Birthright Israel Through My Eyes as an Israeli American

I was born in Israel, and my family moved to the U.S. when I was seven and a half. I grew up in New Jersey, and now I’m a fourth-year student at Drexel University, majoring in biology. I work at a cancer immunotherapy research lab at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, and I’m exploring a career in medicine.

As an immigrant with a dual identity, I wondered: where do I belong? Am I Israeli, American, both, neither—somewhere in the middle? On past visits to Israel, I never felt fully at home. I’m quieter and more introverted, and Israelis tend to be loud and expressive. Hebrew is my first language, though some Israelis notice a slight accent when I speak it. I think a part of me always felt like I had to prove I was “Israeli enough.” 

I was hesitant to go on Birthright Israel. I thought it was meant more for people who have never been to Israel, and I didn’t want to be “too Israeli” for the trip. Deep down, I wanted to go, but there was this voice telling me, “It’s not for you,” even though I was eligible. But then I thought: what do I have to lose? I’d get out of my bubble and meet new people.

October 7 happened during my first week at Drexel. That Friday night I went out with friends from Chabad and Hillel. We went to Penn Hillel, found another Jewish group, and just had fun. It felt like a movie: you go to sleep thinking, “That was such a good night.” Then I woke up and opened my phone, and there were messages everywhere—missiles, fires, family texting, “Are you okay? Is everybody safe?” Israel is used to conflict, but I don’t think any of us expected it to become such a long war.

Soon after, protests began on campus, and there were Palestinian flags everywhere. We were still in shock. My family and I stopped speaking Hebrew in public and tried to lower our Israeli profile. There was one protest that lasted four or five days. Buildings were locked down, and classes went remote. I didn’t leave my apartment for a few days because the protest was right across the street. I was scared to speak up and escalate things. I didn’t feel safe. It’s painful to hide who you are. Saying I was from Israel felt risky, but staying quiet took its toll. I grew up with so much pride and openness around being Israeli, and suddenly that wasn’t welcomed.

I believed that national origins don’t matter if you treat everyone with respect. But one day, I met two friends—one from Turkey, and the other from Pakistan—at the library for a study session. Instead, it turned into an interrogation. They started asking, “Whose side are you on? How do you feel about this? Are you scared of us?” Then the accusations started: “You have no morals.” They claimed Israel is a terrorist state that was committing genocide. I tried to be careful and neutral. I focused on Hamas and what happened on October 7. But it didn’t matter. The friendship was over.

That was the context in which I went on Birthright. I was completely blown away. Everything exceeded my expectations: the staff, the Israeli soldiers we met, the itinerary, the places we visited—everything. Some of the most meaningful moments were in Jerusalem, at the Nova site, and honestly, any day we spent with the soldiers. We really connected with them, and we still keep in touch. They were so funny and down-to-earth. We even have a group chat. I made incredibly strong bonds.

One especially emotional moment happened in Jerusalem during Shabbat. One of the Hillel staff members, Eitan, organized an activity where we received letters from our parents. He guided us through a reflection—closing our eyes, thinking about how we felt at the beginning of the trip—and then he placed the letters in our hands. When we opened them, I was in tears. My mom wrote about how she knew I’ve struggled with being Israeli American, and she encouraged me to take pride in who I am, and to be present in Israel. The letter meant everything to me. It helped me realize that all this time, I was searching for external validation of my identity. But all I had to do was simply be myself, because there isn’t just one way to be Israeli or American. It’s okay to live somewhere in between.

The trip showed me places I’d never been to. Visiting Bedouin tents, seeing Arab and Israeli communities up close—it all felt new. The North was especially new to me. Seeing the Sea of Galilee, the Kinneret, the borders near Syria and Lebanon gave me a completely different perspective. Learning about natural water resources, geography, and the importance of the Golan Heights was fascinating. And the nature was beautiful.

One of the most impactful visits for me was to Majdal Shams. The Druze community was incredibly warm and welcoming. Near the end of the village tour, we visited the soccer field that had been hit by a Hezbollah missile in July 2024. That moment was devastating. The mother of one of the children who was killed spoke to us. Standing in front of the posters of the children, she shared stories about her daughter, and then about each of the kids. She spoke about their kindness, interests, and personalities. The youngest was around ten.

Despite the tragedy, she spoke with strength and hope. She talked about Druze beliefs, about the soul living on, even when the body is gone. She said that while the loss is unbearable, you can’t let it consume you. We are now the voice of the children who can no longer speak. That experience stayed with me. It showed me how much love exists alongside the pain. People talk so much about the hatred between Jews and Arabs, but what I felt there was compassion. We are far more similar than we are different. At the end of the day, we are family.

Looking back now, the trip helped resolve a lot for me. It showed me that even when you come from two cultures, there is always a place for you. For the first time, I truly felt at home in Israel and could see a possible future for me there. I came back home on such a high. It was a beautiful experience—everything I hoped for and more.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you to the donors who made it possible. This experience exists because generous people choose to support it. Not just for me, but for young people discovering their Judaism, seeing Israel for the first time, and understanding that it’s their home, too. I’m deeply grateful. This was such a gift.