Over the course of the war, I've written numerous times about why I believe in Israel's long-term future. I've written about the real estate market, entrepreneurship, investment opportunities, and why I believe this country continues to present extraordinary possibilities despite the relentless challenges it faces.
But this week reminded me that the real strength of Israel is not found in a stock market chart, or in the value of the shekel, even though those in their own right are truly impressive. It's found in the “regular” everyday people.
After living here for many years, I sometimes assume I've become accustomed to the rhythm of life in Israel. Then something happens that reminds me that perhaps you never truly get used to it at all.
This past week was another one of those moments.
Once again, millions of people found themselves making their way to bomb shelters as ballistic missiles crossed the skies above the country. No modern nation should have to accept that as part of everyday life. No parent should have to wake a child in the middle of the night because of a siren. And I know every Israeli hopes for the day when these moments belong only to history. Israel has the means, the military, and the will of the people to bring forth such a reality.
But what struck me wasn't that we found ourselves in shelters once again. It was what happened the morning after.
The next morning, I walked outside and experienced something completely normal, nothing particularly unique, and that was exactly what made it special.
Not because any of this is acceptable. Not because missiles targeting your country in the middle of the night is something anyone should normalize. But because what I saw in front of me was something that still, after all the years I have lived here, manages to stop me in my tracks and think “what a country this is to live in”.
The cafés were open. Children were on their way back to school laughing. People returned to work. Restaurants were full. The beaches filled with life. In an instant, the entire country seemed to turn right back on and continue moving forward.
Whether that's normal or not is almost beside the point. It is simply the reality of life here at the moment. And after all we have been through, I still find it remarkable.
You become part of something bigger
People often ask me what it's really like to live in Israel. In fact, I recently wrote about it, my true, no fluff, take on living here. Of course, common topics come up such as the beaches, the weather, the food, or perhaps the challenges of adapting to a new culture.
Those things are all true.
But I usually find myself thinking about something much deeper.
When you move to Israel, in some way you become part of a force that is larger than yourself. Whether you like it or not, you are engulfed by a collective will to continue in what are sometimes completely abnormal and insane circumstances. You join a society that has quietly decided that no matter what happens, life will press forward. Businesses will continue to open. Families will continue to grow. Children will continue to laugh. Entrepreneurs will continue to build. Communities will continue to thrive.
There is a resilience here that doesn't feel forced or theatrical. People don't wake up every morning talking about resilience. They simply live it. One could say "well, you don't really have a choice", and while there is truth to that, Israelis don't wave the victim card.
In fact, I’m going to say something that might rub some people the wrong way, but I feel it needs to be said: when there’s a flare up of sorts, whether that’s ballistic missiles, drones, soldiers dying, I’ll talk to someone from abroad who says “I’m so sorry for you guys”.
Now, I know it comes from a good place, but I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t seriously ring a nerve.
We didn’t choose to be the most hunted nation on the planet. We took that role upon ourselves for the Jewish people along time ago. You are welcome to join if you’d like. And yet, we stand here proudly in spite of every force that seeks our annihilation. Those soldiers who gave their lives knew exactly what was at stake. Do not feel bad for them. Do not feel bad for us. Feel bad that you aren’t here living through Jewish history unfolding in real time. We wouldn’t have it any other way.
And it must be recognized, the unfathomable amount of sadness, despair, and loss the State of Israel has endured is real. Everyone living here is carrying an emotional toll that has forever changed us. That’s the cost of being a free people in our land and doing what is necessary to defend it.
And yet, a big part of that resilience is simply this: wake up the next morning after ballistic missiles rained down on the country, put your shoes on, and walk out the damn door with your head held high.
That’s why we are who we are. That’s why we succeed the way we do. It's not something that is taught. It runs in our veins. I guess that's the Jewish story after all. And living in Israel is the most raw form of that story. And perhaps that's what makes it so powerful.
The quiet strength of everyday life
There’s a shared understanding that while we cannot always control the challenges placed in front of us, we can control how we respond to them.
I think that is one of the reasons so many things about Israel seem to defy logic.
People abroad often ask how the economy remains dynamic during periods of enormous external pressure. They ask how innovation continues, why people keep investing, and why so many continue to build their futures here despite the uncertainty.
I don't pretend to have all of the answers. But I do know that when you watch an entire nation wake up after a difficult 24 hours and simply get on with living, you begin to understand that resilience here is not a slogan.
Perhaps it's no coincidence that over the last two years, through all of it, the Tel Aviv stock market has outperformed the S&P 500 by over 75%. The market, it seems, has been watching the same thing I have. And behind those numbers are real people creating, investing, innovating.
Why this gives me confidence
As time goes on, the more I realize that my optimism is not really built on economic indicators.
It's built on people.
It's built on the fact that men and women today still give up their valuable time for a greater cause. It's built on the business owner who opens his doors the morning after missiles rained down the night before. It's built on the thousands of brave warriors who left everything behind - families, businesses, livelihoods, and walked past enemy lines without certainty they would ever come back. Without question. Without pity. With pure determination and a clear understanding of what is at stake.
I fought side by side with many of these warriors. And even I look up to them as my heroes. It's built on the realization that despite all the challenges this country has faced throughout its history, the instinct here is not simply to survive. It's to build, to create, to excel, and to move forward.
And in many ways, adversity only strengthens that determination.
For anyone abroad considering aliyah or purchasing property in Israel, I think this is something important to understand.
You are not simply buying into a real estate market. You are not simply moving to another country. You are joining a society that has repeatedly demonstrated an extraordinary ability to absorb hardship without losing its optimism about tomorrow.
Looking ahead
I sincerely hope for quieter and more peaceful years ahead. I hope that future generations know fewer sirens and more ordinary mornings.
But I also know that the resilience that carries Israel through difficult times will still be here long after those difficult times pass.
After all these years, that is still the one thing about this country that doesn’t get old. And it is also what gives me the greatest confidence about its future.
- Noah Sander is a Canadian-born real estate agent based in Tel Aviv, specializing in helping international buyers and new olim navigate the Israeli property market. Founder of ZionistInvestor.com. Reach him directly: [email protected]