Choosing Israel: why olim stay during wartime

For some, the decision was long planned; for others, it came suddenly, spurred by moments of crisis or conviction. What unites them is a deep sense of belonging, purpose, and love for the Jewish people and for the State of Israel. Here, two women share their stories.

Ariella, a nurse from America, made aliyah on October 10, 2023, just three days after the war broke out. She had always planned on moving to Israel, but when the war began, Nefesh B’Nefesh contacted her to ask if she wanted to postpone her flight considering the dangerous time. Her family, worried for her safety, also encouraged her to wait, saying, “We don’t know what’s going to happen. Maybe the war will be over in a few days.”

But for Ariella, waiting made no sense. Making aliyah had been her goal for years and was only amplified when she heard of conflict in Israel. Every time conflict erupted in Israel, like during the 2014 Gaza war, she would find herself asking, why am I not there already?

On October 7, she was in shul in America when the news started spreading that there had been an attack in Israel. At first the reports said 10 people had been killed, then 15, then 20. The numbers kept rising, and Ariella quickly realized that something far worse than she’d previously imagined was going on. She began saying Tehillim, the whole time thinking to herself, “I can’t believe I’m not there. I can’t believe I’m not with everyone to even offer my help.”

She felt so helpless being outside of Israel. So when people asked whether she was still going to make aliyah or whether she was postponing her flight, she didn’t hesitate in responding: “Are you crazy? I’m not moving my flight. I should be there already. I’m not waiting another day. As long as the airports are open, I’m going.”

It wasn’t even a question for her that she would get on a plane as soon as it was possible. “I just felt very strongly that I needed to be with our people. I don’t know how else to explain it,” she said. But she also wasn’t naive to the gravity of the situation, she explained. “I knew it wouldn’t be a regular aliyah, with balloons and people greeting us, but I didn’t care. The purpose for me was always to be here, in the land that was given to our people. It was that simple.”

The day after October 7, Ariella saw a message circulating that Israel urgently needed healthcare workers and that the government might expedite temporary nursing licenses. Without hesitating, she began unpacking her scrubs from storage - which she’d already packed away - ready to assist as soon as she’d land in Israel. Although her services as a nurse weren’t ultimately needed in the end, this proactiveness reflected her mindset: “My country needs me, and I need to get there.”

Ariella even tried to book her flight for an earlier date, but it wasn’t possible. Her flight three days later, on October 10, was somber and eerie. The plane was filled with reservists who had been called up for miluim (reserve duty). Only six other olim were on board with her, instead of the planned twenty-five. “Everyone was in shock,” she recalled. “It wasn’t the lively aliyah flight you imagine.”

During the flight, the pilot announced they might need to divert to Eilat because of rockets near Ben-Gurion Airport. “It was intense,” Ariella said. “As we landed, we were looking out the window to see if there were rockets flying above us. We had no idea what to expect.”

She was sitting next to another olah hadasha on the flight, and they were talking about what a crazy time it is to make aliyah but also what a zchut (privilege) it is to come and strengthen the country. “I don’t know how to explain it. It was a weird paradoxical feeling.”

When they finally arrived, the airport was eerily empty; Ariella had never seen Ben-Gurion this empty before. Two Nefesh B’Nefesh representatives came to greet them, but their smiles were subdued. “They didn’t know what to say,” she recalled. “’Mazel tov’ didn’t seem appropriate. They said, “Welcome to Israel,” but the overall feeling was somber.

Some staff told them they had come in just to help out these new olim because it had been too dangerous to travel the past few days. Others praised them, saying their arrival during this scary and unprecedented period gave them renewed strength and hope. “All the conversations at the time were about the war,” said Ariella. “We had literally landed into the thick of it, but at the same time, I felt so relieved, like I could finally breathe. I was finally home.”

Although she never ended up working as a nurse when she arrived, Ariella joined her seminary in packing emergency kits for soldiers.

When asked, "Why did you stay?" Ariella responded: “For the same reasons I came."

Her seminary was in Kiryat Moshe, an area she barely knew. She didn’t understand the layout of Jerusalem or which areas were safe to walk around. One day, she wanted to buy bottled water and asked other girls to accompany her to the makolet, but they refused, as they were too scared to go out. “Everything was closed, and all the bottled water was sold out, just like during Covid,” she said. “It was the experience of moving to a new country, but amplified. Everyone was scared. It was a very intense and difficult time.”

Getting her documents was even more challenging than usual. Most government offices were closed, and the only one open was in Bnei Brak, where rockets were still falling. “I didn’t know how the buses worked, or how to get a Rav Kav, or even where to go,” she said.

That experience, she says, made her more Israeli in a way, as she had to toughen up and figure things out by herself.

But as the weeks passed and the initial shock of the war had subsided somewhat, she began to see something beautiful emerge - the unity and sense of togetherness that validated her ‘why’ and her reason for coming to begin with. “I came here to be with my people, to help them, to feel the pain and the joy with them, and to be helpful in whatever capacity that I could.”

