They are strangers in a strange land. He is an Israeli who fled his home in the wake of the October 7 massacre and the ensuing war between Hamas and Hezbollah.
Some have their homes besieged by a constant barrage of rocket fire, while others still bear the deep scars of the conflict and seek peace.
Some 60,000 Israelis from the northern part of the Jewish homeland remain displaced, most living in temporary housing and hotels across the country, but are uncertain whether and when they will return home. Some people do not understand this and leave Earth to start a new life.
Teen feels guilty for missing military service
Colin Katanov should have been enjoying his final year of high school in his lifelong hometown of Sderot, about a mile from the Gaza border in southern Israel.
At 17 years old, she would have been preparing for military service, which is mandatory for all Israelis who turn 18, and which she had dreamed of all her life.
Instead, she lives with relatives in Rosalyn, Louisiana.
“I feel really guilty that I’m here,” she told the Post. “I am old enough to go into the military and protect my country, and here I am.
“All my life, the military has protected me, and now it's my turn,” she lamented. “I'm not there.”
Her border town of 30,000 people is one of the most devastated places in the country. Since Israel withdrew from Gaza in 2005, exhausted residents have lived under relentless rocket fire.
“It's impossible to have a normal childhood,” said the soft-spoken teenager, noting that an air raid siren takes about seven seconds for residents to reach safety.
“My first memory as a child was running to the evacuation center. Every few meters there was a bomb shelter.”
Still, home is in the city center.
“The people are great. We look out for each other,” she said.
“As a girl, you'll never be afraid to go out on your own.”
But on October 7, terrorists overran the local police station, killing 35 police officers and civilians inside, and the building was left in ruins.
The girl and her family, including her parents and her two younger brothers, ages 15 and 13, survived the attack by hiding in a safe room while her mother ran to retrieve a knife as terrorists gunned down the apartment.
Two days later, residents were ordered to evacuate.
The following month, the family arrived in New York.
The quiet rhythm of life in the suburbs can be disruptive.
“I came here and asked, 'Why is it so quiet?' In my experience, quiet means something bad is about to happen.”
Katanov, who has suffered from nightmares and panic attacks, is coming to terms with a new chapter.
“I never expected to be here, but I'm not going to waste this opportunity. I'm not mad – I'm excited to start this life.”
She feels “decades older than the other kids.”
I was elated when I first visited Manhattan, but when I encountered anti-Israel protests, I felt gutted.
“I heard it was happening, but I couldn't believe it was this bad,” he said of last year's Times Square rally, which felt like “thousands” of protesters supporting terrorism. she said.
“We have experienced terrorism. They have no idea who they are supporting.”
Starting over in my 70s
Georgette and Aharon Stern have always imagined their golden years living in their home in northern Israel and raising their four children there.
However, the devastated border town of Kiryat Shmona, 2 kilometers from the Lebanese border, has been under daily rocket attack from Iranian terrorist proxies since October 8, and the Shtan people are now nomads.
Residents have been there before.
Fifty years ago, Ahahon's mother and younger sister, who worked as a carpenter, were among them. 18 people killed in terrorist attack The attack known as the Kiryat Shmona Massacre.
The town of 25,000 people is now a “ghost town”, with most essential workers, the mayor and his son Avichai remaining.
The couple is currently adjusting to living on Long Island with their daughter Idit and her family.
“We are surrounded by love here, but my heart and mind are still in Israel,” said Aharon, 74.
“This is not a home. We only have one home.”
“It's never over. I don't know if or when I'll be able to go home,” said Georgette, 72.
“I hope I have a home to go to.”
The stress got so bad over the past year that she started vomiting, developed depression and high blood pressure, and had to rush to the hospital for a catheterization.
“It’s been a crazy year,” Georgette said.
“I’m on antidepressants – for the first time in my life.”
They never imagined their golden age would be like this.
“Like everyone else, we're too old to start over. At our age, that's the hardest thing to do, because you're stuck.”
“This is my home, my heart, everything about me is there. I'm going back,” Aharon vowed defiantly.
“This is important because I lost my mother and sister, and this is where I am. We will never give up our home.”
feel like I'm a single parent
Laura Friedenberg, who is starting over in Williamsburg with her three young children, said she last saw her husband of 11 years, Dani, in July.
There's Facetime and video chat, but things aren't the same as the winemaker, who is in the midst of a busy season, is back in her hometown in Israel while sheltering in Brooklyn with her children.
“We were very affected by the war,” said Friedenberg, 37, who has lived in Israel for the past 12 years.
Inside the bubble in New York, Friedenberg realized how much breathing space her children, ages 9, 4, and 1, can give.
The eldest child “heard the plane and just knowing it wasn't imminent was such a relief,” the mother said.
“I didn't realize how unrelaxed she was.”
But there are also scary moments, like when her 4-year-old asked a doctor during a recent doctor's appointment where the safe room was.
“You don't have to worry about that here,” her 9-year-old sister assured her.
For several weeks after returning to Israel on October 7, the family slept in an air raid shelter every night. “It was terrifying,” the mother, a former lactation consultant, recalls.
Life is quieter in Brooklyn, where she lives with her parents, but it also has its challenges.
“Now there is a different kind of immediate danger.”
“A year ago, I was saying, 'I'm never going to live in New York. It's horrible, it's anti-Semitism,'” she said of the hostile atmosphere on campus and at gatherings.
“But now that we're here, we see that it's a completely different kind of danger.”
“Anti-Semitism is upsetting, but when Iran bombed us in April, I thought we were going to die,” she said.
“Those are different dangers.”
