The elderly: Israel’s quiet front line - opinion

Every time our routine is shattered, whether by war, a pandemic, or an economic crisis, there’s a tendency to assume that the elderly will retreat inward. That we’ll find them under a blanket, glued to the television, waiting for the storm to pass. Sometimes, we even worry about them more than we ask ourselves how they might help others. But reality keeps surprising us, time and time again.

In moments of emergency, Israel’s elderly rediscover their role not as a vulnerable population but as a strong, stable link in the social chain. They carry the collective memory of past wars, waves of immigration, loss, and rebuilding. They understand that in the most turbulent times, what’s needed is a calm, sensitive, and steady presence. Yet our society still struggles to see them as a meaningful force.

In public space, older adults are often viewed as people who have “already given their part.” This perception, which seeps into their sense of identity, usually creates feelings of uselessness, detachment, or even irrelevance. But what happens when we offer them a platform?

What happens when we see them not as “pensioners” but as senior citizens in the fullest sense of the term, citizens with a role, with ability, with a sense of purpose?

At the Mediterranean Towers senior living network, we discovered that when you open the door, they don’t just walk through; they bring hammers and nails to build, pots and pans to cook, comforting cakes to share, and initiate conversations. They also form support teams and launch performances and exhibits to raise awareness about pressing issues. That’s exactly what happened during the war.

First, residents organized peer support groups, coffee-and-cake gatherings for neighbors, daily phone check-ins with friends, and small cultural projects to preserve routine. One resident in Beit Nordia, Micha Ankori, a retired psychologist, founded a “listening team” with fellow residents to provide emotional support to others – listening, encouraging, and simply being present.

The main reinforced shelter, originally designed for protection, quickly transformed into a vibrant cultural center. It hosted short lectures, sing-alongs, and even seated Pilates classes, all in line with the network’s motto: “It’s interesting to live here.” Beyond what happened within the community’s walls, many residents also found ways to contribute outwardly to the broader community, to the soldiers, to the home front.

What defined these residents-led initiatives was that no one waited to be asked. They simply acted even in the smallest ways. Instead of asking “What’s needed?” they asked, “What can I do?” Three women in their 70s and 80s packed warm meals for soldiers and volunteered to sew fleece neck-warmers out of concern for their comfort.

In Ramat Hasharon, a small food truck started by residents became a gathering point for soldiers, offering hot drinks, homemade pastries, and heartfelt embraces. The volunteers made sure to talk to the soldiers, check in on them, and truly see them.

This approach invites us to think bigger and ask: What does aging look like today?

One example comes from the daughter of an 81-year-old resident. She was deeply concerned about her mother’s well-being during the war. But in a brief conversation with staff, it turned out her mother was busier than ever. She was part of the “listening team,” doing Pilates in the reinforced room, and baking cakes for the staff. She felt more purposeful than ever.

Six residents went together to a minimarket, bought supplies, planned who would cook what, and found recipes in their cookbooks and online. When the fire truck pulled up to their building, the residents were already waiting excitedly and ready to welcome their guests. The exhausted, hungry firefighters were greeted with hugs, home-cooked meals, and songs. The residents broke into “1,000 Firefighters,” eyes gleaming with emotion.

However, the residents didn’t stop helping in the field; they also thought about those left behind. They especially focused on the wives of reservists, initiating special events for them. Three gatherings were held for new mothers, offering rich breakfasts and diverse experiential workshops led by professionals, musical experiences, babywearing dance, and infant massage. Alongside these activities, the senior residents offered guidance, practical tips, emotional support, and most importantly, a warm, calming atmosphere where these young mothers could take a moment for themselves.

It's important to say not everyone must act this way, and not everyone can. But the very possibility of doing so is what makes the difference. When that sense of agency disappears, people begin to forget that they have it at all.

During this tense and chaotic time, the elderly among us have shown a different reflection. They didn’t deny their fears; they softened them with action. They didn’t wait for the instructions; they created them. They showed us that resilience isn’t about age, it’s about belonging.

The conclusion is clear: The elderly are not on the sidelines of society; they are its core. As the CEO of this home, I witness every day how an engaged senior community can become a leading force of mutual responsibility. Instead of isolation, they choose initiative. Instead of feeling irrelevant, they inspire.

We must keep building frameworks that invite older adults to take part, not just as volunteers but as true partners. We should listen to their ideas, value their experience, and enable them to contribute in their way, in their own time, and from their motivation.

The strength shown by the residents of Mediterranean Towers should not be taken for granted. At a time when so many young people are grappling with burnout, anxiety, and loneliness, it is the older generation that holds on to their humanity and passes it forward.

Most importantly, let us remember: The heart, even at an advanced age, remains open. If we leave the door open, they will come in. Quietly, gently, with a cake in hand and hope in their hearts.