Susie Eilenberg

As I landed in Tel Aviv, a familiar sense of pride washed over me. I was transported back to my high school days during March of the Living, when we felt immense comfort to be in our homeland—many even kissed the ground–after witnessing the devastation of Auschwitz and Majdanek. A year ago, I felt the same sense of relief upon arriving here, and I was deeply grateful to return with TBJ on its second post-October 7th solidarity mission. 

Soon after I arrived, my experiences began to feel strikingly different from last year. Our previous mission had felt raw and gut-wrenching. Only three months after October 7th, emotions were still fresh, and Israelis were still processing the horrors themselves. I had felt an urgent need to bear witness and try to understand: How could this have happened?  

Now, fifteen months after October 7th, we weren’t just confronting the memories of that tragic day. We were witnessing the ongoing aftermath—the trauma, guilt, and the heavy burden of grief. Everything felt intensely personal and complicated. I found myself experiencing the stark contrast—the moments of profound joy amid the overwhelming pain—and connecting deeply with people’s stories. 

This dichotomy shaped much of our experience. Shortly after we landed, we rejoiced in Hostage Square, as the first hostages in over a year were released. It was a moment of redemption—not only because Israelis are deeply connected to one another, though they certainly are, but because loved ones of those still held captive could finally find reason to hope. Families of soldiers killed in the war could finally feel that their children hadn’t died in vain. And Israelis could once again feel that they live in a country where no one is left behind. 

But even in the midst of celebration, heartbreak lingered. We learned that one of our TBJ travelers had a personal connection to a victim of a terrorist who was being freed in the hostage exchange. It was a powerful reminder that moments of redemption are often intertwined with moments of loss. We felt anguish for those still in captivity, especially when a loved one of our Nir Oz friends was unexpectedly not on the list of hostages to be released that Shabbat. The flood of emotions we were experiencing–hope, sorrow, fear— was impossible to reconcile at times.  

Our visit to Kibbutz Erez deepened this complexity. On October 7th, their security squad thwarted the terrorists on their own–a true miracle. As I walked through the vibrant kibbutz, I could imagine what Nir Oz had been like, just 15 months ago. But beneath this resilience was undeniable pain. A mother, once proud of living on the Gaza border as a fervent Zionist, told us that she no longer felt the same way. She believed she had failed her children by telling them they would always be safe, and their security was now her one and only priority. I was gutted by the heavy guilt that she carried.  

One of the highlights of our trip was reconnecting with our dear friends from Nir Oz and meeting two former hostages, Nili and Shani. Over a meal lovingly prepared as a thank you to our TBJ community, we had the chance to spend quality time together. It was very special to connect on such a personal level. Their words, filled with hope, longing, and deep gratitude for the support of our congregation in building their new community, truly resonated with us. As we left, Nili thanked us and asked us to continue sharing their stories.  

Talia Levanon, CEO of Israel Trauma Coalition, told us, “Resilience isn’t about bouncing back. It’s about moving forward.” This year’s mission reminded me that moving forward is complex and often full of contradictions. I returned home even more determined to stay connected, share stories, and support Israel in any way I can. In December, I will join my husband and children—who have never been to Israel—on a TBJ family trip, so they too can experience our sacred homeland. I cannot wait to return.  

Am Yisrael Chai.