How Many Times Have You Made Aliyah?

Why I Believe We Make Aliyah More Than Once

First Aliyah: Packing Up My Life

I made Aliyah with my family a few days before starting 7th grade. Instead of preparing for my Bat Mitzva, planning my party, and starting middle school, I found myself packing up my life and boarding a one-way El-al flight to Tel Aviv and beyond. I wasn’t asked if this is what I want, but I tagged along and made the best of it. 

I really missed my friends and my grandparents. But I also missed reading books and magazines. English reading material used to be hard to come by. In many ways, music and writing letters to friends and relatives back home replaced my passion for books. Some really special friendships also helped get me through those first years. Before I knew it, I was graduating high school in Jerusalem, verbally and socially bi-lingual. To my parent’s surprise, their dream came true, and I went native. I’m not sure how they felt about it, since we no longer spoke the same language. They’ve slowly come to terms with that, and my own kids grew up bi-lingual, thanks to grandma/grandpa, speaking and reading English to them.

Up until the point of graduating high school, a lot happened. Twists and turns at every corner. Switching schools, moving houses, losing friends (again), making new friends (again), alongside all of the normal challenges a teenage olah chadasha could face. All of those twists and turns, are part of making Aliyah. But none of it really prepared me for the next fork in the road. I’d always sort of planned to return to the US after 12th grade. But one thing led to another, and I embarked on what I call “The second Aliyah.”

Aliyah #2: The IDF Transition

In a way, getting drafted into the IDF is the next natural step for Israelis who graduate high school. Why would I call the next natural step - making Aliyah a second time? Well, because I was Israeli on paper, but I didn’t know the first thing about the IDF (and as olim themselves, neither did my parents). When I got on that bus, I was alone in this new land, a new olah, embarking on the IDF adventure. My parent’s advice to me made no sense in this new land, I was going to have to accustom myself to this new place. Figure things out, and hope for the best. This profound sense of being alone in a new land is exactly why I founded Israel Dream Lab—to ensure no one else has to navigate that isolation without support.

My parents' advice, born of their own immigrant journey, often felt like it was from a different planet. When I entered the IDF, I was alone, cut off from anything they had ever experienced. It wasn't just that they couldn't help me—they couldn't relate to the specific, grinding reality of it. This created a painful, silent gap between us; I felt isolated, and they felt the agony of watching me struggle without the tools to bridge the distance. It’s a common, heartbreaking thread for many children of immigrants. That distance, and the realization that it didn’t have to be that way if we had just had the right framework to talk about our experiences, is exactly why I founded Israel Dream Lab. I want to help families keep the lines of communication open, so they can navigate the journey as a team, instead of two ships passing in the night.

Aliyah #3: Finding My Rhythm in Tel Aviv

Tel Aviv Life

Many people say that the IDF is what made them Israeli. I can understand that, and it’s true. But for me, working as a waitress in Tel Aviv after the army, at a cafe and a restaurant on Dizengoff was the Ulpan that I needed. The 7th grader who made Aliyah wasn’t the same girl as the newly released IDF soldier living in Tel Aviv with a roommate, waiting tables, and interacting with Israelis in real life. Not kids on a playground, but socially, economically, at work, at home, on the street. As a waitress at Kapulsky, I was inundated with Israeli music that I’d heard talked about in high school, but back then, it meant nothing to me. I had my walkman and my mix tapes sent from home. I didn’t need to take interest in Yehuda Policker, Shalom Chanoch, Achinoam Nini, Gali Atari, or Gidi Gov. Those names flew over my head. But the manager of Kalpulsky was dedicated to the Israeli playlist. I can’t remember hardly any English played in that cafe - if at all. The lyrics and tunes of the Israeli top 40 playlist seeped into my consciousness, becoming woven into my identity.

When the Bus #5 Hamas suicide bombing took place on Diezengof, right outside of the other restaurant I worked at, I became part of another side of Israeli culture. I had walked by the restaurant, and all of the front windows were blown off. Those were the days before cellphones, but I didn’t bother going in to work. That night, at the cafe, my second job, the manager closed early. We all walked up to Dizengoff, and lit candles. Hundreds of people, of all ages, lit little tea lights. The sidewalks of Dizengoff were filled with the lights, and teenagers huddled in groups, mourning and comforting each other. The deep regard for lives lost in the streets of our beloved city, moved the people as one, to come out, and share grief together at the place of the atrocity. I’d experienced the Gulf War, with the safe room behind plastic sheeting and masking tape. But this spectacle was new, and reached more deeply than I’d ever known. Processing the heavy emotional weight of that period left me feeling changed, and looking for a new direction.

