Avi Hill-Mizrachi and his wife, Beth, were on what was meant to be a three-week trip in California to celebrate their wedding anniversary when the war broke out. 

“We were supposed to fly back tomorrow,” Avi said on Tuesday. “But all flights were canceled. Our sons are back home — two in their twenties and one who just finished the army — and they’re in bomb shelters. We didn’t know what to do, we were so confused and worried.”

The Hill-Mizrachis are two of the more than 150,000 Israelis estimated to be stuck overseas following the closure of Israeli airspace last Friday morning after Israel launched its preemptive strikes against Iranian nuclear and military facilities and Tehran started retaliating with regular barrages of ballistic missiles and drones. This marks the country’s longest airport shutdown ever.

The couple, overwhelmed and unsure of what to do next, submitted a request for assistance through a hastily created initiative by the Israeli-American Council (IAC), dubbed Achim Me’ever LaYam (“Brothers across the sea”). The emergency program organized a network of volunteers, run by alumni of its Gvanim leadership program, matching stranded Israelis with local families across the United States who can host or help them. 

The initiative was born out of urgency — for the stranded Israelis unsure of where to turn and for the American volunteers eager to help. As reports surfaced of canceled flights, overwhelmed Israeli consulates and families unable to return home, volunteers began organizing ad hoc through WhatsApp groups and online forms.

The Hill-Mizrachis were matched with Keren Ben Aharon, a Los Angeles resident and Gvanim alum who had a rental unit that had just become available. “When I called, they were surprised — how did I even know they needed help?” Keren said. “I told them the IAC reached out to me and I said, ‘Come with love.’”

For Keren, this initiative is not just a gesture — it’s personal. A longtime U.S. resident, her children live in Israel. She was supposed to fly this week to visit her son who is a combat soldier near Gaza, and her daughter is a commanding officer stationed along the Egyptian border.

“One of my kids said, ‘I’m glad you’re not here, because when you are, I worry about you and it distracts me from the mission.’ But another broke down crying and said she missed me terribly. And my youngest is heartbroken — he was supposed to fly to Israel this summer, and now everything is on hold. Hosting families is my way of staying connected and doing what I can from here.”

In just a few days, more than 300 host families across the U.S. signed up to open their homes. Over 110 Israelis have already been placed with temporary hosts, and more than 50 volunteers are actively working to match guests with support. The IAC has also partnered with Israeli Communities Europe to assist dozens of Israelis stuck there.

“The overwhelming response from our community has been truly heartwarming,” said Aya Shechter, IAC’s chief programming officer. “Seeing so many families step up with open hearts reminds us of the power of solidarity and peoplehood. We’re incredibly proud to turn our values into action and be there for fellow Israelis in their time of need.”

In Las Vegas, Pasia Esther Mandelkorn and her mother — visiting from the Tel Aviv suburb of Ramat Gan — are also stuck in the United States, but that is the least of their concerns at the moment: An Iranian missile struck Mandelkorn’s mother’s apartment building in Israel. 

“My mom saw it first on the news. She called me in hysterics,” Mandelkorn said. “At first, I didn’t believe her. But then my neighbor confirmed it. … Later, a family friend went to check and sent me a video — there’s no ceiling. From the living room, you see the sky. The walls exploded. The whole building is in danger of collapsing.”

Mandelkorn, who has no immediate family in Israel and is her mother’s only support, said she had planned to return to Israel this week, but her flight was canceled. “Even if my mom were to fly back, she has no home to return to. It’s just me and her. Her Hebrew isn’t strong, and our family is in Brazil. I’ve been posting in Facebook groups asking for help — someone to assist with the bureaucracy back home, with the insurance, with the housing. My hands are tied from here.”

After seeing the IAC’s appeal online, she submitted a request for help. “It’s hard to describe the feeling of not knowing where you’ll go, or who will help, or how you’ll make it through the next few days. But knowing that someone, even a stranger, is willing to help us or check in — that brings some light into this.”

The IAC initiative grew out of what Shechter described as an “explosion of caring.” The message the organization put out — “Stuck far from home? You’re not alone” — quickly spread across Israeli American circles, accompanied by a form for anyone willing to help or in need of it. The effort has grown beyond just housing; some families offer meals, Shabbat invitations, emotional support or help navigating travel changes and insurance claims. In some cases, volunteers have helped rebook flights or assist with documents for stranded elderly Israelis.

Pasia remains uncertain about when she’ll be able to fly home and what she’ll find when she does. “I need to go back. But I don’t know when that will be, or how. All I know is that the building is empty, at risk of collapse. It can’t stay like that much longer.”

For the Hill-Mizrachis, staying with Ben Aharon provided much-needed calm. “We thought about trying to get to Greece or Cyprus, but we’re not young and it is hard to run around,” he said. “Keren gave us more than a roof — she gave us peace. And when this is over, we hope to return the favor in Israel.”