I Left Tel Aviv Early, But I Didn’t Leave Empty
For months, I had been counting down the days until my trip to Israel with the University of Florida Hillel. It was a dream I spoke into existence over and over, telling friends, family, teachers, and even strangers how excited I was. I imagined myself living for the summer in a country I love, immersing myself in its culture, and participating in an internship that aligned perfectly with my future goals.
And for a while, I got to do exactly that.
I’m incredibly grateful I was able to fully experience my Birthright trip. Those 10 days were some of the most joyful, meaningful, and affirming I’ve ever had. From hiking Masada at sunrise to singing on the bus, praying at the Kotel, dancing with strangers who became friends, and eating endless amounts of falafel and shawarma, our group made every moment count. I felt more alive than I had in a long time. Being in Israel reminded me who I am, reconnecting me to my roots and to the bigger story I’m part of – not just as a Jewish woman, but as someone deeply committed to caring for others, to connection, and to community.
After Birthright, I began the next part of my adventure: an eight-week internship through Birthright Israel Onward. I was placed at Save a Child’s Heart, an Israeli nonprofit providing lifesaving cardiac care to children from underserved countries. Each day brought new challenges and beautiful moments. I split my time between the children’s home, where I helped plan activities and supported patients and their families, and the hospital, where I accompanied kids to their appointments and provided comfort in an unfamiliar environment. Many of the kids didn’t speak the same language as me, but laughter, music, soccer, and simple acts of kindness became their own kind of language. These moments made Israel feel less like a place I was visiting and more like home.
Then, everything changed overnight.
On June 13, my friends and I had just returned from a night out in Tel Aviv. We were asleep for a couple of hours when sirens woke us at 3 a.m. We had no idea what was happening, but we knew that we needed to get into a bomb shelter, fast. Throughout the night, we sought refuge in the shelter multiple times, unsure what the coming days would bring. By morning, we were told to pack for three days. All Onward programs were being relocated to a hotel in Tel Aviv for our safety.
I remember packing in a daze, hoping I’d return to my cozy apartment on Nachalat Binyamin Street, near the shuk and my favorite gelato place, Arte. But at the hotel, things felt different.
That Friday night, I lit Shabbat candles alongside some people I loved and others I had just met. We shared songs, stories, and laughter over dinner, until another siren went off. As we rushed to a shelter, we looked up and saw the sky light up with rockets. But once inside, during a moment that could have been terrifying, something beautiful happened as we filled the space with songs and spontaneous prayers. Our melodies drowned out the sound of the booms, replacing fear with unity. We clung to one another, to hope, to joy, and to the community that has always carried our people through.
The following day, we were officially told that our program was ending early and we would be relocated for our safety. I returned to my apartment to pack my belongings, and for the first time, everything felt real. As I walked my usual route one last time, I noticed a sticker memorializing my friend Gili Adar, who was killed at the Nova festival on October 7. I had passed that spot every day for over two weeks and never noticed it before. In that moment, amid grief, confusion, and heartbreak, it felt like a sign that she was watching over me and keeping me safe.
That evening, all of Onward gathered again for Havdalah. Among us was a family who had lost their home to a rocket the night before. They had been in their bomb shelter at the time, saving their lives. As they stood before us and recited the Hagomel prayer, a blessing said after surviving a life-threatening event, the room filled with emotion. We sang and danced with them, showing them they weren’t alone, and that Israel is still strong. Our voices said that we, the Jewish people, are still here – alive, united, and full of light, even in the darkest of moments.
Once we relocated, we did our best to adapt. Onward tried to lift our spirits with programming that included a concert, a blind dating game, yoga, and more. Still, it felt surreal to be having fun while much of the country remained in shelters. That’s when I came to understand the Israeli spirit means you keep living. You keep showing up.
After a few days, we learned we’d be evacuated to Cyprus by cruise ship. Those final days were filled with memory-making: walks along the water, late-night talks, and holding onto every last moment. Our evacuation took 72 hours and spanned four countries, three flights, two buses, and one boat. There were moments of chaos – trying to navigate the crowded cruise ship, being stuck on the tarmac for hours, and running on little to no sleep – but also moments of magic. Laughing with my friends over dinner on the boat, blasting Israeli music on the bus ride to the airport in Cyprus, and watching the sunrise over the Eiffel Tower on just a few hours of sleep reminded me that joy can exist even in the most uncertain times.
When our final flight landed back in the United States, I felt a wave of relief I didn’t know I’d been holding in. After nine days of uncertainty, packed bags, shifting plans, and unanswered questions, my feet were finally on solid ground. It wasn’t the ending I expected, but it was an ending I was lucky to have. I’m so deeply grateful to be home, safe, and forever changed by the experience.
Now, I’m choosing to focus on what I gained, not what I lost.
My time at Save a Child’s Heart changed me. I worked with kids who traveled across the world to access care they couldn’t get at home. I ran activities at the children’s home and accompanied them to the hospital, offering comfort and distraction during difficult moments. Even without shared language, we connected through coloring pages, songs, and hand games. That work reminded me why I want to become a pediatric nurse. It was one of the most fulfilling experiences of my life.
It’s easy to grieve how suddenly it ended. But I’m learning that even incomplete stories can be beautiful. I got to live in Israel for a brief time. I walked to the shuk. I ate Arte gelato. I laughed and played with kids. I danced in bomb shelters with strangers who felt like family. I lived my dream, even if only for a moment.
I don’t know when I’ll return, but I do know that I will. There’s so much more I want to do, and so much more I want to give. Though my experience ended early, everything I learned, felt, and gave will stick with me forever. Am Yisrael Chai.
Hadassah Sternfeld is a rising fourth-year student at the University of Florida, studying health science and women’s studies. She is passionate about building meaningful connections, making an impact, and celebrating Jewish life.