A week ago I landed at Ben Gurion Airport. Outside the terminal stood rows of American Air Force tankers. Inside, hundreds of Israelis were moving in every direction: some returning home, some leaving, families embracing, reservists hurrying through the terminal, children crying, telephones ringing, café lines full, tension and energy everywhere at once.
It was a scene Israelis immediately understand. Life, danger, exhaustion, resilience, and movement all existing together at the same time. Those abroad often do not fully understand this contradiction. Israelis do. We live it.
Over the following days, I spent time with family, friends, and people I care deeply about. I sat in cafés, walked through Shuk HaCarmel, listened to parents speak about children returning north, and spent time with scientists, physicians, entrepreneurs, reservists, and political leaders trying to shape what comes next for this country.
What I came away with was not despair.
It was optimism.
Not naïve optimism or blindness to war, grief, and division. A harder optimism. The kind that exists when people understand how serious the moment is and still decide to fight for the future.
At Biomed Israel, I saw one of the most extraordinary concentrations of scientific and entrepreneurial talent I have witnessed in years. There were very few international visitors. The war and uncertainty had clearly kept many away. Yet the halls were overflowing with Israeli scientists, physicians, innovators, entrepreneurs, and investors. The quality of the science and seriousness of the discussions were remarkable. It revealed something essential about Israel itself. Even under pressure, even when isolated, this country continues to produce an extraordinary richness of science, medicine, innovation, and human talent.
Over coffee and long conversations, I listened to scientists working at institutions like the Weizmann Institute of Science and physicians and innovators from Sheba Medical Center and other medical centers. I spent time with entrepreneurs building companies while worrying about children and spouses serving in uniform. Everywhere I went, I encountered people carrying enormous personal strain while continuing to build, create, heal, and serve.
What struck me most was the determination. In cafés, homes, laboratories, markets, and political meetings, I heard the same understanding repeated again and again: the future of Israel is being decided now, and citizens must take responsibility for it.
I also spent time with politicians forming new parties, rebuilding existing ones, and attempting alliances because they understand the scale of the moment Israel is facing. They came from different political traditions and held very different views about the country’s future. Yet they shared one belief: this is not a moment for passivity. Democratic participation now matters profoundly.
I also heard concern from people who fear what may happen if Israelis abroad truly answer the call to return and vote. They understand something simple and powerful: democracy changes outcomes. Participation changes power. Votes weaken the grip of those who depend on exhaustion, cynicism, disengagement, and absence.
That is why Fly & Vote matters so much.
It is not merely a slogan. It is a declaration that Israelis abroad still believe they are responsible for the future of their country. If Israel shaped you, protected you, challenged you, or formed part of your identity, then distance does not remove that responsibility.
Israel’s strength has never rested only on military power. It has rested on its citizens, its resilience, and its democratic legitimacy. That is the deeper strength that must now be demonstrated again.
The people I sat with in Israel are not giving up. The parents worried about children returning north are not giving up. The scientists still working late into the night are not giving up. The entrepreneurs building companies while family members serve in uniform are not giving up. The physicians carrying the emotional weight of war and trauma are not giving up. They are tired. They are worried. They are under enormous strain. But every morning they still get up, go back to work, argue about the future of the country, and prepare to vote. Israelis abroad should do the same.
Fly back. Vote. Show that Israeli democracy is still strong enough to bring its people home when the country needs them most.
Dr. Jeremy M. Levin is the former CEO of Teva Pharmaceuticals