In this week’s piece, I’m sharing a very deep and close-up experience I had since the outbreak of the war on October 7, how it changed me, and how the ripple effect has changed our entire reality.
Ever since I enlisted as a lone soldier in special forces years ago, at the end of every training exercise, be it in active duty or reserve duty, our commanders would give the same speech.
What fighting on the front lines taught me about real estate
(Video: Noah Sander)
Something along the lines of: "Lebanon is coming. Gaza is coming. Be ready."
And every single time, the only thing all of us were thinking or muttering under our breath was: “Would you just wrap up your damn speech and let us go home already?”
Then October 7th happened.
Into the unknown
Right at the onset of the war, like many, my unit got drafted. Before we could properly fathom the scale of what was happening, we found ourselves going into live combat zones in and around the Kibbutzim of Southern Israel. It was like a bunch of wild zoo animals got loose all over the South. Except this was much worse, and armed terrorists acting alone or in pairs were looking to inflict as much carnage as possible.
Even a week after October 7, there were still terrorists scurrying either in the fields or between buildings. Often, we would be driving in our hummer convoy, only to come under fire from a lone terrorist hiding and have to jump out and neutralize the threat. I remember one soldier barely two hummers ahead of us had a bullet hit his helmet and bounce off. Luckily, he was only shaken up, but the seriousness of it all began to set in.
I also remember the first Shabbat after October 7th. We were driving back to base in the evening through Kiryat Malachi. The air was heavy and eerie, no one walking, no children playing, the shock of what had happened still sitting over the entire country like a weight.
But as we drove through the residential streets, entire families were out on their balconies. With their children. Waving. Cheering. You could see in their faces how grateful they were - grateful in a way that went beyond words. Several of the guys in my hummer (including myself) were choked up. It was one of the most raw and powerful moments I had experienced.
Fast forward to the early days of December, trained, ready and confident, in the dark of night, our unit crossed into the southern part of the Gaza Strip. No one spoke much. There was nothing left to say that hadn't already been said. We had trained for something like this for years, brushed off the warnings, gone home to our families, and now here we were - crossing into the unknown in the middle of the night with the weight of what had happened on October 7th sitting on every one of us.
While I won't detail the operations we carried out there, I will say this:
What I experienced in there - ground forces, armored corps, and air support working in unprecedented coordination, carrying out missions in some of the most complex and dangerous urban terrain imaginable – the scenes I witnessed there is something no movie producer could recreate. The sheer capability of what the Jewish people have built in seventy-seven years. To be a part of that, I was filled with a sense of pride and determination in a way I had never felt before.
I come from a direct bloodline of Holocaust survivors. My family knows what it means to be a Jew with no army, no state, no means of fighting back. Barely eighty years ago, our people were led like cattle to death camps defenseless.
I also carried things that are harder to describe.
Lighting the Menorah in the house of a terrorist. Thinking about the story of Hanukkah - the Jewish people, against all odds, reclaiming what was theirs. The symbolism of that moment was so real, so historically dense, that I remember thinking what a bizarre set of circumstances to be in.
Knowing that beneath our feet, hostages were being held. Our people. In tunnels. Held by the most vicious and cruel beings known to man. And that we were above them, unable to reach them. That ‘knowing’ sat in my chest in a way that I still don't have the right words for.
(Photo: Noah Sander)
And then there were the moments that, to this day, one does not ever fully process. Teammates who, only minutes before I had been talking to - did not come back. In a blink of an eye, gone. No longer with us.
And here I was, in 2023, part of the strongest fighting force the Jewish people have ever known, pushing back against the same forces of hatred that have followed us through history. The magnitude of that, and walking amongst those brave men, is something I will carry for the rest of my life. And even though I fought shoulder to shoulder with them, I quite literally look up to them as my heroes.
Coming home
And then you come home.
As if you just woke up from a vivid dream, you open your eyes in your own bed after sleeping for months with full combat gear on, the sounds of war and being in a constant heightened state of awareness 24/7.
And then you’re just supposed to go back to your everyday routine?
I noticed something when I returned, especially in Tel Aviv, an almost annoying level of normality. People out in bars. Restaurants filled. Beaches packed. And I remember thinking: are you people unaware that there are thousands of us who haven't showered for literally months, sleeping on the ground in the middle of an active war zone in the heart of Gaza? Have you no shame?
But then I'd have a moment of clarity.
Isn't this exactly what we're fighting for? So the people of Israel can live as normal a life as possible during these crazy times. Resisting the urge to live would be the opposite of what we would want to see. And that is the whole point.
