My name is Yoel, husband to Tali and father to Leo, Riley, and Kyla. A year ago, my family and I moved to Virginia Beach from Israel, but I write this today, still carrying the weight of the events of October 7th.
I was born in Israel. My parents made Aliya from France two years before my birth, fleeing the rising tide of antisemitism. Israel became home, a place where we thought we could live freely and securely. But that sense of security was shattered on October 7th. The day before, on October 6th, we were camping on the northern beach of Hof Dor, alongside my childhood friend, who had served with me in the Israeli Navy. It was a perfect day — the kids played, and we adults enjoyed the calm night, raising a glass under the stars with the sound of the waves in the background. Little did we know, our lives were about to change forever.
At dawn, I woke to the sound of helicopters from a nearby navy base, tactical teams being dispatched. A single message came through from my commander: “Bardak”—chaos in Hebrew. We knew something terrible had begun. The beach, once full of families like ours, emptied within the hour as word spread of an unprecedented attack on the south. By the time we made it back home to Kochav Yair, soldiers were stationed at our gates, weapons at the ready. We gathered our children in the shelter, telling them it was “movie time,” all while trying to comprehend the gravity of the situation. Tali looked at me and said, “We need to get out.” I tried to reassure her, thinking this was just another operation, but she was resolute — we needed to leave.
Within days, it was clear there was no way out of the country. Flights were canceled, and every night we slept together in the shelter locking the door behind us. Then, a week later, just after we had put the kids to sleep and I was trying to decompress from yet another day, I got a message from my sister-in-law: “Check your email now.” We had received an evacuation notice from the U.S. Embassy since my wife and kids are U.S. citizens. The flight was leaving in four hours. It wasn’t an easy decision. We packed up two big duffle bags, leaving everything behind, and carried our sleeping children into the car, making our way to the airport, not knowing how long we’d be gone or what we were leaving behind. We thought it would be a short trip. After a week in Athens and three weeks in Port Washington, we visited Tali’s sister here in Virginia Beach. We soon realized it was more than just a visit. It was an escape from a future we no longer understood.
We reached out to the members of the Tidewater community and were immediately welcomed with open and warm arms. The United Jewish Federation of Tidewater embraced us fully, giving us the support we so desperately needed. We felt safe, secure, and truly at home. What we have created here is a home away from home, all thanks to this incredible community.
With community support, instead of just taking things day by day, we were able to look ahead with confidence — planning week by week, month by month, and now, nearly a year into it, we feel part of something. We almost feel whole again. So now, a year later, we are still here, but our hearts remain with Israel. The events of that day will never leave us, and neither will the longing for peace and for a homeland that we may one day return to safely.
This isn’t just about our story or our battle. We, as Jews, have a responsibility to care for all the people of the world. Our fight is not only for ourselves but for the world to recognize the true light, the universal human right to live in peace, safety, and dignity. As I reflect on this, I’m reminded of the powerful words of Pastor Martin Niemöller. His poem speaks to the responsibility we all have to stand up, not just for ourselves, but for others. Today, it resonates more than ever:
First they came for the Communists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist
Then they came for the Socialists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Socialist
Then they came for the trade unionists
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a trade unionist
Then they came for the Jews
And I did not speak out
Because I was not a Jew
Then they came for me
And there was no one left
To speak out for me
This is not just our battle. It is a fight for humanity — to ensure that the world does not turn a blind eye to the suffering of others. May we always stand up for what is right, for justice, and the freedom and dignity of every person.