When War Drowns Out What the Next Generation Needs Most |
As Israel approaches Passover, it is after yet another exhausting month of war.
The headlines are loud. The sirens are louder. Public attention is understandably pulled, toward security, fear, survival, and the immediate crises unfolding in front of us. But beneath the roar of war, something essential is being drowned out: the urgent need to invest in the society our children are inheriting.
This is not a secondary concern. It is not something to return to “when things calm down.” It is one of the central challenges of this moment.
Across Israel, young people are navigating prolonged uncertainty. They are carrying anxiety, grief, disruption, and emotional exhaustion. And at the same time, we expect them to be the generation that will restore trust, community, and hope in Israeli society.
That cannot happen in a vacuum.
In Israel, the next generation includes teenagers from every sector of our social mosaic- Jewish and Arab, secular and religious, from the center and the periphery, with and without disabilities. If we want a stronger and more just society in the years ahead, we must ensure that these young people grow up in spaces that see them as they are, place them at the center, and create the right kinds of connections so that every voice can be heard.
This is not only about education. It is about the moral infrastructure of society.
At Krembo Wings, Israel’s inclusive youth movement for young people with and without disabilities, we see daily what becomes possible when belonging is treated not as a slogan, but as a social responsibility. In branches across the country, young people are actively building friendships across cultural and social divides. They learn to lead together. They discover that inclusion is not an act of charity; it is a way of building a healthier society.
In times of war, this work becomes even more essential.
War narrows life. It reduces people to categories, to fears, to instincts of separation. Inclusion does the opposite. It expands our field of vision. It teaches young people to meet one another in their full humanity. It helps create a generation that does not accept loneliness, exclusion, or social injustice as inevitable.
Rabbi Sacks zl, once explained tikkun olam not as a vague ideal, but as a refusal: a refusal to accept a social wrong that can be repaired, a poverty that can be relieved, an injustice that can be changed. That definition has stayed with me. Because in moments like these, tikkun olam is not abstract. It is deeply practical. It is the daily decision to keep building the relationships, frameworks, and communities that allow people to be seen, heard, and included.
Passover is known in Jewish tradition as zman cheiruteinu – the season of our freedom. This year, that idea feels especially fragile, and especially important. Freedom is not only national. It is also deeply personal and social. It is the freedom to belong. The freedom to participate. The freedom to be recognized not by one’s limitation, label, or background, but by one’s humanity and one’s potential.
There is still so much work to do.
But if the sounds of war are drowning out the deeper needs of this moment, we must be clear: the future of Israel depends not only on how we defend our borders, but on the strength of society we build within them.
And that work cannot wait.