While tourists scramble to escape the war zone, Israelis are flying back into it
Israeli airports are pretty quiet since the war with Iran broke out, commercial aviation has slowed to a trickle, and anyone who wants to leave Israel — which has absorbed hundreds of ballistic missiles, rockets and drones — has to navigate a maze of uncertainty. Tourists scrambling to flee navigate an obstacle course. Israelis, meanwhile, are clamoring to be “rescued” back into the war zone.
Human beings — well, all beings — are supposed to possess a preservation instinct — and there is planty of that on display, to be sure. American friends of mine have tried to leave via the Allenby Bridge to Jordan, or to Taba in Egypt. One couple finally got on a rare flight to Cyprus only to be bumped, and finally secured another option. There is talk of crossing by land into Taba, Egypt, and then hoping for the best.
It’s messy, inconvenient, and in some cases expensive. Airbnb prices have not necessarily come down. Few hotel rooms are reinforced, and few Airbnbs have safe rooms. So as sirens pierce through the night at 4AM, my friends have to run down the stairs to a nearby shelter. The husband, my age, seems to be enjoying the unique experience. He talks to the Israelis huddling in the shelter. His wife, I’m pretty sure, would rather be back in New Jersey, but she is a good sport.
Let’s face it though – they’re stuck in Israel. When a war interrupts normal life, travel becomes a logistical puzzle. And unless you are sanguine about angry Iranian fanatics firing ballistic rockets at your head, it is a nerve-racking affair.
That much is natural. The curious part lies elsewhere.
Israeli media has been filled with stories about flights organized to bring Israelis back from abroad – where about 150,000 Israelis are believed to be “stranded.” The word universally used on the Hebrew broadcasts is “chilutz” — meaning “rescue.” The governments, airlines, and private initiatives are working to bring Israelis home from Europe, from North America, from wherever they happen to be. Thousands have already returned. Many more are desperate for solutions.
The tone on the broadcasts is dramatic. There is a sense of urgency. Planes are arranged, lists are drawn up, and television reporters narrate the effort with the language normally reserved for evacuations from terrible danger. Yet the people being “rescued” are in London, Paris, Berlin, Athens. They are not fleeing missiles. They are flying toward them.
A reasonable person might ask: What gives? Because seen from the outside, this can seem surreal. People who are safe abroad are being helped to return to a country where sirens interrupt sleep and ballistic missiles occasionally streak across the sky, mostly to be intercepted in the skies overhead – but sometimes not. Of late the interceptors have faced cluster bombs on the warheads – and missile fragments have showered down upon cities, towns and empty fields.
Unpacking this weirdness, I think, might offer a window into the wacky world of Israel, which is a place quite unlike any other I have been.
For starters, the phenomenon is not entirely new. Israelis have long exhibited a peculiar instinct in moments of crisis: when the country is under threat, they feel a pull to come home. In the past that instinct had a very clear purpose. During the Yom Kippur War in 1973, Israelis studying or traveling abroad rushed back because they were needed. The army was mobilizing hundreds of thousands of reservists, and the country genuinely faced the possibility of defeat. Young men returned because they had units to join and battles to fight. The decision carried risk and sacrifice, but it was also responsible – within the circumstances.
Today the context is different. Israel still relies on reservists, but the people being flown back are not necessarily soldiers. Many are professionals whose work can be done remotely, at least for a while. The economy itself has slowed under the strain of war. Offices are half empty, meetings postponed, plans suspended. From a strictly practical perspective, staying abroad would generally make more sense.
So why the rush to return?
Some is financial, of course: some people are on a budget and cannot afford to forever be travelling. There is also, of course, the emotional gravity of family. Even if one’s job can be done from a laptop in Lisbon or London, parents, siblings, and children are often in Israel. Watching a war from afar while loved ones shelter in stairwells can produce a powerful urge to return.
It must also be noted that Israel’s missile defense is so good that most rockets are zapped out of the sky, diminishing the sense of danger. By the way, It is truly amazing to read the constant social media propaganda about Tel Aviv lying in ruins with censorship preventing images from getting out. The fact that people don’t konw what to believe is a central price we are paying for the distrust in professional journalism. These days, bullship not only walks, it talks! Here’s an uncensored image of my neighborhood pub this weekend, after a missile alert:
Nevertheless, this “rescue” business is pretty odd.
A huge part of this is a deeply ingrained civic instinct – which results from both genuine patriotism and relentless Zionist messaging. Israel was built on a narrative of shared destiny. Wars were national moments, and the ethos of early Zionism celebrated the willingness to stand with the community — generally far outnumbered — regardless of personal cost. That culture still echoes today. When missiles fly, many Israelis feel that the only proper place to be is among fellow Israelis. The idea of sitting comfortably abroad can feel almost like desertion. Being present in itself becomes a form of participation — which feels essential.
It is interesting that such is the pull of collective identity – despite the country’s many corrosive division. It is, it can seem, as if a certain kind of Israeli is yearning for the less-fragmented past.
The media environment that amplifies urgency. Israeli television thrives on drama. Round-the-clock coverage, maps, alarms, and speculation create an atmosphere in which events feel even more immediate and existential than they already are. Israelis who are abroad, in the new digital environment, can watch the media back home, and many consume it much more than the increasingly unfriendly media where they are. In such an environment, the idea of Israelis abroad needing to be “rescued” can gain momentum almost by reflex.
There is a darker side. Many Israelis harbor what can only be called a siege mentality. For generations Israelis were taught that the world was not a reliable refuge (the Holocaust, pogroms, and Ivy League quotas will tend to do that to a person). Jewish history, and the memory of moments when doors were closed, left a deep mark. The delegitimization Israel has suffered in the wake of the devastating and extremely problematic war in Gaza deepens this (some will say rightly so — which debate is for another article).
Bottom line: The expectation that Israelis should want to return in wartime can start to feel less like a personal choice and more like a social command — and one that is so ingrained that you don’t even notice the absurdity.
But not everyone accepts these premises. Many who live abroad watch the news coverage with a mixture of disbelief and humor. A friend of mine who lives in London sent me the following message just now: “I’m sitting in a pub. Rescue me from this inferno!”
