They’re strangers in a strange land – Israelis who fled their homes in the wake of the Oct. 7 massacre and ensuing war against Hamas and Hezbollah.
For some, their homes have been under siege from a nonstop barrage of rockets, while others still bear the deep scars of conflict and seek a sense of peace.
While some 60,000 Israelis from the north of the Jewish homeland are still displaced, most in temporary housing or hotels throughout the country, others have started a new life a world away, not knowing if or when they’ll return home.
Teen feels guilt for missing military service
Korin Katanov was supposed to be enjoying her final year of high school in her lifelong home of Sderot, about a mile from the Gaza border in southern Israel.
The 17-year-old would have been prepping for her upcoming military service – compulsory for all Israelis turning 18 and something she dreamed about her entire life.
Instead, she’s been living with extended relatives in Roslyn, LI.
“I feel really guilty that I’m here,” she told The Post. “I’m at the age that I’m supposed to go to the army and protect my country and I’m here.
“My whole life, the army protected me. And now it’s my turn,” she lamented. “I’m not there.”
Her border town of 30,000 is among the most battered places in the country. Weary residents have lived under relentless rocket fire since Israel’s 2005 withdrawal from Gaza.
“You just can’t have a normal childhood,” said the soft-spoken teen, noting that air raid sirens give residents about seven seconds to get to safety.
“My first memory of my childhood is running to the shelter. Every few meters there’s bomb shelters.”
Still, it’s the heart of the city that makes it home.
“The people are amazing – we look out for each other,” she said.
“As a girl, I would never be afraid to go outside alone.”
But on Oct. 7, terrorists overran the local police station and killed 35 officers and civilians inside, leaving the building in ruins.
The girl and her family – including her parents and two younger siblings, 15 and 13 – survived the attack by hiding in the safe room, with mom darting for kitchen knives as terrorists shot at their apartment building.
Two days later, residents were ordered to evacuate.
The next month, the family arrived in New York.
The quiet rhythm of life in the suburbs can be confusing.
“I came here and asked, ‘Why is it so quiet?’ In my experience, quiet means something bad is about to happen.”
After living with nightmares and panic attacks, Katanov is trying to embrace her new chapter.
“I didn’t think I would ever be here, but I’m not going to waste this chance. I’m not mad – I’m excited to start this life.”
She feels “older than the other kids by decades.”
Visiting Manhattan for the first time was exhilarating, but encountering anti-Israel protests felt like a gut punch.
“I heard it was happening, but couldn’t believe it was so bad,” she said of last year’s Times Square rally with what felt like “thousands” of protesters supporting terror.
“We’ve experienced terrorism. They have no idea who they’re supporting.”
IN THEIR 70s AND STARTING OVER
Georgette and Aharon Shtern always imagined their golden years living in their northern Israel home where they raised four children.
But their battered border town, Kiryat Shmona, two kilometers from the Lebanon border, has been under daily rocket fire from Iran’s terror proxies since Oct. 8, and the Shterns are now nomads.
The residents have been there before.
Fifty years ago, while at work as a carpenter, Ahahon’s mother and sister were among 18 murdered in a terror attack, known as the Kiryat Shmona Massacre.
The city of 25,000 is now a “ghost town,” with mostly essential workers and the town’s mayor, their son, Avichai, remaining.
The couple is now adjusting to living with their daughter, Idit, and her family on Long Island.
“As much as we’re surrounded by love over here, my heart and head are still in Israel,” said Aharon, 74.
“It’s not home – we have only one home.”
“There’s no end. We don’t know if or when we’ll go back home,” said Georgette, 72.
“I’m just hoping I have a house to go back to.”
The stress got so bad this past year that she started vomiting, developed depression and high blood pressure – even making an emergency visit to the hospital for a catheterization.
“It’s been a crazy year,” Georgette said.
“I’m taking antidepressants – for the first time ever in my life.”
They never imagined their golden years would look like this.
“We’re too old to start over, like other people – at our age, it’s the hardest, because we’re stuck.”
“It’s my house, my heart, my everything is there. I plan to go back,” Aharon vowed defiantly.
“It’s important because I lost my mom and my sister – and that’s where I’ll be. We’re never giving up on our home.”
FEELS LIKE I’M A SINGLE PARENT
While she and her three young children are starting over in Williamsburg, Laura Friedenberg said last saw her husband of 11 years, Dani, in July.
There’s Facetime and video chats, but it’s not the same since the winemaker, who’s in the middle of his busy season, is back home in Israel while she and the kids seek refuge in Brooklyn.
“We were very heavily impacted by the war,” said Friedenberg, 37, who’s lived in Israel for the past 12 years.
Being in the bubble of New York, Friedenberg appreciates how much more her children — aged 9, 4 and 1 — can breathe.
The oldest “is so deeply relieved – just for the fact that she could hear airplanes and know it’s not something imminent,” said the mom.
“I didn’t realize how much she wasn’t relaxed.”
But there are flashes of fear, like when her 4-year-old asked the doctor where the safe room was during a a recent appointment.
“You don’t have to worry about that here,” her 9-year-old sister assured her.
Back in Israel, in the weeks after Oct. 7, the family slept in a bomb shelter every night. “It was terrifying,” recalled the mom, a former lactation consultant.
Life is quieter in Brooklyn, where she lives with her parents, but it has its challenges.
“Now, it’s a different kind of imminent danger.”
“A year ago, I would say, ‘I’d never live in New York – it’s terrible, the antisemitism,’” she said of the hostile climate on college campuses and in rallies.
“But now that I’m here, I see it’s very different kinds of dangers.”
“Antisemitism is upsetting, but when Iran bombed us in April, I thought we were going to die,” she said.
“Those are different dangers.”
