This essay is part of a continuing series featuring distinguished writers on the bond and shared responsibility between chareidi Jews in the Diaspora and those living in Eretz Yisrael. Through personal experience, reflection, and thoughtful perspective, the series seeks to deepen the conversation and highlight meaningful points of connection. Readers are invited to share their thoughts at [email protected]

Welcome to the Family

By Yaffa Palti

The first time I realized how different Eretz Yisroel feels wasn’tat the Kosel or at a simchas beis hasho’eva. It was on a simple Friday morning.

I was walking past a small marketplace in Yerushalayim when Inoticed a large box filled with challahs sitting outside one of the bakeries. A handwritten sign rested on top:

“Take as many as you need. Free of charge. Shabbat Shalom.”

It wasn’t even the end of the day. The challahs weren’t leftovers.They had been baked with the intention of giving them away,placed outside on Friday morning so that anyone who needed could simply take one and bring it home for Shabbos.

Another time, my family was staying in an Airbnb in Yerushalayim right before Shabbos when we realized we had forgotten to buy ice. My husband and son ran out to see if any makolet might still be open. Of course, everything was already closed. They spotted a tough-looking guy on a motorcycle parked by the curb. My husband asked him in Hebrew, “Slicha… do you know where we could get a bag of ice for Shabbos?”

The man looked at him and asked, “How many people are you?”

“Eight.”

“One minute.”

He got off the motorcycle, ran into a nearby shop that had already closed for the day, and came back a moment later carrying a huge bag of ice.

“How much do I owe you?” my husband asked. The man laughed.

“You owe me nothing. Just enjoy. Have a beautiful Shabbat.”

That was it. No transaction. No hesitation. Just a stranger helping another Jew prepare for Shabbos.

Moments like that happen constantly in Eretz Yisroel. There isan unspoken understanding that we are part of the same family.Sometimes a very large family. Sometimes… a slightly dysfunctional family.

Israelis will often be the first to yell at you, but also the first to jump up and protect you. There’s a reason they’re called Sabras. Like the cactus fruit they’re named for, they have a tough exterior, but inside they’re soft and sweet.

I once had a friend who came back from a trip to Eretz Yisrael feeling disappointed.

“What happened?” I asked.

She said, “No one yelled at me the entire time. I didn’t get the full Israeli experience.”

But that dynamic is actually part of the beauty of it. It’s what family looks like. Brothers argue. Siblings compete. They might even drive each other a little crazy. But if someone from the outside threatens one of them, they’re the first to stand up and defend each other.

That’s the feeling you sense in Eretz Yisroel. Every time myplane lands at Ben Gurion Airport, I feel the same thing: like I just came home.

I lived in Eretz Yisroel for seven years after I got married. Myfirst three children were born there. It shaped who I am in ways that are hard to fully explain.

And yet, we eventually left. People often ask me how I could leave if I feel such a deep connection to the Land. The honest answer is that at that moment in our lives, there was a community in Mexico waiting for us to come and teach Torah. I realized something that has stayed with me ever since: myahavas Am Yisrael had to be stronger than my ahavas Eretz Yisrael. Sometimes loving the Land means serving the people, even when that service temporarily takes you away from it.

Still, the connection never fades. Hardly a day goes by without me longing to return. For our family, the question has never been if we will go back, but when.

That longing has also helped me understand something important about the relationship between Jews in the Diaspora and Eretz Yisroel. It cannot only be financial or ideological. Ithas to be relational.

Many frum Jews support Eretz Yisroel deeply; through tefillah, through tzedakah, through learning Torah in its merit. That support is real and meaningful. But support is not the same asconnection. And when there is no relationship, distance slowlygrows.

The question isn’t whether we care about Eretz Yisroel. most Jews do. The deeper question is: Do we feel like we belong toit? Because when we belong to something, it naturally becomespart of our lives. We think about it. We visit it. We speak about it with our children. We dream about it. Eretz Yisroel stops being“somewhere far away” and begins to feel like home.

If I could hope for one shift in the relationship between the Diaspora and Eretz Yisroel, it would be this: that more familiesmake the effort to spend meaningful time there, not just for a simchah or a quick visit, but long enough to feel the rhythm of life in the land.

To shop in the makolet.

To walk the streets on a Friday afternoon.

To feel what it means when an entire country is preparing for Shabbos. To feel responsible for the people who live there, theway family feels responsible for family.

Because once you experience that feeling of belonging, something changes. Eretz Yisroel is no longer just a place we support. It becomes a place we remember is ours. And that webelong to it as much as it belongs to us.

Yaffa Palti is a Torah educator, public speaker, and writer who teaches internationally on Jewish identity, emotional growth, feminine leadership, life mastery, and living with purpose. Through her classes, writing, videos, and online courses, she explores how timeless Torah wisdom can guide modern emotional and spiritual growth. She lives with her family in Miami, Florida, and shares Torah and inspiration with communities around the world.