When a Second Passport Becomes a Lifeline

Yesterday, I read about an Israeli mother who said:

“Don’t send your sons to the army without a foreign passport.”

I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Her words broke my heart.

It wasn’t just a caution. It was a rupture—an admission that something sacred in Israeli society feels broken for her. Zionism promised more than safety. It promised mutual responsibility:

If you fight for the Jewish state, it will fight for you.

If you are captured, you will not be abandoned.

You will not sit alone in a tunnel. Israel is coming for you.

This week, Edan Alexander—an American-Israeli soldier—was brought home. Thank God. And yes, thank President Trump and his team.

But we must speak a hard truth: Edan came home not because of Israel’s leadership, but because of American intervention. His family—and his American passport—brought him home. It was striking that his parents didn’t thank Prime Minister Netanyahu. Some in Israeli society have been terribly cruel to Edan’s family because they “failed” to thank Bibi.

For every family whose child lacks dual citizenship, Edan’s return surely brought both hope and heartbreak. Their loved ones remain captive—trapped not only by Hamas, but by the failure of Netanyahu’s government to bring them home.

This government—the most extreme in Israel’s history—has chosen political survival over moral obligation. Ministers like Smotrich and Ben Gvir speak not of rescue, but of conquest.

They describe occupation as destiny. They chase the mirage of victory, while treating hostages as inconvenient, and human dignity as a distraction from war.

I see this as a betrayal—of our values, of Am Yisrael, and of the covenant a state owes its citizens.

To those celebrating Edan’s return as a diplomatic victory, let me also say this clearly:

President Trump and his team bypassed the Israeli government entirely. There was no coordination. No consultation. Israel learned about the operation only after it was already complete. That decision may have saved a life, but it also laid bare the growing fracture in what was once a steadfast strategic alliance. Israel’s leadership is in deep trouble.

And it leaves me with genuine concern—and deep questions—about the Trump administration’s approach towards Israel in the future:

What is truly driving these new alliances and secret negotiations with Qatar, Syria, the Houthis—who continue to fire missiles at Israeli civilians—and reportedly even Iran? Are these steps toward a lasting peace, or short-term political or financial maneuvers with dangerous, long-term consequences?

I spoke with someone this morning who has long supported President Trump and believes he’s been one of Israel’s strongest allies. But today, they admitted they felt shaken.

“If he’s the one who stands with us,” they said, “why didn’t he even tell the Israeli government? How can America broker deals with regimes that fund terror against Jews?”

Rabbi David Wolpe correctly said: “It’s pretty simple: If Qatar can arrange for a hostage to be freed, they can influence the captors. Freeing one while others remain means they’re not just mediators – they’re complicit in keeping the rest in captivity.”

That feeling—of celebration laced with betrayal—is real. It’s the grief that comes when someone you trusted acts unilaterally, even successfully, but leaves you out of the equation.

And it raises a painful, necessary question: If being pro-Israel means sidelining its leaders, making deals with its enemies, and ignoring its people—then what, exactly, are we celebrating?

Another question for me: What does it mean for Israel—and for America—if the United States no longer sees Israel’s leaders as indispensable partners, but as obstacles to be bypassed? Has Netanyahu’s intransigence helped make that possible?

Make no mistake: Netanyahu was outplayed, outmaneuvered, and sidelined.

Yes, we should celebrate Edan’s safe return.

But let’s not pretend this is just a feel-good story.

This week marked a turning point—a stark revelation of how much has unraveled: between allies, between leaders, and between the promises we were raised to trust and the political games now being played in their place.

Unless we name it, question it, and demand better, nothing will change.

A second passport shouldn’t have to be the lifeline.

Your first passport—the one rooted in peoplehood, covenant, and care—should still mean something profound.

That’s the promise.

That’s the future that I hope my Israeli friends and family have the courage to rebuild.