Traveling internationally with kids is not for the faint of heart. Our recent trip home from Japan took 18 hours, including one 14-hour rerouted flight that felt like a small eternity. By the time we landed, I was exhausted from not sleeping and answering “how much longer?” more times than I could count. But here’s the thing, I would do it again in a heartbeat.
As tiring as long-haul travel with children can be, there’s nothing like showing them the world.
I want my kids to understand that life is bigger than their neighborhood, their school, or even their country. I want them to experience new languages, foods, and ways of life and to see that they can be curious, respectful travelers who carry their sense of home and identity with them wherever they go.
Japan was a whirlwind of temples, trains, and teppanyaki. We dressed like geishas in Kyoto, fed friendly deer in Nara, made bento boxes in Osaka, and navigated Tokyo’s busiest train stations like pros (well, almost). But one of my favorite moments wasn’t about sightseeing at all, it was about connection.
In Kobe, we visited the local Chabad.
It wasn’t on any “Top 10 Things to Do in Japan” list, but my husband suggested it, and we thought it was both unique and important. There’s something grounding about seeking out Jewish life wherever we go, a reminder that even far from home, we are part of something bigger.
The Chabad rabbi greeted us like old friends, his excitement genuine and warm. We chatted about our travels, Jewish life in Japan, and the small but vibrant community he serves. My husband shared that he had been in Kobe 25 years earlier, celebrating Passover in that very same Chabad House. The rabbi’s face lit up.
Standing there, thousands of miles from home, it struck me how unique this connection is. You can walk into a Jewish community anywhere in the world and, while the scenery, accents, and languages may differ, there’s a shared commonality. The prayers are the same. The holidays are the same. The sense of belonging is the same.
It’s something I want my kids to feel deeply that no matter where they are, they are part of a people and a history that transcends geography. Being Jewish isn’t just something we do at home, it’s who we are, and it is something we carry with us everywhere.
a Chabad Shul in Kobe (courtesy)
Of course, the trip wasn’t all meaningful moments and cultural immersion.
There were cranky mornings, sibling squabbles, and the inevitable “why can’t we just stay in the hotel and watch TV?” complaints. International travel with kids comes with meltdowns (sometimes theirs, sometimes mine). But it also comes with joy, the squeals when they walked into Tokyo Disney, the pride in learning to say “arigato,” the awe when they first saw Mt. Fuji.
These are the moments that make the effort worth it.
Traveling abroad also teaches resilience in ways you can’t fully replicate at home. They learn patience waiting in long lines, adaptability when plans change, and problem-solving when things don’t go as expected. They also learn humility, navigating a country where you don’t speak the language reminds you how big the world is, and how small you are in it.
As a parent, I’ve realized travel is a powerful classroom. It’s where lessons in geography, history, and culture come alive. Where trying a new food is a small act of bravery. Visiting a temple sparks questions about religion, tradition, and respect. Walking into a Chabad House on the other side of the globe shows my children that community is something you can always find, if you look for it and when you need it.
Yes, the logistics are daunting. Crafting an itinerary that keeps everyone happy and engaged is a feat in itself. Packing is always an adventure. Jet lag with kids? Not for amateurs. And managing everyone’s luggage through a crowded train station, don’t even ask.
But here’s the truth: the inconveniences fade, and the memories remain. The effort is temporary, but the perspective lasts a lifetime.
When my kids look back, I hope they remember the taste of fresh sushi in Tokyo, the laughter of feeding deer in Nara, and the quiet warmth of being welcomed into a Jewish synagogue in Kobe. I hope they see that while traveling takes us out of our comfort zone, it also expands it.
Because that’s why we do it. Not only to check places off a list, but to give them the gift of a bigger world and the confidence to navigate it. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll grow up knowing that wherever life takes them, they can always find a little piece of home, even 7,000 miles away.
