Three of my close friends came back from Gaza last month. Within two weeks, all three had already put their names down for additional reserve duty.
I met Yossi for coffee in Ramat Gan. Six months in Gaza with his combat engineering unit. Now he's back at his accounting firm, staring at spreadsheets that track quarterly revenue instead of supply runs that keep soldiers alive. "I sit in meetings about client retention strategies," he told me, stirring his coffee slowly. "Last month I was clearing tunnels. How do I pretend these PowerPoints matter?"
He's already volunteered for another rotation. His wife doesn't understand. His boss definitely doesn't understand. But I do.
Moshe runs a Judaica store in Bnei Brak. Closed it for eight months while serving with an armored division. Reopened last week to half his customer base gone, competition that moved in during his absence, and suppliers who found other partners. But that's not why he signed up for more miluim. "In the army, every decision has weight," he explained while we helped him reorganize his shop. "Every action has purpose. Here? I'm selling mezuzah cases. There? I was fixing vehicles that save lives."
The thing nobody talks about: for many reservists, military service provides clarity that civilian life can't match. You know exactly why you're there. Your mission has immediate, visible impact. Your unit depends on you in ways your office never will. The problems you solve actually matter.
Back home, we're drowning in the mundane. Parent-teacher conferences about homework completion rates. Homeowner association meetings about parking regulations. Work presentations about optimizing workflow processes. After months of genuine service, genuine sacrifice, genuine purpose, how do you care about any of it?
I've been coordinating support packages for returning soldiers through Smiles for the Kids. We focus on practical needs: covering missed mortgage payments, restocking fridges, helping businesses restart. But increasingly, I'm seeing something else: soldiers who need their service to mean something beyond those months away.
Our WhatsApp group buzzes constantly. Fifty, sixty messages a day. New miluim opportunities post every few hours. Free coding courses for reservists. Discounted therapy services. Special offers from businesses wanting to give back. Job openings specifically for returning soldiers. The energy in that group tells you everything: these men and women are searching for something, anything, that captures even a fraction of the purpose they felt in uniform.
Some join volunteer organizations. Others become more active in their communities. Many seek additional reserve duty not because they want to leave their families again, but because military service gave them something civilian life struggles to provide: undeniable purpose.
Their families worry. "Why would you go back?" wives ask. "We just got you home." Parents don't understand why their sons would choose more danger. Employers question their commitment to their careers.
But these men (and women) tasted something different. They were part of something larger. Their daily actions carried weight. Their presence mattered in ways that quarterly reports and sales targets never will.
We're expanding our support programs to include transition assistance. Not just financial, but helping reservists find meaning in civilian life. Connecting them with volunteer opportunities that matter. Creating networks where they can support each other through this strange displacement. Because coming home physically doesn't mean you've fully returned.
Some will find their footing in civilian life again. Others will keep signing up for miluim, chasing that sense of purpose they can't find in conference rooms and commute traffic. Both responses are valid. Both deserve our support.
If you know a reservist struggling with the transition, reach out. Sometimes just acknowledging that civilian life feels impossibly small after military service helps. Sometimes practical support makes the difference. Always, understanding matters more than advice.
We're here for the long readjustment, not just the homecoming.