Not long after the bus #5 pigua, I was accepted to college in the US. I’d applied out of curiosity, not expecting an acceptance letter at all. I didn’t think I had the necessary credentials, with my bagrut certificate and no SAT scores. But once I held that letter in my hand, my mind was made up. I told my room mate to find a replacement, I’m moving back! 

Aliyah #4: The Return

The first couple of years at college were amazing. I had so much dedicating almost all of my time to studying what I love (I was a photo-video-new media major), living off campus, reliving my passion for reading that I gave up when I made Aliyah the first time. Life felt perfect. It’s true that American life took some getting used to. But it wasn’t hard. I was living my 20 year old dream. The people were difficult. They couldn’t relate to me as an Israeli at all. By the time I was a junior, I was arguing with fellow students that just because something is posted on CNN’s website doesn’t mean it’s true. The few Jews I encountered in college were not less challenging. Including the Jewish Department Chair who was outspoken about Israeli policies at every chance. I crashed his talks more than once, to bring the Israeli pov to the gullible college students who really just wanted to pass their classes and didn’t actually care what was going on in Israel. However, it stung that the anti-Israel narrative brought by Jewish faculty leaders was being spread after the Oslo Peace Accords had been signed, and Israel was supposedly at peace with the Palestinians according to the principle of land for peace. 

By the time I was a senior, I had grown frustrated by the campus culture, regarding everything related to being Israeli. I considered grad school. But I felt like I needed to be with my people. I missed my friends, Israeli food, and sunshine. Enough of this horrid exile. I’m going home. 

Since I already had an Israeli passport, I didn’t need to do much but pack and buy a ticket (thanks, mom). And that’s how I landed back at my parent’s house, with 2 suitcases full of art work, art supplies, and enough Zionism to keep me going for decades.

Despite the extreme motivation, after the excitement wore off, I faced quite a few challenges. Bituach Leumi welcomed me with a hefty bill. Who knew that when you leave the country, even if you’re a student, you still have to pay Bituach Leumi monthly. Not me. I tried to dispute it, but their logic at the end of the day made sense. “You were covered with Kupat Cholim,” they said. “At any time you could have returned [to Israel] and received medical care,” I just wish I had known this, and saved on my health insurance policy in the states. I divided the monsterous sum into a bunch of payments, and eventually we were square.

My Israeli friends hadn’t returned from their travels in the 3rd world. I was the only one of my friends with a college degree and a career path in their mid twenties. At the same time, with my fancy American education, I was overqualified for most job positions. It didn’t help a lot in the job market, because having studied abroad, I didn't have the connections that could help me land those first job interviews. Luckily, I’m creative, and the dot com boom was reaching it’s peak. I made some adaptations to my skills, taught myself html, javascript, and flash code. I took the first step and haven’t looked back.

Looking back, I realized something surprising: I hadn’t made Aliyah once; I’d made it four different times. And the fifth one? That one is still in progress. Your Aliyah journey is unique, but you don’t have to navigate the transition alone. If you are looking for support in building your life in Israel, schedule a consultation or explore my resources for families. I help families navigate these emotional and cultural shifts so they can land softly and belong.

How many times have you made Aliyah?

About the Author

Lee Uzziah is an Israeli educational counselor, writer, photographer, and the founder of Israel Dream Lab. After making aliyah as a teenager in 1987, she has spent nearly four decades building a life in Israel while working at the intersection of education, counseling, and the creative arts. Drawing on expertise in educational counseling, expressive arts therapy, bibliotherapy, phototherapy, and curriculum design, she creates evidence-informed resources that help Jewish teens and families navigate the emotional, educational, and cultural challenges of life before, during, and after aliyah.

Rather than focusing only on logistics, Lee’s work explores the deeper questions of identity, belonging, resilience, and transition. Through practical guides, creative journals, workshops, and personalized counseling, she helps families land softly—and build lives that truly feel like home.

Her work combines evidence-based educational practice with the transformative power of storytelling, photography, writing, and creative reflection—helping families not only move to Israel, but belong there.

Every family’s aliyah story is different. Whether you’re still dreaming, actively planning, or already settling into life in Israel, Israel Dream Lab offers practical resources, creative tools, and professional guidance to help you navigate the journey with greater confidence and connection.