Ariella describes those first few weeks as a rollercoaster of emotion. “One minute you’re motivated - buying supplies and writing letters to soldiers - and the next, you’re hearing about more bodies that have been found, more hostages, and more people missing.”

The intensity of emotions, however, only strengthened her resolve to stay.

In America, she’d often felt these emotions but had also felt isolated and out of place, because no one around her really understood what was going on in Israel, and it didn’t affect them as much.

“Only in Israel can you truly understand it,” she related. Here, she finally felt understood and connected to those around her.  Here, she had a ‘why’ every single day, which intensified as time went on.  “Every day I thought to myself, ‘What can I do for my people? What can I do for my country today?’”

Two years later, although she’s still adjusting to life in Israel, she wouldn’t have it any other way. “Coming during the war integrated me faster,” she said. “Even though I’d just arrived, people treated me like one of them. Weirdly, it was the perfect time for me.”

Also, she adds that since she only made aliyah after the war, she didn’t experience the division that was going on prior to October 7. “I’ve only experienced the beautiful side of Israel - the unity and solidarity that came after the war began - and that makes me proud to be here.”

Chavi and her husband first began contemplating aliyah nearly 30 years ago when they were living in Toronto and she was pregnant with her first. However, it wasn’t until she experienced a terrifying encounter that their minds were made up.

“When I was pregnant with my first, my husband went on a pilot trip to Israel,” she recalled. “Both his siblings already lived there, so he wanted to check out the job market. I was seven and a half months pregnant, so I stayed behind.”

When he returned, the couple faced a choice: stay in Toronto or take the leap. They both really wanted to make aliyah, but back then in 1994 it was more difficult. There was no Nefesh B’Nefesh at the time, and Chavi had no family in Israel.

A few weeks later, however, everything changed.

One Shabbat afternoon, as Chavi was walking home from shul after dropping off her husband there, a large pickup truck started veering toward the sidewalk where she was working. “The two men inside rolled down their windows and started screaming, ‘Dirty Jew!’” she said. “They gunned the engine, and I had no choice but to run.”

She ran toward a nearby park, with the truck chasing her until she fell and then speeding off, the men laughing at her while she was on the ground.

She was eight months pregnant at the time. A bystander ran to get her husband from shul. Thankfully, neither she nor the baby was physically hurt, but Chavi was very shaken.

“As the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors, I wasn’t a stranger to antisemitism,” Chavi said. “I grew up on my grandparents’ stories. As a child and teenager, I was obsessed with all things Holocaust-related and read every book in the library on the subject.”

Chavi’s grandparents had moved to Canada after the war, determined to raise their family in a place where Jews were accepted, protected, and free to practice their religion.

But after this incident, Chavi realized that she was no longer on the fence about making aliyah and told her husband that they needed to move.

Their daughter was born at the end of August 1994, and by February 1995 - just five months later - they were living in Israel.

“The first few years weren’t easy,” said Chavi, “but we stuck it out.”

“Our second child, our son, was born during that terrible week of bus bombings in French Hill. His brit milah, eight days later, took place half an hour after the last bombing that week.”

Even years later, her Canadian friends still asked if they planned to move back to Toronto. “I don’t think people understood why anyone would choose to move here back then,” she said.  It wasn’t just the language or culture differences; back then, Israel didn’t have the services and products that they were used to in Canada.

“There was no Super-Pharm, no shopping malls with international brands, and no exotic foods.

“Why would anyone move to a place that seemed so behind?” she related.

But for Chavi, it was never about convenience. “After what happened to me, it was a no-brainer.”

Now, after October 7, she says she can’t fathom living anywhere else and can’t understand why other Jews would want to. “I know it's hard, and it's not for everyone, but considering all the hatred that is literally pouring out of the rest of the world, how can anyone justify not being in Israel? If only for the safety of one’s family?”

Chavi recalled another incident from her childhood that left its mark on her. One day, she went to the park with her siblings, her mom, and her friend. Between the two moms there were 13 kids. A woman came up to them and asked, ‘Are all these kids yours?” When her mom responded “yes,” the woman replied curtly that people like them [Jews] were the reason that the world was overpopulated. Chavi remembered her mom turning to this woman and saying in response: “Well, since the Nazis killed six million of our people, we’re just doing our small part by trying to fix that.’”

Thirty years ago, when Chavi and her husband made aliyah, they were utterly alone. Today, this is no longer the case. Ten years after they moved, her brother also made aliyah, and about three years ago, her other brother joined them. About six months ago her parents also made aliyah officially, and two of her sister’s kids live in Israel too. “Slowly, slowly, they’re all trickling in, and I’m so grateful.”

Every aliyah journey is shaped by its struggles but also its purpose. For Ariella and Chavi, the choice to live in Israel wasn’t simply about geography; it was about identity, resilience, and purpose. Despite the fear, uncertainty, and challenges along the way, both women found the same truth: home is not always the easiest place to be -but it’s the place you’re meant to be.