I arrived in Israel as part of the Birthright Israel Onward Storytellers Program, with a dynamic group of creators from across the globe intent on gaining perspective on the region.

Many people in my group were short-form enthusiasts, but I repeatedly insisted on the power of long-form storytelling. So here are some long-form thoughts on my experience:

While Israelis wear their resilience on their sleeves, I was struck by the psychological weight they’ve gained since Oct 7.

When I learned that the word grief in Hebrew was “evel,” I asked if it was linked to the word “even,” which means rock. A native speaker was surprised by this question, but couldn’t refute the connection.

Coincidences in the Holy Land often feel like Divine signs. Maybe they are.

On our first day, while walking through the Old City in Jerusalem, I lost the Hamsa pendant I bought on my last visit; it slipped right off my neck.

My first sign!

That pendant was now burrowed in the pocket of cobblestone streets older than the prophets. What literal symbol would I replace it with?

After a tear-soaked visit to the Kotel, where I jammed a wish-filled note in the cracks of the ancient wall, we visited the Temple Mount, a jarring surprise to our group to even be allowed in.

At one of the holiest places in Jewish and Muslim culture, I was not moved by the archeological marvel, but by the human connection — in the thoughtful dialogue I began with our Palestinian tour guide, in an effort to understand his experience.

It was not lost on me that we were a living bridge of peace, in the most contentious location between our cultures. I doubt it was lost on him either.

We hugged goodbye later that day, and wished each other well, speaking to the individual but praying for our collectives.

The next day we visited the harrowing sites of the Oct. 7 massacres at the Nova festival and Kibbutz Nir Oz. I was surprised at how unsurprised I was, scarred by the gutting imagery that the attack had become sadly associated with.

We then went to the great expanse of the Negev Desert, with its Grand Canyon-like Godliness. We spoke to our creator in the darkness of the night, looking for more answers — but, again, I was left with more questions.

The signs were unclear and I was getting frustrated.

We then came to Tel Aviv, a city that always feels just right with its bustling multi-culturalism, charming architecture, undeniable food, and endless gorgeous faces. 

I could live here, I thought. With the state of the world, maybe sooner rather than later.

I thrived on my own, with long walks away from the group, sipping delicious coffee and reaffirming why I love this country so much. The solitude energized my urge to make the world understand what Israel really is. How they would see if they only came here for themselves!

But we cannot make people see what they don’t want to see. We can only lead by example and hope that our changes inspire them, or at the very least, confront them.

Our meaningful journey, carefully curated by Yael Adventures, was coming to an end.

I left this chapter of my trip inspired by a group of young leaders expressing their values online to move hearts and minds through food, fashion, humor, and culture.

The odds are against us.

As I told them, my family is Israeli, so I have no choice but to be an outspoken advocate. The others have a harder choice, one that their peers reject violently and without nuance. And yet they choose to stand with Jewish pride in the land we are told we don’t deserve, but relentlessly reminded why we need.

I am grateful to this group for teaching me so much about their stories and about my own. Among them, I even made some true friends, a task that gets increasingly harder in a world saturated with false idols and inauthentic lives.

After the organized trip, I visited my family in the North, the only extended family I have. As we sat down for Shabbat dinner, I felt the feeling of home that people often describe when their tribe is together. When you live across the world from yours, a puzzle piece of your soul reattaches for even the shortest reconnection.

The next day, on a walk with my cousin, I ran into a childhood friend. I had met him on my family’s sabbatical in Israel when I was 12 years old. He no longer lived in the village, but happened to be visiting the same day as me, walking the same trail at the same time.

Another sign. 

I had lived there at an age where life events are consequential to our personalities and trajectory. It reminded me of the confidence this place instilled in me, which has carried me throughout my life. If nothing else, I owe it to these people for the confidence they gave me — to remind them of how special they truly are, regardless of what the rest of the world thinks. To lighten the load of the “even” from the “evel.”

I visited my Father’s grave, a beautiful stone structure built for only the most epic of men. He rests exactly where he belongs, overlooking the land of his forefathers, beside his fellow countrymen. 

His tombstone is labeled “Professor.” I questioned what identity I would want written on my own. I didn’t have an answer.

As a multi-hyphenate, I don’t do well with labels, or perhaps have yet to land on my own personal definition.

The trip ended with a cherished day of filming for my upcoming movie, continuing the long journey to tell a story I can’t wait to share with you all. It turns out that it doesn’t matter where I am in the world — if I’m making art on my own terms, I come alive.

This sign couldn’t be clearer.

It would be borderline blasphemous to not acknowledge the Divinity of using my God-given gifts in my ancestral homeland.

Perhaps I was right to be in this cohort after all. A true “hero’s journey,” I came back home changed, and armed with fresh perspective and new tools to do what I do best — tell stories. I guess I don’t need a new pendant for that.

No matter your background, I hope you’ll visit Israel and see it for yourself someday. It may not have all your answers, but, like me, it may leave you with new questions to explore. 

And if you don’t, that’s OK too. I’ll be back again very soon, and eat enough Shawarma for the both of us.

Ari Frenkel is an actor, writer and filmmaker. He is known for his on-screen work in Amazon’s I’m A Virgo, HBO’s Silicon Valley, FX’s American Crime Story, and much more. He is the creator and star of the award-winning digital series Sorry, Ari. He is currently in production for his debut feature film, See You on the Other Side. Visit his Instagram, and website.