A path forward

The author and her mother, Deni Rosen, in Tel Aviv.

When we were younger, health felt simple: An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Wellness was something I assumed would take care of itself. 

However, I’ve learned wellness isn’t as simple as eating apples, a skincare regimen, or a good night’s sleep. It is a road shaped by place, circumstance, and the quiet choices we make to care for ourselves. Wellness is a path, sometimes direct, sometimes winding, revealed to us only as we walk forward. 

Seven months ago, I arrived in Israel for what I thought was just the summer. But just five days later came a 12-day war with Iran. I was still jetlagged when air raid sirens wailed overhead in Tel Aviv. Overnight, health and wellness took on meanings far beyond workouts or mindfulness. Wellness became adaptability, safety, and finding moments of personal peace in a war zone. Wellness, I’ve learned, isn’t just a routine. It’s a route. Sometimes, a literal path. 

I found my understanding of wellness on a path in Park HaMesila, an urban linear park, whose name translates to “the track.” The park was once a historic railway line that connected Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. The track passed through the Old Train Station, carrying people and goods through what was then the edge of the city. When the railway fell out of use, the track remained, a quiet reminder of transit and transition. 

Today, the route is bustling with runners and cyclists. Fitness studios like FitHouse sit just off the path. At Cassata, the line for Israeli chef Eyal Shani’s ice cream routinely stretches down the block. A coffee stand named Rogers Park offers Chicagoans a wink of home, and a place to slow down, even in a city known for its quick pace. Lavender patches grow unexpectedly along the path. Movement, nourishment, and connection coexist naturally here, not as a prescription but as a way of life.  

During the war, HaMesila was one of the only places close enough for me to walk to (and walk along) within a safe time limit to make it to a shelter after hearing an air raid siren. The path offered something essential for me: continuity. A reminder that people were still living, still moving—if more carefully and deliberately—finding moments of normalcy and connection. When it felt possible, I walked there. 

Before I left for Tel Aviv, I had my own version of this ritual in Chicago. I spent most mornings walking the beach at Belmont Harbor with my German Shepherd, Otis, watching Lake Michigan stretch endlessly toward Navy Pier. I’d sometimes stop, close my eyes and listen to the water, to the wind, to the cars zipping down Lake Shore Drive. 

Now, when I walk along the beach at the end of Park HaMesila, I hear those same sounds from a different coast. Same rhythm, similar hum. And it makes me feel closer to home. 

That’s the thing about wellness. It can exist in unexpected places. It is deeply sensory. It lives in sound and repetition, in the way the body recognizes the need for calm before the mind does. It is less about geography and more about presence; wellness can find us wherever we are—from coast to coast. 

Wellness, I’ve learned, isn’t about the feverish pursuit of an idealized version of ourselves. It’s sometimes knowing when to go outside and when to stay in; when to move quickly and when to slow down. It is finding home in unfamiliar places, and letting ourselves enjoy the feeling that brings.  

Sometimes, wellness looks like a dog beach along Lake Michigan. And other times, it’s a footpath in Tel Aviv in a war zone, carrying you forward, one step at a time. 

Kayla Kirshenbaum, who currently lives in Tel Aviv, is a freelance writer and strategic communications professional with experience in public affairs at JUF.