Is a year of study in Israel for everyone? Lately, I’m not so sure.

I had the privilege of attending Machon Gold in 1974, the year immediately following the Yom Kippur War. The country was still in shock. We lived through terror attacks and followed the news with a somber intensity. Our school held regular current-events briefings that taught us more than facts — they taught us the pulse of the nation. We were encouraged not only to love the land, but to understand its heartbeat. We didn’t feel like bystanders; we felt woven into the fabric of Israeli life.

Weekends were an adventure. I spent Shabbat in Kiryat Shmona and in towns along the way, traveling the length and breadth of the country. Our classes were taught ivrit b’ivrit — full immersion. I kept meticulous journals that I treasure to this day, and I now share those memories with my children and grandchildren.

Communication with home was rare. I poured a lifetime onto a single thin blue aerogramme. I spoke to my parents exactly twice that entire year — once before Yom Kippur and once before Pesach. To make those three-minute calls, I stood in a long line at the main post office on Jaffa Road.

Of course, I struggled. My journals reveal how homesick I was. But within that longing, I developed coping skills and problem-solving abilities that have served me for a lifetime.

Somewhere along the way, however, the “Year in Israel” shifted from an extraordinary experience into a product.

As acceptance and rejection letters from yeshivot and seminaries arrive, the questions parents ask on social media are rarely about curriculum or spiritual growth. Instead, the focus has shifted:

Amenities: Are there three meals a day? Can specific dietary needs be met?

Logistics: What happens on Shabbat? Will my child need to arrange their own housing?

Costs: How do we manage the ever-rising tuition?

The raw excitement of studying with exceptional teachers and experiencing the triumphs — and challenges — of Israeli life seems muted. More troubling is the advice quietly shared among parents: conceal your child’s struggles during the admissions process.

As a social worker who has worked with students for years, I know this rarely ends well. Challenges hidden in September inevitably surface by November.

We must acknowledge a difficult truth: a post-high school year in Israel is not for everyone. For some students, a junior year abroad or a program after college — when they are more independent and grounded — may be far more meaningful.

Through my professional work, I have come to understand both the rhythm of the year and the specific challenges these young adults face. In an ideal world, we would adjust the traditional calendar while still protecting the integrity of the experience. I would suggest:

Prep Work: Begin with structured online learning before arrival in Israel to build anticipation and clarify expectations.

Strategic Timing: Start the in-Israel portion after the High Holidays and continue straight through to Pesach. This minimizes disruption and discourages the “revolving door” of frequent family visits.

Reflective Closing: Return home for Pesach and conclude with guided online reflection and integration, allowing students to synthesize their growth.

A systemic shift may not happen overnight. But parents can change the conversation today.

Move beyond amenities and toward intentionality. Ask not what comforts are provided, but what growth is possible.

Set Goals Together: Create a shared “growth plan” with scheduled check-ins.

Preview the Learning: Request the curriculum so expectations are clear.

Plan Proactively: If your child takes medication, confirm availability in Israel well in advance. Planning prevents crisis.

Empower — Don’t Hover: Research Shabbat and holiday options together now so you won’t feel compelled to micromanage later.

A year in Israel has the power to be transformative — not because it is comfortable, but because it stretches the soul.

When we approach this year with honesty, maturity, and clarity of purpose, it ceases to be something to consume. It becomes what it was always meant to be: a formative encounter with responsibility, resilience, and identity — one that can shape a life long after the suitcase is unpacked.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)