents Want Their Kids Home During War

By: Rachel Tuchman, LMHC

Over the past few weeks, I’ve received a surprising amount of commentary on some of my articles and public posts in support of parents who are trying to get their children home from Israel for Pesach.

What struck me most wasn’t that people disagreed with me. It was the intensity of their reaction. Some people seemed genuinely troubled by the urgency parents were expressing and the lengths they were going to in order to get their children home. They were also concerned about the message they felt this was sending 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 the kids to stay put in Israel, to remind them that this is where they belong. That Israel is their home, and leaving sends the wrong message.

This piece is not meant to criticize anyone’s choices. It’s an attempt to step back and understand what might be underneath the strong reactions on both 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 in the United States, that’s perfectly understandable. It’s not a lack of commitment to Israel, nor is it 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 want their children to come 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 that multiple generations are together under the same roof.

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

One thing I’ve noticed is that this reaction seems to come more often from Americans who made aliyahthan from born and bred Sabras.

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 generally come from a 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 wartime. 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, Israel is not just where they live, it’s part of a deeply meaningful life decision.

Many immigrant communities experience what sociologists call “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 with Israel can sometimes carry a more symbolic, 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 represents an idea, a commitment, a dream realized, or a life choice that required tremendous courage and sacrifice.

When something becomes symbolic, people tend to react more strongly when they feel the 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 deeper than what is actually being said. They 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, and navigating uncertainty in ways that people thousands of miles away cannot comprehend.

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 a difficult situation, others should not try to avoid it. That instinct is human, but it can also make it harder to recognize that people make different life choices in different life situations. 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’s 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 home with family for the holiday during a war that “this is where you belong now” ignores the reality of their life. Belonging is not something you can declare for another person.

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 had seen and heard in other spaces. Some people felt that framing the situation as being “stuck” 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 during a period of uncertainty 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 with family for the holiday is a very human desire.

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

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

Parents wanting their children home for the holidays and people in Israel choosing to stay there are not on opposing sides of a moral position. They are simply different realities.

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

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 children 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 these things can exist at the same time.

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

Rachel Tuchman, LMHC, is a licensed therapist in private practice. She not only treats a variety of mental-health concerns, but also shares psychoeducation via her social media platform, public speaking, and online courses. You can learn more about Rachel’s work at RachelTuchman.com and follow her on Instagram @rachel_tuchman_lmhc.