Tamar Pross has spent her life moving between cultures, and a decade ago, she turned that experience into something bigger. As the founder of Citizen Café, she’s witnessed how learning Hebrew can become a pathway for people seeking connection to their roots, especially as October 7th has left Jewish communities around the world searching for belonging and safety.
Let’s start at the beginning. Tell me about your background: where are you from in Israel, what shaped your worldview, and how your journey has led you to create a global Hebrew learning community?
I was born in Tel Aviv, but I’ve lived a very global life from a very young age. I’ve moved over 18 times across cities like New York, Paris, London, and Sydney. I’m both Israeli and Australian, and in many ways, I’ve always lived between cultures, and always tried to feel like a local. That has shaped everything I do, from building communities to creating meaningful experiences, bonding people to places and each other across borders.
I’ve always been drawn to what connects people and what separates them – culture, language, the way we think. My background spans concierge companies, documentary filmmaking, and coaching, but what ties it all together is this curiosity about people and how we can feel at home in ourselves, wherever we are.
Ten years ago, you founded Citizen Café with Efrat Chen. How was the beginning of your journey, and how do you feel about Citizen today?
We started with a clear vision: to create a place where people could feel like locals in Israel, not just by learning Hebrew, but by actually feeling the culture, the energy, the rhythm of everyday life here. We wanted them to feel part of real conversations. In the beginning, it was just a few students in a café (hence the name!) and a lot of passion. We built everything from scratch – the methodology, the platform, the community, and every part was driven by the intention of sparking a sense of belonging through a learning process that is fun and engaging.
Today, Citizen Café feels to many like a global movement. We’ve taught thousands of students in over 25 countries, and we’re still growing. But more than that, I see healing happening. People are finding parts of themselves they didn’t even know were disconnected. Hebrew becomes this bridge – it’s no longer just a language, it’s a way back home, a form of reclaiming the Jewish identity.
The past few years have brought so many challenges – COVID, the judicial reform debates, and then October 7th. How have you managed to maintain some sense of normalcy for your team and students through it all?
To be honest, I don’t think it’s about maintaining normalcy. It’s about being present with what is. Israelis are known for their resilience, but what we’re learning and teaching is that true resilience isn’t about bouncing back quickly or pretending everything’s okay. It’s about being able to sit with the pain, the uncertainty, and still stay connected.
Our team has become a model of emotional intelligence and adaptability. We’ve focused on checking in with each other, creating space to talk, and supporting each other across time zones and cultures. For our students, we’ve created not just classes, but circles of healing. Especially after October 7th, we’ve seen how important it is to create space not just to learn, but to feel, grieve, and rebuild.
From your perspective, working with people around the world, what do you think Israelis need most right now?
More than anything, I think Israelis need to feel that they’re allowed not to be okay. There’s so much pressure, internally and from the outside, to be strong, to be resilient, to keep going. But healing begins with presence, with honesty. Israelis need spaces where they can show up as they are – grieving, tired, scared, hopeful – and still be held.
At the same time, they need to feel connected to the world in a way that isn’t just political or reactive. That’s where our global community has been powerful. When Israelis see how much love and curiosity are coming from people all over the world who are learning Hebrew to feel closer, they remember that they’re not alone.
What gives you hope when you think about the future of Israel and the connections you’re building with students around the world?
What gives me hope is witnessing the power of small acts of connection: A student halfway across the world learning how to say something in Hebrew so they can speak to their Israeli grandmother. A circle where people cry together in two different languages. A moment where someone laughs in class and says, “I finally feel Israeli.”
It’s not always loud or flashy, but it’s real. And it’s growing. I believe healing starts when we stop waiting for things to go back to how they were and instead start building something new. That’s what we’re doing every day at Citizen Café. We’re not just teaching a language – we’re building a new kind of bridge, one that can hold the weight of pain and the possibility of connection.
