’Maariv’ Report - 40% of ’Israelis’ Consider Leaving the Entity, Here’s What’s Keeping Them There

By Staff, Agencies

A report by "Maariv" stated that nearly 60,000 "Israelis" left the country in 2023 and never returned — more than double the number the year before. According to "Israel’s" Central Bureau of Statistics, the overwhelming majority — 81% — were young people and families, mostly aged between 25 and 44.

At the same time, new research from Ci Marketing reveals that around 40% of "Israelis" still living in the country are actively considering emigration.

The reasons behind this trend are clear: an ongoing war, a controversial judicial overhaul, and a soaring cost of living. Many parents worry their children’s future might be brighter elsewhere.

Yet, despite these pressures, many choose to stay. In interviews with "Haaretz," four "Israelis" shared their personal reasons for staying — at least for now — and the fears and hopes that shape their choices.

'I Want to Fight — Not Flee'

Riky Cohen, 56, a "Tel Aviv"-based writer and editor, has been thinking about emigrating for years. “Every time I hear someone is leaving, I throw a tantrum,” she says. Though her partner once opposed the idea — even objecting to her obtaining a Portuguese passport — the couple now regularly argue about leaving.

For Cohen, the draw to leave stems from anxiety about "Israel’s" security, political instability, and economic uncertainty. “It’s a longing for a normal life,” she explains — one not marked by fear and dystopia.

Still, Hebrew remains her “first anchor in the world,” and she admits: “When you leave, you lose your network.” She’d be more open to leaving, she says, “if it were with a group.”

Her fears aren't abstract. Living in a home without a secure room, she describes nights of nightmares following the October 7 operations. “We’re in a disaster,” she says. “I’m torn between staying and fighting — and the cost of that — or leaving and trying to be saved.”

'I Feel Unwanted in My Own Country'

"Shira" (not her real name), a 41-year-old graphic designer from central "Israel," has also long considered emigration. “Since the war started, it’s become a more accepted topic,” she says. Many of her friends have already left.

She’s disillusioned with the political direction of the country: “As long as we insist on being ‘Jewish and democratic,’ and there’s still occupation, we won’t be a real democracy.” Shira previously lived in the U.S., so she knows what leaving entails — the difficulties of building a new support network and adjusting as an outsider.

Since October 7, she’s felt increasingly alienated. Conversations that once felt mundane have turned dark. “One woman in the dog park asked if Gaza should be wiped out by starvation or nuclear bomb,” she recalls in disbelief. “How is that a normal conversation?”

Despite it all, Shira believes she will eventually leave — though she’s unsure when or how. “Life here is becoming unbearable,” she says. “My right to feel at home here is being stolen.”

'When the House Is Burning, You Stay and Fight'

Filmmaker Barak Heymann feels like he lives in a parallel "Israel." While he supports the anti-government protests and demands the return of captives, he’s disturbed by the silence around Palestinian suffering.

“Most Jewish "Israelis" are living in a Holocaust reality because of October 7,” he says. “I’m living in one because of Gaza and the West Bank.”

Heymann’s political outspokenness has made him a target — his photo was even shared in far-right Telegram groups. Still, he hasn’t left.

His partner, originally from Warsaw, moved back to Poland with their children. He visits monthly but insists: “When the house is on fire, you don’t leave. You stay and pour water on it.”

Despite feeling disgusted by nationalism, he still sees himself as a patriot. “I travel a lot, but nowhere feels like home like here. I stay for moral reasons — and selfish ones too.”

Currently, Heymann is working on a documentary about "Israelis" who are leaving the country. “It’s totally schizophrenic,” he admits, smiling. “My family’s in Warsaw while I’m filming others preparing to leave.”

'Emigrating Isn’t an Escape — It’s a New Set of Problems'

Meital, a 38-year-old sustainability expert from occupied al-Quds, says she revisits the question of leaving almost every day. Single and deeply reflective, she’s been torn since the 2014 Gaza war.

She grew up partly in London and studied there as an adult, so she knows the emotional toll of emigration.

“It’s not a picnic,” she says. “The loneliness is real.” She acknowledges life was more comfortable abroad — better money, more culture — but, she says, “the important things weren’t better.”

What matters most now is proximity to her aging parents. “My time with them is limited,” she says.

And her family history — descendants of kibbutz founders — adds another layer of emotional weight. “Leaving 'Israel' forever would feel like leaving a religion.”

Meital doesn't want to flee. “I want to go toward something,” she says. While she holds a foreign passport, she adds: “Bureaucracy isn’t the obstacle — leaving your home is.”

While tens of thousands of "Israelis" are already making the leap abroad, others remain — for the simple fact that this entity still exists, however complicated the situations of its existence can be.