Attempting to Answer the Hard Question My Daughter Keeps Asking
I think it’s about time I release it from my system. I avoided writing about this topic, but if you’re reading it, it means I dared to post it.
My daughter has been asking me, more than once, over the last few weeks:
“Why did we move to Israel during a war?”
But it’s a hard one to answer—especially when you’re trying to explain it to an 8-year-old. Or even to yourself.
We moved from Brooklyn to Tel Aviv about 15 months ago. And just recently, Leanna started asking: why?
But the answer is complicated—emotionally, logistically, and historically.
Still, I want to try.
The Honest Answer
I told her the truth: the main reason we moved was to be close to family.
My parents are here. My brother is here. My extended family—all the cousins and aunts, my grandmother who’s 95—they’re here. And after spending years raising Leanna without them close by, I knew I needed that support.
But there’s more to the story.
It was about exhaustion. About starting over again and again. About being a single mom in an expensive city, moving from sublet to sublet, uncertain of what came next.
The Plan That Started Before the War
I was already planning to move back to Israel before the war started, during my divorce process, it just became clearer that I needed to come back.
Getting divorced in a foreign country is complicated, especially with kids. There are a million questions about what’s best for the child. Where will she thrive? Where will we both feel supported?
There’s no simple answer. But for me, it came down to this: in Tel Aviv, I’d have help. In Brooklyn, I was alone.
There wasn’t a strong reason for me to stay in the U.S., even though I had just become a citizen after nine years. I had my American passport. But I’m Israeli. I grew up in Israel.
I Didn’t Leave Israel Because I didn’t Love it (It’s a Love-Hate Relationship)
I left to expand my world. To explore. To live elsewhere. I had moved to the U.S. in 2014 following the ex-husband’s job relocation. I left behind a whole life in Israel. I had to start over—no job, no friends, no community. And I started a business, from scratch, on my own.
But I was deeply lonely. As an introvert trying to build friendships in a new country, I struggled to feel truly connected. Making friends was hard, especially in a new country, especially in the U.S., where it was tough to find people who shared my background or really got me.
Eventually, we found some Israeli friends in San Francisco, but they weren’t mine—they were mutual. And not within walking distance. When Leanna was born, I was even more isolated.
I never planned to immigrate to the U.S. for good, but we stayed all these years because we first waited for our green cards. Then citizenship. Then came COVID.
With COVID and after almost seven years in the Bay Area we made a cross-country move to Brooklyn, and things got even harder.
It was a huge transition—much harder than I expected. The culture shock between coasts, the loneliness once again, closing my business, and having to pivot completely professionally.
I had a back disc issue, insomnia, rising anxiety, and autoimmune symptoms. We knew no one in our new neighborhood. Making friends took time. And to be honest, I was disappointed by New York. The hype didn’t match my reality.
And then, before even finishing our first year in Brooklyn, our marriage ended.
What followed was a whirlwind of upheaval: separation, mediation, parenting challenges, and the constant weight of instability.
Trying to Stay Grounded
The ex moved out before we even made it official. We only had a few months left on our lease, and I couldn’t bear the thought of moving again (we saw over 80 apartments until we found this one!). I had put so much time, money, and energy into furnishing and making that apartment feel like home. Now what?
When the ex asked if I planned to return to Israel immediately, I said, No. I wanted to go back to Israel for years, but the logistics of an international move during a divorce, with a child, felt almost impossible. I was still recuperating from a cross-country move. I was too deep in emotional turmoil. Leanna had just started feeling stable in the new environment. I didn’t want to move her again so quickly.
Two months later, I decided: I’ll sign the lease for another year, enroll Leanna in the neighborhood public school, and stay until the end of kindergarten. Then come back to Israel to start her in first grade.
I had a plan.
I HAD a plan.
But mediation took time. It didn’t go smoothly. We weren’t close to a final agreement.
One of his conditions for approving Leannna’s move was that we finalize our agreement. And we didn’t.
So after a summer in Tel Aviv, we had to return to Brooklyn. But we had already moved out of our old place. Now we were living in a sublet near her school, with only a few bags and everything else in storage, ready to be shipped.
It was meant to be temporary. We thought we’d finalize the divorce in a few months and move. But then, six weeks after…
October 7 Happened
Everything changed.
The war in Israel began.
Suddenly, I was watching the horrors happening, the panic accumulating, and the rockets falling on my home country, from afar. I was in shock, trying to shield Leanna while internally unraveling. No community around me who understood. Anti-Semitism became visible in places I’d never expected. Hate-filled ads on the subway. Hostility in everyday places. Anti-Israel protests all over. I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
I didn’t feel at peace staying. But I also didn’t want to bring Leanna into a country under siege. It felt like no place was home anymore.
I didn’t belong anywhere.
The Last Push
We were living out of suitcases, moving from one sublet to another every few weeks. It was January 2024 when we made our last move. I found a place looking after a cat for a discounted rent, subletting from a retired Argentinian Ballet dancer in a one-bedroom apartment in Clinton Hill. It was our sixth sublet move. Every move was draining. I was completely depleted.
That’s when I knew I had to come back home.
There were moments I doubted—should I postpone? Stay a little longer? But I knew this was my window. I might not get another one.
Then, news flash. The Argentinian dancer decided to come back early. We had until February 29.
That’s when I said: that’s it. I told my lawyer, I have nowhere to go after that date. I needed permission to bring Leanna back with me.
And somehow, with the pressure of this deadline, it worked out. We signed the paperwork. Got court approval via Zoom. Two days later, we were on a plane to Tel Aviv.
Starting Over Again
We landed in Tel Aviv. It was a homecoming—but to a place I didn’t fully recognize. School was open. But everything was so surreal. Weekly protests. Hostages still not home. A government that is tearing the country apart.
I had left a decade ago. I didn’t return to the same country.
And yet… it was home. A strange, changed version of home. But still, home.
It wasn’t easy either way. There’s no “right” place to live right now. But for me, staying in the U.S. meant moving again—to a cheaper neighborhood, maybe a different city. It meant starting over yet again, without any family, without the support I needed.
With this move, I had to give up so much: a community I built, friends I finally made, dance studios I loved, live music, a blossoming career, food markets, the convenience of 2-day shipping, my beloved Asian grocery delivery service, all the freedom and anonymity of NYC.
But I gained what I needed most: Proximity to family. A support system. Friday night dinners. Help with school pickups. A hand when I need to move furniture. A hug when I don’t know how to get through another week.
Would I have made the same decision if I were single, no child?
Maybe not.
But I’m not. And this was the decision I made—for both of us.
One I hope Leanna will understand someday.
The first year in Tel Aviv was all about building a new life for ourselves, brick by brick, in a place that was far from perfect. It was another challenging year. Yet I made it work. Slowly gaining my momentum. Until last week…
The war with Iran broke out.
It’s been a terrifying week. Running to seek shelter every night. Schools are closed. People are losing their homes, their loved ones, and their hope. It hit close to home. Sockingly close to home.
Leanna asked again:
“Why didn’t we stay in Brooklyn?”
She’s trying to make sense of it. And so am I.
In this current reality, I don’t know what each day will bring. I don’t have a lot of answers. But we’re here today and probably tomorrow, because this is our home. Our cats. Our Family.
And with each siren that blares the night, we don’t know if we’ll still have a home to come back to.
I hope we’ll see the end of this war soon.
For better days,
Mashav.
