{"id":117105,"date":"2026-05-16T20:27:09","date_gmt":"2026-05-16T20:27:09","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/117105\/"},"modified":"2026-05-16T20:27:09","modified_gmt":"2026-05-16T20:27:09","slug":"what-raising-my-children-in-israel-is-teaching-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/117105\/","title":{"rendered":"What raising my children in Israel is teaching me"},"content":{"rendered":"

On the last day of February, when the war with Iran<\/a> started, my family and I were \u201cstranded\u201d in the French Alps. Our scheduled flight home the next morning was canceled, and within hours we were forced to pivot. I reworked our plans and found an Airbnb that was in close vicinity to a synagogue in Geneva so we could attend a megillah reading for Purim and celebrate, somehow.<\/p>\n

Despite the initial stress, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. We were removed from it all. No sirens, no rushing the kids in and out of bomb shelters, no quiet undercurrent of anxiety. I remember telling my children how lucky we were \u2013 that this was an adventure, an added bonus to our trip.<\/p>\n

But to my surprise, when we were offered a \u201crescue\u201d flight five days into our extended stay \u2013 and seriously considered remaining abroad \u2013 I was met with resistance from my children, particularly my oldest, who is 13. \u201cWe need to go home,\u201d she insisted. \u201cWe have to be there through the good and the bad.\u201d<\/p>\n

This wasn\u2019t the first time she had challenged my instinct to protect them from war.<\/p>\n

Not long after the Hamas-led terrorist attacks on Oct. 7, 2023, when there was no clear timeline for schools reopening, I remember sitting in our garden one balmy evening for a barbecue dinner, with the background hum of army planes overhead. We attempted to maintain some level of normalcy \u2013 again trying to shield the kids from what was going on. Later, as my husband and I were cleaning up, we quietly discussed whether we should leave the country temporarily until things settled down. We spoke in low voices, thinking the children were occupied elsewhere.<\/p>\n

\"CelebrationsCelebrations for the start of the new school year at Gabrieli Carmel School in Tel Aviv, September 1, 2022 (credit: AVSHALOM SASSONI\/MAARIV)<\/p>\n

Later that night, my oldest daughter approached me. \u201cMommy, how can we leave?\u201d she asked. \u201cThere are people on the frontlines for us!\u201d<\/p>\n

And then, almost as an afterthought, she added: \u201cIt\u2019s okay. We\u2019ll have something to tell our grandchildren.\u201d
She was 11 years old.<\/p>\n

These moments have stayed with me and have reshaped my perception of what childhood is supposed to look like. But they are also part of something much larger that I have been witnessing in my children over the past few years.<\/p>\n

In December 2023, in an effort to have some reprieve from the war, we traveled to Australia to spend time with my family. When we walked into my parents\u2019 home, the first thing my children asked was, \u201cWhere is the bomb shelter?\u201d Not if there was one. Where.<\/p>\n

More recently, through the many weeks of Zoom school leading up to Passover, I overheard a conversation in my eight-year-old son\u2019s class. One by one, the children casually shared where they go when a siren sounds \u2013 who has a safe room in their apartment, who runs to a neighbor, who goes to a public shelter. There was no fear in their voices, just matter-of-fact acceptance.<\/p>\n

This is their reality.
And it is so very different from my own childhood.<\/p>\n

Childhood in the shadow of sirens<\/p>\n

I still vividly remember the first time I was acquainted with the concept of war. It was 1991, during the Gulf War. I was nine, sitting in my parents\u2019 bedroom, in Melbourne, watching the news. On the screen were images of bombs and buildings going up in smoke in Israel \u2013 a place I had yet to visit but knew held great importance.<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t feel real. It felt like a movie.
Later, I remember seeing pictures of my mother\u2019s good friend, who had made aliyah a few years prior, and her children, sitting in what I was told was their bomb shelter, wearing large black masks on their faces. I never really understood why. It all existed in a universe so far away. I couldn\u2019t quite wrap my head around it.<\/p>\n

I used to idealize the way I grew up \u2013 a bubble of safety and simplicity. When I think of my memories from when I was my children\u2019s age, it includes long summer days on the beach, with the scent of coconut emanating from the sunscreen being rubbed across my back; the delight among my siblings when chocolate bars advertised on TV were added to the local kosher list; and when the most significant level of sadness I experienced was because my basketball team lost that week.<\/p>\n

There are many times when I have wished for this simplicity for my children.\u00a0
There have been moments \u2013 too many to count \u2013 when I\u2019ve felt a strong sense of guilt. Watching them process and experience things that felt too heavy, too complex. Wondering whether they are being asked to carry more than they should because I\u2019m raising them here.<\/p>\n

I used to believe that the best childhood was the easiest one, that protecting children from hardship was the ultimate goal. And, of course, there is still a part of me that wishes I could shield them from all of it. But my perception has evolved, and I\u2019m starting to realize that ease is not necessarily equated with good. The traits they are forming \u2013 strength, adaptability, and perspective \u2013 will serve them far more in the long run.<\/p>\n

I am raising children in complexity, but they are living with purpose.
I am not, in any way, romanticizing hardship. There are real challenges and fears, and many children who are struggling in ways we cannot ignore. But it is also impossible not to notice the quiet resilience (yes, this word is overused!) that so many children here are displaying.
\u00a0
I look at my children and feel a deep sense of humility. They are not seeking an easy way out or to be wrapped in cotton wool. They are stepping into the reality around them with a strength that I deeply admire.<\/p>\n

I see this not only in my own children but in their friends as well. In conversations with other parents, I hear how their children have responded with grace and nobility to canceled bar or bat mitzvah festivities; how teens have stepped up and are carrying extra loads in the house because their fathers are serving in the military; and how my friends\u2019 older children are adamant to serve in the army, to give back. There is a sense of responsibility that feels far beyond their years, an understanding that they are part of something bigger than themselves.<\/p>\n

They are, in so many ways, stronger than I am. True Israelis.<\/p>\n

Each year, we move from Remembrance Day to Independence Day through that surreal, almost jarring moment, where grief gives way to celebration. It\u2019s a transition I still haven\u2019t mastered, even after 16 years in Israel. But this past war has made something clear: This duality isn\u2019t confined to those two days. It\u2019s the rhythm of life here. Even in joyful times, we carry the weight. We oscillate because we must. And over the past two and a half years, we\u2019ve had more practice than anyone would wish for.<\/p>\n

As we celebrate our independence this year, and Jerusalem Day<\/a> this week, I find that my sense of pride is not only in the state itself but in the next generation who will continue to shape it.\u25a0<\/p>\n

The writer was born and raised in Melbourne, studied in New York City, and now resides in Jerusalem with her husband and four young children. A marketing consultant by profession and writer at heart, she often finds her best ideas while she\u2019s swimming in the pool or cycling in the Jerusalem hills.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"On the last day of February, when the war with Iran started, my family and I were \u201cstranded\u201d…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":117106,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[33],"tags":[5859,37,215,9025,503,712,906,1413],"class_list":{"0":"post-117105","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","5":"has-post-thumbnail","7":"category-israel","8":"tag-aliyah","9":"tag-israel","10":"tag-israel-iran-war","11":"tag-jerusalem-day","12":"tag-magazine","13":"tag-missiles","14":"tag-sirens","15":"tag-the-october-7-massacre"},"share_on_mastodon":{"url":"https:\/\/pubeurope.com\/@iran\/116586141645766546","error":""},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/117105","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=117105"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/117105\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/117106"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=117105"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=117105"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.europesays.com\/iran\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=117105"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}