Today, something happened that helped me understand what Israel is really about.

For the first time since making aliyah, I decided to walk from my apartment to my friend’s home in Jerusalem. It’s only about a ten-minute walk, but sometimes the smallest moments reveal something much bigger.

About halfway there, three little girls stopped me.

They had set up a small stand on the sidewalk selling lemonade, Oreo cookies, homemade cookies, and friendship bracelets. With great seriousness, they explained their prices.

“Lemonade is five shekels. Oreos are three. These cookies are two. And the friendship bracelets are five.”

They were clearly very proud of their little business.

Then one of them added something that made me pause.

“And all the proceeds go to the chayalim.”

Without thinking, I said out loud, “Well, for that cause, I’m absolutely in.”

I chose a friendship bracelet and a cookie. Seven shekels total. But instead, I handed them thirty-five shekels.

“I’ll take these two,” I told them, “but the rest is for the chayalim.”

Their faces lit up. They were so proud and excited about what they were doing.

I thanked them and continued on my way, feeling a warmth in my heart that’s hard to describe. These were young girls — children — yet they already understood something fundamental about life here: everyone contributes, everyone supports the soldiers who protect the country.

Even children understand their role.

I continued walking to my friend’s home. On the way I stopped for a coffee, and then I went to help set up for a cooking workshop that my friend was hosting.

Normally, these workshops take place in community centers, but because of the war, that hasn’t been possible. Instead, she hosted it in her home.

There were only four couples that evening — three Anglo couples in their twenties and one Israeli couple who were clearly older, probably in their forties. They have five children.

The reason the workshop was scheduled this week was because of them. The husband is being deployed to Syria next week, and if the workshop hadn’t happened now, they would have missed the opportunity to participate together.

They were such an unassuming pair.

Both had their hair tied back in simple ponytails, which I found strangely endearing. Throughout the evening, I noticed them sitting together quietly on the couch, talking, listening, sometimes holding hands.

You could see years between them — years of life, partnership, and understanding.

There was a calm maturity in the way they interacted, the comfort of two people who have walked a long road together.

At one point, I saw them sitting side by side, deep in conversation, looking at each other with complete attention. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, and I didn’t want to intrude on such a private moment, but I quietly took a picture.

Because to me, that moment captured something profound.

This couple — parents of five — were simply enjoying an ordinary evening together. Cooking, smiling, laughing.

Yet next week, the husband will be deployed.

These are the people who quietly carry the weight of this country on their shoulders.

It made me think about the sirens.

Every time we hear one, every time we go into the mamad, it’s easy to feel fear or frustration. But tonight it struck me differently.

There is nothing to complain about.

We should be grateful that we have somewhere safe to go. I am especially grateful that my mamad is right inside my apartment.

Watching that couple actually brought tears to my eyes.

They were smiling, laughing, relaxed. I kept wondering how they carry the stress of what lies ahead. Yet you couldn’t see an ounce of anxiety on their faces.

And that is when it truly hit me what Israel is all about.

It’s about the quiet courage of people who continue living their lives even when the future is uncertain.

It’s about children selling lemonade to support soldiers they may never meet.

It’s about couples sitting on a couch, holding hands, finding joy in an ordinary evening before duty calls.

Next week will mark seven months since I made aliyah.

And on a simple ten-minute walk, followed by an ordinary evening in a friend’s home, I felt like I understood this country in a way I never had before.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)