In this sphere, you have to come to grips with the constant fight ahead. You may win critical battles, but the war itself—a war beyond the military battlefield—is one you may never fully win. This is a fight for Israel’s legitimacy and its right to be treated as just another state among the nations.
The past year has been one of the hardest I’ve ever experienced, not just because of the relentless attacks in the international media on Israel’s right to defend itself against Hamas terrorists who carried out the worst atrocity against the Jewish people since the Holocaust. It’s also the overwhelming antisemitism and abuse that floods social media—things I force myself to see and respond to every day.
It’s the inability to separate my work from the harsh reality Israelis are living through—because I’m one of them. In a country this small, it’s almost a cliché to say everyone is connected to someone directly affected by the situation. But it’s the truth.
I live in Modi’in, a city of 100,000 situated exactly halfway between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. It’s a place proud of its distinction as having the highest percentage of 18-year-olds answering the mandatory call to serve in the IDF.
Tragically, in the days after October 7, it became clear that several of those young soldiers had been brutally killed inside their bases, including some from my own neighborhood. I’ve lived in the same house for 14 years, yet had never met the neighbors two doors down—until I attended the shiva for their teenage granddaughter who fell that day. At other times, the streets of our neighborhood would fill with residents standing silently, holding Israeli flags, as convoys carried the families of the fallen to lay their loved ones to rest in the local cemetery—a heartbreaking scene echoed across the country.
In my late 40s, I’m at an age where the soldiers on the frontlines are both my peers and the children of many friends and acquaintances. In my position, I receive constant updates from various governmental and non-governmental organizations, including the IDF, police, and Magen David Adom emergency responders. Far too often, I’d wake up to an IDF notification about the latest casualties. Sometimes, a name would stand out and I’d pray it wasn’t the child of a friend or colleague. Tragically, sometimes it was.
The husband of a former colleague and the son of a family friend, both killed in Gaza. A cousin from my extended family, stabbed to death while serving as a Border Policewoman in Jerusalem’s Old City. The pain and grief are beyond words.
HonestReporting is a microcosm of the country as a whole. One colleague has been on army reserve duty for over 200 days, leaving his wife and two small children to manage without him, while our organization is left without a key team member. Another colleague’s husband has spent many days in uniform, leaving her to care for their baby alone. Everyone is affected in some way, and we are no different from countless workplaces disrupted by the mandatory call to serve.
I will always consider it a privilege to have a level of insider access that many Israelis don’t. At the end of November, I was invited to a breakfast at a foreign ambassador’s residence, alongside colleagues from other organizations and some family members of the hostages.
We sat and listened as the families shared the stories of their loved ones, still held captive in Gaza. At one point, an attendee broke down in tears. She quickly apologized, wondering aloud how she could be the one crying when others in the room had brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, and children being held by Hamas—yet somehow, they managed to keep their composure while fighting for their release.
There was no shame in her tears. It’s hard for those outside to fully grasp the deep bonds that connect both Israelis and the broader global Jewish community, or the simple truth that this catastrophe touches nearly every one of us in some way.
In the weeks following October 7, I had the opportunity to visit Sderot and several kibbutzim near the Gaza border. It felt like stepping into a vast crime scene, frozen in time since that horrific day. Many of HonestReporting’s staff have been there, witnessing the devastation firsthand, so we can accurately convey to the world the barbarity of what happened there.
Israel is a country still gripped by trauma, and there’s no sign of it easing. Behind every article, video, and social media post is a member of HonestReporting’s staff, living the reality of a nation at war—where the frontlines are also the home front. Workdays spent behind computers are often interrupted by sirens and frantic runs to safe rooms. A job focused on handling bad news becomes indistinguishable from the constant barrage of terrible events that flood our senses.
In the immediate aftermath of Hamas’ rampage, I believed Israel might have three or four days before the global narrative turned against us. In truth, I’m not sure we even had that.
Today, we continue fighting against media bias and anti-Israel slander—not just because it’s our job or career, but because it’s our responsibility as proud Israelis. We’ve been given the privilege to serve our country and people in the best way we know how.
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Photo by Yossi Aloni/Flash90
