These young Jews leave everything behind to defend Israel.
The phenomenon of “lone soldiers” predates the modern State of Israel. Today, the country is home to an estimated 7,000 of them.
Please consider supporting our mission to help everyone better understand and become smarter about the Jewish world. A gift of any amount helps keep our platform free of advertising and accessible to all.
You can also listen to the podcast version of this essay on Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, and Spotify.
When Edan Alexander was released this week after more than 580 days in Hamas captivity, the news resonated far beyond Israel’s borders.
Alexander, born in Israel and raised in New Jersey, had voluntarily returned to his birth country to enlist in the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) as a “lone soldier” (chayal boded in Hebrew) — a term reserved for those serving in the army without the support of immediate family in the country.
His story is heartbreaking and heroic: Kidnapped on October 7th from an outpost in Kissufim, Edan had chosen to forgo his weekend leave in order to stay on base and serve. He wasn’t alone in that kind of sacrifice.
Alexander is part of a growing and remarkable phenomenon in Israeli society — one that has only intensified in the aftermath of the October 7th massacre: young men and women, many from the Jewish Diaspora, leaving behind lives of comfort and security to join the IDF, not for personal gain, but out of principle, identity, and purpose.
The phenomenon of “lone soldiers” predates the modern State of Israel. Jewish volunteers from abroad, including Holocaust survivors and idealistic Zionists, took up arms in the pre-state militias and later in the IDF during Israel’s War of Independence in 1948.
Known then as machalnikim (from Mitnadvei Chutz La’Aretz, “volunteers from abroad”), mny were World War II veterans from the United States, Canada, and South Africa who saw the creation of the modern State of Israel as a moral imperative and a personal calling.
One of the most famous among them was Mickey Marcus, a U.S. Army colonel who became Israel’s first general in nearly 2,000 years. He had parachuted into Normandy with Allied forces, helped draft the surrender terms for Nazi Germany, and then — after seeing the threats facing the new Jewish state — volunteered to join the IDF.
Marcus was instrumental in organizing Israel’s early military structure and died in combat during the 1948 war. He is buried at the United States Military Academy in West Point, New York, the only American buried there who died fighting under a foreign flag.
Michael Levin, a Philadelphia-born IDF paratrooper, remains one of the most iconic “lone soldiers” in Israeli memory. Levin moved to Israel, joined the IDF, and was on leave visiting his family in the U.S. when the 2006 Second Lebanon War broke out.
Without hesitation, he returned to Israel to rejoin his unit. He was killed in combat in southern Lebanon at the age of 22. His funeral was attended by thousands of Israelis who had never met him, but understood what he represented. Today, the Lone Soldier Center in Jerusalem bears his name, serving thousands of soldiers who, like him, serve without immediate family in the country.
Benji Hillman, born in London and raised in Manchester, moved to Israel and became an officer in the IDF’s elite Egoz reconnaissance unit. He was killed in combat during the Second Lebanon War in 2006, just days after his wedding.
Benji was known for his leadership, humility, and moral clarity. In his memory, Habayit Shel Benji (“Benji’s Home”) was founded in Ra’anana to provide “lone soldiers” serving in combat positions with housing, guidance, and a warm community — fulfilling his dream of creating a home for those who serve without family nearby.
Max Steinberg, from Los Angeles, was a member of the elite Golani Brigade and had no plans to move to Israel until a trip to Israel changed his life. After the trip, he moved to Israel, learned Hebrew, and joined the army. He was killed in Gaza during Operation Protective Edge in 2014. Over 30,000 people attended his funeral on Mount Herzl, a testament to how “lone soldiers” become part of Israel’s extended family.
Sean Carmeli, a lone soldier from Texas who also died during Operation Protective Edge, had only a few relatives in Israel. Concerned that his funeral would be sparsely attended, fans of the Maccabi Haifa soccer team (of which he was a devoted fan) issued a call online. Over 20,000 people showed up. They came not because they knew Sean, but because they knew what he stood for.
Over time, the concept of a “lone soldier” has evolved into a formal status within the IDF. Today, the term applies to any soldier serving without familial support in Israel, whether they are new immigrants, foreign volunteers, or native-born Israelis estranged from their families — including many who grew up in ultra-Orthodox communities that oppose military service. What unites them is not where they’re from, but what they’re fighting for.
Since the October 7th massacre, which saw Hamas terrorists slaughter over 1,200 Israelis and kidnap more than 250 (including Edan Alexander), the meaning of Jewish belonging has shifted for many young Jews around the world. Anti-Zionism, and in many cases thinly veiled antisemitism, surged in the Diaspora. For many, this did not sow fear, but fortitude.
In the wake of that day, “lone soldier” enlistment has surged. According to recent IDF data, more than 1,110 new immigrants enlisted during the March-April 2025 recruitment period — an 11-percent increase from 2024, and 26-percent from 2023.
