A warzone welcome for olah who arrived hours ahead of Iran attack

Hours later, the sirens began.

It was her first night in Israel.

Karlin’s journey to aliyah started over two decades ago, when she first visited Israel on a NFTY Reform Jewish Youth Movement trip.

“Even at 17, I felt something I couldn’t describe. Like I belonged here,” she said. That feeling persisted through her twenties and thirties, as she built a successful career in the US in personal training and health management.

After October 7, 2023, Karlin could no longer sit on the sidelines. She hosted a event in Los Angeles, raising $22,000 in 10 days for Israeli hospitals. NGO Healthcare for Israel learned of Karlin’s efforts, connecting her to a fundraising director opportunity at a hospital in northern Israel, Bnai Zion Medical Center.

That grassroots initiative brought her into contact with healthcare organizations and deepened her resolve, working as a fundraising director.

Then, after surviving the 2024 Los Angeles wildfires and evacuating her home, she had a moment of clarity.

“It’s not about things. It’s about meaning, memories, and doing what you’re meant to do. That day, I called my parents and said: ‘I’m moving to Israel.’”

Karlin arrived in Tel Aviv with five overweight suitcases and a plan to start quietly.

“I booked a dream Airbnb to treat myself to a peaceful transition,” she said.

But the attacks from Iran began almost immediately.

“I had no idea where the bomb shelter was, and I found myself panicking under a staircase that wasn’t even covered.”

With no Israeli phone number yet, Karlin’s phone didn’t receive other nationwide emergency alerts. At one point, she ran up to a stranger and asked to enter their car and shelter. “I was terrified. I had no idea where to go. That was Day Two.”

The psychological toll was immediate: insomnia, fear of going outside, and extreme disorientation.

“I started sleeping on the couch in my clothes with my keys in my hand. I was afraid I’d miss a siren.”

Despite the trauma, Karlin found strength in seeing how those around her continued living, despite not knowing what could happen next. She booked a night in Tel Aviv's Vera Hotel, a comforting boutique hotel in the city center. She'd worked out a deal with the hotel to stay through her first month, when her changes in accommodation didn't work out as she'd expected. She credits her stay at the hotel for helping her feel at ease and taken care of amidst chaos.

“There were so many moments that saved me. One hotel staffer hugged me and said, ‘You’re going to sleep tonight, and we’ll make sure you’re safe.’ It brought me to tears,” she said. “Another night, I had to run to a shelter with strangers I’d just met over dinner. They welcomed me into their shelter and even walked me back to make sure I was okay.”

The spontaneous acts of kindness didn’t stop. Offers from strangers poured in via Facebook group Secret Tel Aviv and other networks: spare rooms, food, support. “This is why I’m staying. This is why I’m here. Because Israelis show up for each other.”

Rather than deterring her, the chaos of her first week has only strengthened Karlin’s resolve to contribute to Israeli society.

In addition to personal training, Karlin continues to fundraise for the Bnai Zion Medical Center in the North, which is now fortified and is a vital rehabilitation hub for soldiers.

“When the Haifa missile hit, all the injured were sent there. This place is saving lives, and I’m proud to support it.”

For those watching from abroad, Karlin has a clear message:

Still, she finds beauty in the chaos.

“One day, you’re singing on the beach at sunset. The next, you’re huddled in a shelter. That’s Israel. Life is fragile – but it’s full.”