Reflections on the Family Trip to Israel

by Carly Snyder, M.D. 

I had been looking forward to taking my son Zachary to Israel for months. Despite some questioning my decision, I believed strongly that it was the right thing to do. Israel is both beautiful and devastating. Every person who thanked us for coming reinforced our need to be here for Israel, now more than ever.

I brought Zachary because he had never been to Israel. We arrived a few days early to see major sites and spend time together. On Monday, I was nervous about our purpose shifting from sightseeing to bearing witness. I didn’t anticipate how wonderful everyone would be and how much this trip would explore the nation’s resilience and its shared ongoing pain. 

I arrived with strong beliefs about the morality of this war—Israel was attacked and has the right to defend itself and recover hostages. These feelings have only intensified, and I now have a deeper sense of my Zionism. However, I leave with much more to learn. It feels like our education is just beginning, making it harder to leave.

From the moment we arrived, the contrast between everyday life and the lingering shadows of October 7th was striking. Israel evokes a profound sense of belonging and safety, but there’s a new shared trauma that is inescapable. Everyone in Israel knows someone affected by the violence that began on October 7th. The collective trauma permeates everyday life, but so does the collective resolve and resilience. Mourning is impossible with the fate of the hostages still unknown. Some have returned to a semblance of life, though highly impacted and scarred, while for others, time stands still. 

Before coming to Israel, I didn’t anticipate the intense sensory experiences. The heat, hazy air at Nova, sounds of explosions, and lingering smells created a vivid tapestry of the conflict’s harsh realities. There is a sukkah still up in K’far Aza that seemed to represent when life stopped. The juxtaposition of near-normalcy in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem with explosions in the Gaza envelope was stark. The sight of burned children’s bikes and bullet-riddled homes illustrated the brutality and devastation of October 7th in a way words could never fully convey. 

I met IDF soldiers at a gas station after the kibbutz visit and bought their snacks and drinks as a small thank you. They were young, barely older than Zachary, but they carry weapons, day in and day out, in or out of their IDF uniforms. The similarities between one soldier from the gas station and my son struck me, as did the grave of a fallen soldier at Mount Herzl. This moment brought the stories of sacrifice and loss into sharp, personal focus. This young man could be my son or any of our children. 

One of the most heart-wrenching realizations was that our kids would be enlisting in the IDF if we lived here. I can’t imagine my son with a gun, but that is the reality for Israelis. I’ve struggled to imagine coping as a mother knowing my child was going to war, let alone one where the enemy has no limits or rules. Similarly, I can’t imagine having a child held hostage or killed. This trauma impacts not just parents, but the entire country.

Everywhere, I saw children carrying on with their lives despite the constant threat of conflict. Their perseverance in living normal lives is a powerful act of defiance against those who seek to disrupt their existence. Israelis live with wounds in their hearts, but they continue to push forward. 

In New York, the concept of hostages feels real, but the reality of an entire country waiting does not. Visiting places like the Nova massacre site, the kibbutz, and Hostage Square brought home how fresh the wound is. The nation’s collective heart aches for the hostages still in captivity. The waiting for their return to begin grieving is a shared burden carried by the entire nation. 

I am incredibly thankful for the trip leaders from Temple Emanu-El, Park Avenue and Central Synagogues, and for the friendships made with the other parents and teens. I encourage you to visit Israel, speak to the people, and hear their stories. I plan to return as soon as I can, perhaps in September, for another mission to support our collective homeland. Please, let me know if you want to join me.

Acknowledgements

I extend my deepest gratitude to Rabbi Rebecca, Rabbi Bradley, Rabbi Neil, Michal, Ariel, Eran, Hillary, and Mike, who will forever be rabbi Mike and the 41st member of my crew at Mondegreen. Your guidance, support, and insights made this journey profoundly impactful. Thank you for helping us navigate this emotional landscape and fostering a sense of community that helped me process.