Of these new recruits, 61 percent are men and 39 percent are women. While not all are “lone soldiers,” a significant portion are young Jews arriving from abroad with no family in Israel, most notably from the United States, Russia, and Ethiopia.
Today, Israel is home to an estimated 7,000 “lone soldiers.” Roughly half are foreign-born volunteers like Edan Alexander. The rest are Israeli citizens without parental support, a reminder that loneliness in service can be emotional, not just geographical.
“Lone soldiers” represent some of the most ideologically driven individuals in the Israeli military. Unlike conscripted Israelis born into the national ethos of service, many lone soldiers choose the IDF despite having no obligation to do so. They leave behind friends, comfort, and in some cases, promising careers. They arrive in a country where the language is unfamiliar, the culture is fast-paced, and the bureaucracy is, well, Israeli.
And yet they come. And they serve. And they stay.
“Lone soldiers” often enter elite combat units, where physical and emotional challenges are magnified. They rely on each other and on volunteer-run organizations that support them with housing, meals on Shabbat, and care packages. Though officially integrated into the IDF structure, they are also embedded into the heart of Israel’s moral imagination. Lone soldiers are held up as a living testament to Jewish solidarity and the global connection to the Jewish homeland.
Their impact doesn’t end when their mandatory service does. Many remain in Israel and continue to serve as reservists. In the months since October 7th, over 300,000 reservists have been called up — including thousands of former “lone soldiers,” now embedded in Israeli society, businesses, and families.
Despite serving without family in Israel, “lone soldiers” are embraced as part of Israel’s national family. Israeli society holds “lone soldiers” in especially high regard, not only for their sacrifice, but for the fact that their service is often chosen, not required.
On Jewish holidays, when most soldiers return home, “lone soldiers” are invited into the homes of strangers who quickly become like family. Volunteers organize Friday night dinners, birthday celebrations, and support systems to ensure they are never left behind. It’s not uncommon to hear Israelis say, “My kids serve because they have to. Lone soldiers serve because they want to.”
In many ways, “lone soldiers” have become one of Israeli society’s most cherished symbols: a living reminder that the bond between the Jewish People and the Jewish homeland transcends geography, convenience, and bloodlines.
Lone soldiers often face unique challenges: navigating military service in a foreign language, celebrating holidays without immediate family, and enduring physical and emotional strain with fewer safety nets. Yet their presence is not marginal; it is central.
They are in elite combat units, intelligence divisions, and cyber defense teams. And they are increasingly seen as embodying the purest version of Zionism: not inherited, but chosen.
They receive support from the state and from civil society — including housing stipends, care packages, and mentorship programs — but what they often receive most is respect. “Lone soldiers” are admired across Israeli society as figures of quiet heroism. When they fall, they are mourned by the entire nation. When they serve, they remind Israel of something essential: that being a Jew is not just a birthright, it is a bond.
The story of the “lone soldier” is more than a military tale. It’s a spiritual and cultural one, deeply rooted in Jewish values and collective memory. In choosing to serve, “lone soldiers” live out the ancient Jewish teaching: Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh — “All Jews are responsible for one another.”
This idea has defined Jewish resilience for millennia: that the Jewish People are one body, and that when one part suffers, the whole must respond.
“Lone soldiers” also embody the ancient concept of aliyah — the upward journey, both physical and spiritual, of returning to the Land of Israel. Their service is an act of covenantal responsibility, modern-day testimony that Jewish identity is not something to hide or inherit passively, but something to live, to fight for, and to build.
In a time when so much of the world questions or condemns the very idea of Jewish sovereignty, “lone soldiers” stand up and say: “Not only do I believe in Israel, but I’m willing to give everything for it.”
The story of Edan Alexander and countless other “lone soldiers” is not just the story of brave soldiers; it is the story of Jewish resilience and belonging. His release is a moment of joy, but also a reminder of the cost of Jewish freedom and the individuals who bear it with both burden and pride.
In a world increasingly hostile to visible Jewish identity, the “lone soldier” represents the opposite of hiding. It is a public declaration: I am a Jew, and I will stand with my people — not just in spirit, but in uniform.
Whether born in Brooklyn or Melbourne or Be’er Sheva, what defines the “lone soldier” is not the absence of family, but the presence of something greater: a sense of mission, peoplehood, and the unshakable belief that Jewish survival is not a given, but a responsibility.
In that sense, every “lone soldier” is never truly alone.
What a moving essay. When I toured Israel with my former Toronto congregation in 2019, we met with a lone soldier. This should be included in every itinerary. There is so much to revere in each and every individual. So much to be grateful to them for . . .
These are truly remarkable individuals, much to be admired and valued. When they sadly die in service, it is a Kiddush Hashem.