Finding light when I didn’t know I needed it

In May this year, I did something wildly out of character: I relinquished control.

I followed the itinerary, did what I was told, and let myself be completely held by the experience. In short, I became a child again. And surprisingly, I loved it. That surrender was more than a break from responsibility. It was symbolic.

Because 28 years ago, I was a child in Israel. Fifteen years old, full of promise as I marched across the bridge at the 1997 Maccabiah Games. And then it collapsed. Four Australians died. I walked away physically unhurt but emotionally fractured. My once vibrant relationship with Israel was severed.

I moved on. I built a career, got married, became a mother, and created a Jewish home. After October 7, 2023, I stepped up as a lioness Zionist, shifting my work to assist Israel. Yet the scars of that broken bond remained. Until now.

Returning to Israel this year was a homecoming, not as the child who was hurt but as a woman, a mother, and a Jewish leader. I didn’t just reclaim my connection to Israel. I reframed it.