So I’m working now for birthright israel, a Jewish organization which sends Jewish kids (”kids”= aged 18-26) on a one-time 10-day first trip to Israel. It was founded by Jewish philanthropists Charles Bronfman and Michael Steinhardt and is funded through Jewish Federations, the Israeli Government, philanthropic foundations and individual donations. When I was 20 years old I took part in a birthright trip through my college’s Hillel chapter.
It was three months after September 11th. Back then it was easy to get a spot. We here in America were still scared shitless and in Israel the Intifada was picking up. Most people thought I was crazy. My Dad however (who witnessed the destruction of the Twin Towers firsthand while I was home in Brooklyn watching it on TV) said that right now New York is no safer than Israel and that there was no reason I shouldn’t go. Before I left, my best friend said the words “I love you” to me. Words he doesn’t say to me. I believe that he was thinking about the possibility that I might not come back.
But I did. And it was amazing. I mean truly amazing. I’ve heard and read many accounts of the experiences that young people have on their birthright trips, and everyone’s is different. Almost every story though shares the common theme of some sort of fundamental transformation on the part of the participant. Either the way they see Israel, or their Jewish identity, or their religious practice, or the Jewish people. Most kids who start off their trip feeling very unconnected to Judaism return with their Pintele Yid reignited. When I left I was already strongly identified as Jewish, my Jewish practice pretty firmly established. My transformation, what I gained, was connectedness with the land of Israel, and a real sense of kinship with the Jewish people. I met a Jewish woman from Scotland in a little shop in Jerusalem. I met a Jewish Israeli soldier who was born in Mexico. Everywhere I went was food that I could eat. Everywhere was Hebrew writing which has always been a strangely comforting sight for me. I felt safe. I felt protected. I was for the first time ever in my life in a place that was made for me.
A couple of weeks ago, I suggested to my roomate, Jewish on her father’s side, that she should apply. She responded that her parents would say that she was crazy to go to Israel and she’d have to agree with them. I started to try to convince her that Israel was very safe, and she responded that she would freak out whenever she got on a bus. I told her that birthright had their own busses andthat we were accompanied by soldiers at all times, and besides, you are probably as likely to get killed by a mugger or murderer here as by a terrorist in Israel. The fact that we needed the soldiers at all, she said, was proof that it was not safe, and that there is a difference between getting killed by a mugger and dying in a terrorist attack. (How I don’t know… either way you’re dead, right?)
Her response actually really upset me… not something I expected.
Today I read a post on Allison Kaplan Sommer’s blog,An Unsealed Room which is about life in Ra’anana where she lives, half an hour from Tel Aviv.
Now that tourism is picking up again, and the suggestion shouldn’t result in a look of utter horror like, “What, are you trying to get me KILLED?” — let me suggest that if you are interested in Israel, come see it. Not because it’s the epitome of Good or Evil, but because (hold your breath) …..it’s a lot of fun.
When you see Israel on the news, you see bloodshed. You know why? Because it’s the news. Because in America you’re not going to see the human interest fluff that happens in another country, you’re only going to see horror and gore. But you know what? You see that sort of stuff on the news about your hometown too. You can cope with it though, because you don’t usually chance to see it actually happening on the street as you walk to Yoga or whatever. But when you see violence on the news somewhere far away, it’s easy to imagine that that is what it’s like out on the street because you’ve never actually seen an Israeli street.
Do I have a point? Maybe. I think the point is don’t make judgements based on news and parents’ paranoia alone. Or maybe the point is to go to visit Israel. Or maybe the point is that I just really want to go back.