And that's where the story gets harder to tell. Not because of what happened in Gaza, but because of what happened after.
I remember the first time I went back to work. Showing a property. Talking about square meters and parking and which floor gets the best light. And something in me just couldn't find it. Couldn't find the meaning in what I was doing anymore. The extreme feeling of emptiness. I had just come from one of the most historically meaningful experiences a Jew could have in this era. And now I was talking about build finishes.
And to be completely honest, part of me missed being with the guys carrying out missions deep in enemy territory. No, I don’t crave war; none of us do, but that feeling of brotherhood, the deep sense of meaning, and the weight of responsibility was something that had me in a flow state. It’s deeply rewarding.
For months I kept asking myself the same question.
“What do I sell property now, seriously?”
Not in anger and not in bitterness. Just in genuine confusion, with a sprinkle of cynicism. I had loved what I did before October 7th. I believed in it. But after coming back from combat, the gap between what I had experienced and what I was doing every day felt difficult to bridge. Like going from watching color film in the IMAX back to a black-and-white screen.
It took the better part of a year before something shifted.
(Photo: Noah Sander)
The realization
What changed internally was a response to external events.
As the months passed after October 7th, something was happening in the Diaspora that no one could ignore. Antisemitism at levels not seen since before the Second World War. Jewish students afraid on university campuses. Communities that had felt safe for generations suddenly feeling exposed. Jews in Western countries who had never thought much about Israel - who had been comfortable, integrated, at home, suddenly confronting the reality that nowhere outside of Israel is guaranteed.
And I realized something that I hadn't seen clearly before.
What I do every day is not separate from what I did with my reserve unit. It is the same mission. Expressed differently. In a different environment but pointing at the same thing.
We fight to protect the Jewish homeland. Every day in my work, I help Jews find their way to it. Whether that's today - making Aliyah, planting roots, building a life here, or whether that's years from now. When circumstances have shifted and a family needs to know there's somewhere to come home to, I am facilitating the same homecoming. One client at a time.
Before October 7, conversations with clients always had Zionism connected to it, but more often than not, it was from a place of love for Israel from a distance, and having a holiday home here would be nice to have.
This time around was different. I would meet clients in Israel, and they would tell me this is the first time in months they felt relaxed, they felt welcomed. They felt safe. They felt at home. Ironically, they are telling me this while the entire country is in the midst of a multifront war. But I get it.
I could see their eyes water as they spoke of what they are experiencing outside Israel. The pain, the isolation, the shock and difficulty abroad as a Jew was real.
In that moment, I realized this was way beyond anything I imagined. For the first time since coming back to civilian life, my work felt significant again.
Not because selling real estate is glamorous. It isn't always. But because what it represents, what it means in this precise moment in Jewish history, is extraordinary. Jews are coming home. Not just because Israel is a miracle (though it is), but also because the world outside is reminding them, in ways that are becoming impossible to ignore, that Israel is necessary.
Today, when transactions are completed, it’s no longer just a joyous celebratory atmosphere, but rather a highly emotional one. Clients are on the verge of tears in happiness, and a massive sigh of relief ensues.
And I have a front row seat to that. And a direct role in making it possible.
(Photo: Noah Sander)
The mission
That realization is what led me to build Zionist Investor.
Because I can help people one by one in my day-to-day work. And I do that everyday. Every conversation, every deal, every family that crosses the threshold from dreaming about Israel to owning something here - that matters to me deeply.
But I want something bigger. I believe Israel is on the cusp of another mass Aliyah event. Maybe her largest to date. And we need to be ready. So, I built a centralized starting point. A place where anyone anywhere in the world could begin their property journey in Israel without feeling lost or overwhelmed. And when ready, be guided by people who actually understand what that journey means.
If El Al is the airline that brings Jews home to Israel, may Zionist Investor be the platform that helps them buy their piece of it.
Every deal I close now carries a weight it didn't before October 7th. Every buyer I sit across from is not just a client. They are someone who has decided that Israel is part of their future. And helping them get there - clearly, honestly, effectively is my Schlichut. The thing I was supposed to be doing.
The mission is helping our brothers and sisters come home. Real estate is simply the vehicle. The war didn't take that from me. It took a long time to find it again. But when I did, my vision was 20/20. Some things you only understand after you've been through something that changes your entire reality.
The war stripped everything away. And what took shape after was something much bigger and significant than I could have ever imagined. And now I have the opportunity to play my part, off the battlefield. For now.
- 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]