Coming home by going home - The Jewish Standard

I recently returned to New Jersey from a brief yet deeply moving trip to Israel — a journey that began with a simple conversation and turned into something far greater than I could have imagined.

Back in 2023, I met Noam Buskila, an Israeli singer, father, and IDF soldier stationed on the northern border. His spirit — full of Jewish pride, love for his country, and a desire to lift up those around him — lit a fire in me. When I learned that his unit needed unarmed thermal drones to help protect soldiers in the field, I knew I had to do something.

Through grassroots fundraising — cookie sales, clothing and clutches, fitness challenges, phone calls — I managed to raise over $150,000 for Israel Friends to help supply those life-saving tools. The drones were delivered, and the soldiers were trained. But it wasn’t until I saw them in use, met the soldiers they were protecting, and heard first-hand how these tools were saving lives, that I truly grasped the impact.

At the beginning of May, I went on a three-day mission with Israel Friends to see how those funds directly impacted the Jewish State while at war, and I stood face-to-face with the reality behind the headlines. I met soldiers just before deployment. I visited a therapeutic farm helping Israelis cope with trauma. I listened to survivors and bereaved families share their pain, strength, and hope. These were not abstract stories. These were people I hugged, cried with, laughed with. People who, despite unbearable loss, continue to give everything they have to hold their communities and their country together.

There was the warmth of the volunteers welcoming soldiers back from Gaza with music and food. The quiet courage of those rebuilding kibbutzim. The resilience of families who have lost everything but still offer strength to others. Each encounter etched itself into my soul.

And then, one morning, something unexpected happened.

I went for a solo run along the Tel Aviv Promenade. No security detail. No knowledge of where the nearest shelter was located. Just me, the sea, and the city. And even though I had experienced four sirens over the course of the trip, I didn’t feel afraid. In fact, I was invigorated seeing children playing soccer on the beach, an older couple walking hand in hand, and people going about their lives. The strength of Israelis is not only in their defense systems; it’s in their spirit. And in that moment, I felt safer than I ever imagined I could.

How could that be?

Because in Israel, I felt like I was among family. Not the kind you visit out of obligation — but the kind that runs to you when you’re in trouble, no questions asked. And also because I had seen what people — ordinary and extraordinary — are doing every day to protect and uplift this family we all belong to.

I know many in our community are hesitant to travel to Israel right now. I get it. The situation is tense. Antisemitism is rising. The war isn’t over. But let me tell you this: there has never been a more important time to show up. Israel is still reeling from trauma and trying to stand tall. Our brothers and sisters need organizations like Israel Friends to supply them with critical aid, but they also need more than donations — they need our presence. Our hugs. Our shared strength. A reminder that we are fighting this fight with them, although not on the battlefield.

To walk the streets of Jerusalem, visit a kibbutz near Gaza, speak with the families of hostages or fallen soldiers — these are not acts of tourism. They are acts of love, of solidarity, of healing.

So if you’ve been waiting for the “right” time to go: This is it. Pack a bag. Get on a plane. Bring your heart. You’ll be giving a gift simply by being there — and you may find you receive even more in return.

Because sometimes, to truly be home, you have to go home.

Lauren Cherkas of Woodcliff Lake is an Israel Friends ambassador and a member of the board of the Jewish Federation of Northern New Jersey.