Israel Is Not a Cause to Me, It Is My Compass

I am a pro-Israel advocate in the Netherlands with Jewish roots, and my connection to Israel is not ideologically fashionable or politically convenient.

My connection to Israel is personal, inherited, and lived. Israel has shaped my identity since childhood, long before hashtags, before October 7, and before defending Israel became socially dangerous in Europe again.

On my father’s side, my family came from Poland. They fled rising antisemitism, passed through what is now the Czech Republic, and eventually ended up in the Netherlands around 1900. On my mother’s side, the story is fragmented and partly lost by design. My grandfather was involved in resistance work during World War II, and secrecy was a survival strategy that carried over long after the war ended.

When my parents later lived in the Middle East, they voluntarily assisted Israeli intelligence. They could move freely because of a white card, and they chose to help. That choice mattered. It shaped how I was raised and what I understood early on: Israel was never an abstract state to me. It was a responsibility.

For many years, Israel viewed the Netherlands as an ally. In hindsight, that belief was painfully naïve. The historical record tells a far more uncomfortable story.

During the Nazi occupation, only a tiny fraction of the Dutch population actively resisted. Roughly 45,000 people, about half a percent, were engaged in active resistance. Even using a broad definition, only around five percent could be considered supporters of resistance. At the same time, approximately 425,000 people were investigated for collaboration. The rest of the population largely chose silence. They looked away as Jews were rounded up, deported, and murdered. Some actively helped the occupiers. Most did nothing.

That history reveals a national instinct that never truly disappeared. After October 7, the mask finally slipped. The genie came out of the bottle, and what followed was an explosion of antisemitism, often disguised as “anti-Zionism” — because open antisemitism is officially forbidden in the Netherlands. What spread through society did so faster and more aggressively than any virus I have ever witnessed.

For me, the consequences were immediate and deeply personal. Walking through Amsterdam became a nightmare. People recognized me from weekly Israel support actions and felt emboldened to curse, threaten, and intimidate me. I refused to hide my Star of David necklace, but I watched others quietly tuck away their Jewish symbols for safety. That image still haunts me.

I lost my job shortly after October 7. On November 3, 2023, I was asked a seemingly innocent question at work: “What is your favorite vacation destination?” I answered honestly: Israel. That answer cost me my livelihood.

As I searched for new work, recruiters demanded that I shut down my LinkedIn company page, which at the time had around 90,000 followers. The reason was obvious. I refused. As a result, my chances of employment collapsed. I was rejected repeatedly — and explicitly — because of my visible pro-Israel stance.

Because my company was registered at my home address, the harassment followed me there. Eggs were thrown against my windows. A dead pigeon was left at my door in a bag. I received threats, online and offline, telling me I would be gassed.

These were not anonymous global trolls. This was my reality in the Netherlands.

Social media platforms, especially LinkedIn under Microsoft’s ownership, played a disgraceful role. Pro-Israel voices and Jewish advocates who spoke factual truths were targeted, restricted, or silenced, while open Nazi rhetoric, incitement, and fabricated “Pallywood” narratives were allowed to spread with impunity. The message was clear: Jewish safety and truth were expendable.

The years since 2023 have taken a severe toll on my mental health. Depression, exhaustion, and a deep alienation from Dutch society became constants. At the same time, my longing for Israel intensified. Eventually, I made a decision that felt inevitable: I would try to live and work for Israel full time. I began the Aliyah process, believing that my commitment, experience, and lifelong dedication would matter.

They did not.

Because I can only provide indirect proof of my Jewish roots, and because I refuse to convert to Judaism for the wrong reasons, my path to Aliyah has been blocked. The Jewish Agency declined to consider special circumstances. I wrote letters to the President’s office, to the Prime Minister, and to other officials. I reached out again and again.

From the Israeli side, I received silence. No response. No explanation. Only closed doors.

That silence broke something in me. Not because I feel entitled, but because I know, without arrogance, that I could contribute more to Israel than many others. I am not driven by religion; I have none. I am not driven by political camps or prejudices. I am driven by loyalty, truth, and responsibility.

Israel is not a trend to me. It is not negotiable. It is not conditional. It is my priority, always. Even when the world turns hostile. Even when allies reveal themselves to be illusions. Even when the doors I knock on remain closed.

I will not stop standing with Israel. History has taught me what silence does. I refuse to repeat it.

Sabine Sterk is CEO of Time To Stand Up For Israel.