I am a final year undergraduate student in computer science at the Technion-Israel Institute of Technology. Right now, like many students in Israel, I am adapting to a reality that seems to constantly change overnight.
The majority of my time as a student has been framed by change and nervous anticipation of what each day will bring. While active conflict in Israel has ended for now, our academic year has once again been upended, and our routine is still far from normal as we catch up on our delayed exams.
But in Israel, we are used to an unordinary routine. We continue to do what we have always done: living our lives as much as possible. Resilience and hope are our strength.
Like for most Israelis, uncertainty and change have been fundamental parts of every stage of my life. I was born in Moldova, where my family ran the local office of the Jewish Agency, helping others make aliyah long before we could do it ourselves. When I was 8, we finally moved to Akko in northern Israel. My parents were consumed with building a new life from nothing, teaching me early on that no one walks your path for you and that only I can control my future.
Those early lessons of independence have carried me through everything—from winning national wrestling titles to facing difficult failures. When I was cut from the Air Force pilot course, it felt like my world had collapsed. But I channeled that initial obstacle into fierce motivation and eventually served as a combat commander in a reconnaissance unit of the 401st Armored Brigade.
Later, I set my sights on studying computer science at the Technion. It took five attempts at the psychometric exam to get in, but I didn’t quit.
I was in my second semester when the events of Oct. 7, 2023, shattered everything. Within hours, I was back in uniform. My unit helped clear the kibbutzim near the Gaza border and later fought inside Gaza. I ultimately served more than 250 days on the front, putting my life as a student largely on pause.
Since that dark Saturday, I have lived between two realities.
On one side is the war. I remember the weight of the silence while I was on the front lines, getting only a few minutes every few days to call my partner and trying to sound calm while she carried the agonizing worry at home.
On the other side was the life I had worked so hard to build. In rare quiet moments, I opened a combinatorics textbook and studied in short breaks at the battlefield. For most people, that may sound strange, but it was my way of holding on to normal life and the future I still believed in.
Coming back to campus was emotional. On the outside, life resumed. Students filled the hallways, coffee shops were busy, deadlines returned. Inside, many of us carried fear, exhaustion, and the names of friends still in uniform or those who did not come back.
What made the difference for me was the support I found at the Technion. Professors, classmates and the administration helped me catch up and keep going. This spirit of solidarity cuts through the constant, silent feeling of uncertainty among my peers and neighbors that has underscored much of Israel’s history. It is this support that allows us to continue our work that we know will ultimately build a more peaceful, optimistic future for Israel.
Now, amid the most recent stage of the war, my day moved between lectures, assignments, news updates and check-ins with the people I care about. It’s not the student life I imagined when I came to the Technion, but it is still student life. There is something powerful in continuing, even when everything around us feels uncertain.
As we wait to return to campus and regular class schedules, I stay in close touch with my friends from school. We met during our degree, and I know these are people who will remain part of my life long after graduation. Right now, staying connected takes many forms.
Sometimes, it is a simple phone call. Sometimes, it is studying together online. And sometimes, it is something as small yet meaningful as a board game night in a shelter. These moments give us strength. They remind us that even in times like these, we are still here for one another.
Alongside my studies, I volunteer through the Israel Scholarship Education Foundation with at-risk teenagers. As a new immigrant, I remember what it feels like to not be sure if you fit in. Helping young people build that sense of belonging is deeply personal to me, especially in a time when connection can be difficult to find.
To me, hope, is not optional. It is part of who we are as a people. Without hope, there is no life.
What amazes me every time we encounter new adversity is our ability to choose life again and again. It happened after the Holocaust. It happened after the Yom Kippur War. And it is happening now, after Oct. 7. We carry the belief that tomorrow can be better than yesterday, and that belief is what helps us keep going.
For me, continuing my degree is not just about a career; it is another form of service. I want to use computer science and technology to strengthen our country and improve our society. Until now, I have defended Israel with my rifle. Currently, I am building my future to defend Israel with my mind. We are not just fighting to protect our home. We are working every single day to build a future that is worth returning to.
N.M. is an undergraduate student at the Technion-Israel Institute of Technology.
