Coming Home: Why I Left Europe to Be Proudly Israeli

I’m a musician. I’m Israeli. And more than anything, I am the son of a people that has survived, created, and dreamed, even when the world tried to dim our light.

For 19 years, I lived in Amsterdam. A beautiful city, open, creative, cultural. It embraced me when I arrived: a young artist with dreams, guitar in hand, music in heart. I performed across Europe, collaborated with musicians from every background, and built a life in a place I admired.

But slowly, and always subtly at first, that welcome wore thin.

It began with small questions. Quiet looks. Uneasy silences.

“You’re from Israel?” “What do you think about what your country is doing?” “You’re Jewish, right?”

They weren’t attacks. Not at first. But over time, the meaning behind them sharpened.

My name, my identity, even my music - began to feel like a burden. A Jewish burden. An Israeli burden.

Hiding in Plain Sight

I told myself, as many do, that it would pass. That I could rise above it. That music, that art, transcends politics, prejudice, and history.

But eventually, I found myself editing who I was. Holding back certain lyrics. Avoiding Hebrew titles. Choosing collaborations that wouldn’t raise questions. And that was the moment I understood: I wasn’t giving up. I was being erased, one small silence at a time.

When even my music couldn’t carry my identity without fear, I knew what I had to do.

I came home.

A Name Without Apology

Today, I live in Rishon LeZion with my wife. We’ve built a life, not in utopia, but in our place.

In Israel, I don’t need to apologize for my name. I don’t need to explain my heritage. I can walk with a kippah, a guitar, or a flag, and not wonder who will cross the street to avoid me.

This is what Zionism always meant to me: A return not just from exile — but from erasure. Not just a physical home, but a spiritual compass.

It’s not about being better than anyone. It’s about finally being allowed to be ourselves.

A Witness to Relevance

I didn’t come home because Israel is perfect. It isn’t. But I came home because here, I can live freely, as a Jew, as an Israeli, as an artist.

And in 2025, that’s not something I take for granted.

So I speak now not just as a musician, but as a witness. A witness to the relevance of Zionism. To its urgency. To the way it still saves lives, not only from rockets or war, but from the slow erasure of being unwelcome.

Zionism is not an outdated idea. It’s not a relic. It’s a right. And for many of us, it’s the only compass that still points us home.

A Message for Jews Everywhere

To every Jew who’s ever been made to feel small, ashamed, or guilty for existing, I say this:

Don’t give up on our story. Don’t let the world decide how Jewish you’re allowed to be. And never forget: the right to live freely as a Jew in a Jewish homeland isn’t a cliché. It’s a privilege.

One that was earned, through sacrifice, through struggle, and through the unbreakable belief that we deserve to be whole.