Prove it

Part of the aliyah process is proving that you are Jewish. This can be done in few ways. In my case, it's either my parents' ketubah (marriage certificate in Hebrew) or a letter from the rabbi. Being that the Ketubah is permanently in a frame, I opted for the letter. It's a simple statement saying that I was born to a Jewish mother and so I am halachikally Jewish.

This got me thinking. Who is "more" Jewish? The person who was born to only a Jewish father and knows all the rituals of Judasim? Or a person who was born to a Jewish mother, but knows nothing of the customs. That is to say, shouldn't a person who is spiritually connected to the religion be more accepted as a Jew than the Jew who has no spiritual connection?

I have many friends who are Jewish through their father. They know the customs and laws and are very involved in synagogue. They know Hebrew and go to Shabbat services. They are obviously very devoted to their Judaism. However, it is in my opinion that if they are that devoted towards the religion then they should respect the laws. I have made it clear in previous posts that it is my personal opinion that I think that people who are born Jewish through their father should go through a conversion process. However, if you tell me that you are Jewish I'm not going to ask you "through your mother or through your father?" It's disrespectful. If you consider yourself a Jew, then I do too. I will not disregard you as Jewish if you tell me your father is a Jew and not your mother, but just don't tell me you are half-Jewish. Either you are or you aren't.

I also have friends who are Jewish through their mother, but know nothing about Judaism. They never observe any of the holidays, the only Hebrew word they know is "Shalom", and don't give much thought to the religion in general. Well, obviously these people are Jewish, right? According to the Torah, yes.

But I'm not so sure. More religious people may think that I am "less" Jewish than they are and that hurts. When I would walk through the shuk in my jeans and tank top, the glares I would get from religious Jews said "I am more superior than you because I follow the correct laws of Judaism." But that's stupid. I consider myself Jewish despite that I don't follow all the laws of the Torah. I can't go and give someone who less religious than me that same look. I know how it feels. How can I tell someone they are not of the religion they grew up with? To tell them that they can believe all the stories in the bible and go through all the rituals, but not consider them a Jew? How can I do that? Judaism entails many different laws and everyone observes them differently. I have no say in anything. You can do as you please and if you feel you are Jewish then my all means go ahead and be as Jewish as you want. For the only one that can truly judge you is G-d.

Listen to Your Heart

For half of my childhood, I was questioned by by peers. "What are those triangle cookies?", "What's matzah?", "You only get 8 presents?". It's gets exhausting and annoying to have to answer these questions. When I moved to a more Jewish town, the questions changed from "eww, that's gross" inquiries to "I genuinely want to know" wonderments. While it was still somewhat bothersome to always have to explain why I was taking a day off from school, I was more ok with answering these questions because in return I would ask my friends of other ethnicities about their own culture. We traded information because we wanted to know not because we wanted to tease.

Everyone wants to be different. But then when we are different, we feel offended that people can't understand that our differences is what makes us unique. We tease and mock others who are are outside the group of conformity and yet we continue to say "I am different." But really, we're all the same. We want to be different, but not too different. We want to stand out from the group, but we don't want to be in the fringe. So while being Jewish has given me a sense of uniqueness, there was always a part of me that wondered what it was like to be in a place where the rules of religion were understood.

And for me, that place is Israel.

Living there for four or six months at a time just doesn't give me the sense of belonging. I still feel like a visitor no matter how well I know my location. And so, I am about to do what will hurt my family the most.

A move to Israel.

How am I supposed to explain that moving to Israel is something I need to do? If I don't I will regret this for the rest of my life. There are proven studies that say you regret inaction more than actions. So, even if I do end up hating life there, at least I tried. I had the guts to move to a different country. On the other hand, life is short and this is the time of my life when it's ok to pick up and go. It's ok to take adventures. There's nothing holding me back. Family will always be here and I will always love them and I will always be thinking of them. It may seem like I am abandoning the family I have known for almost 23 years, but it's not abandonment. I'm not leaving the US without looking back. I am tucking them in my backpack to pull out at any time. Trust me when I say I will be thinking of everyone. I will be feeling guilty for missing certain events. But, family will always be important. My mother taught me that.

I want to move to Israel for a million reasons. I can't explain every single one. I have tried hard in previous posts to illustrate exactly why I love Israel. Life in the United States isn't terrible. I have a good life. I had a good education. I am cultured and traveled. I have always known when the next meal was. I have always had a roof over my head. I have had parents who love me and support me. I am lucky to have been born in such a fortunate family. But that's just it. Sometimes you have to do something out of your comfort zone in order to fully appreciate what life has given you. I understand that it's not just my comfort zone I am walking out of. It's all of my family's and friends' comfort zone and it's this, that I think hurts them the most.

I know my move will be hard on my family, but I hope they understand that this is something I want/have to do.

My First Jew

When I go into a new environment where I don't know the people, I take off my Star of David necklace. You never know what people's perception of Judaism is and I don't want to upset anyone. Saying this, I recently started wearing my necklace to work because I felt comfortable enough around my coworkers. I never said I was Jewish (Except after mentioning that I worked in Israel for 6 months. Then someone asked me.), but my identity could be seen in my necklace.

Anyway, a few days ago the following conversation took place:
Coworker: You're Jewish?
Me: Yea
CW: By race or religion? Or both?
Me: Both.
CW: Oh. I've never met a Jew before. You look like any other white girl t'me. I've got these stereotypes and would have never guessed you were Jewish.
Then a customer came in and our conversation was interrupted.

I've never met anyone who has never met a Jew. To me that feels weird. I grew up in a town where much of the population was Jewish. I grew up in a state where, though there is antisemitism, it is not as great as other places in the United States. Being Jewish is my identity. It's part of who I am and when someone has never met anyone with a part of my identity it makes me feel both uncomfortable and exhilarating. I have the power and privilege to show this person what and who a Jew can be. But because I am his representative, it puts a lot of pressure on me. Do I have enough knowledge of Judaism to explain customs and ways? Do I know the right explanations? Do I know the answers to the whys? Unconsciously, this person that has never met a Jew is watching my every move. How I act and react towards others. How I dress. How I move. Everything. I know that some people live sheltered lives, but I know for a fact that this person has "been around the block." But not to have met a Jew? At the age of 20-something? In Massachusetts? That's hard to believe considering the amount of diversity in the state. And yet it's true.

How am I supposed to respond to someone that says "I've never met a Jew before." I've never climbed to the top of Mount Everest. What's your point? That's what I want my response to be, but in reality I know that it can't. I know that I need to show this person that the negative stereotypes of Jews are not necessarily true. I need to show them that Jews are a people. A person. It doesn't and shouldn't matter my religion or race. I'm a human being and my Judaism just happens to be part of my identity as much as being female or white.

Pull Me Closer

There was a bombing in Jerusalem. Not somewhere outside Jerusalem. But in the city. Across from the central bus station. Because I lived in this city for five months, this is very real to me. It's not some far away city. It's not a small city that I passed through. It's not even a city that I toured for a week. This is a city where I got to know the people and feel the essence. A place where I walked up and down the streets until I no longer needed a map. I place where I was no longer a visitor. I was there and I have an exact picture of the street. I became a part of Jerusalem and a piece of Jerusalem.

I have friends who are currently living there. Some of them are still working at their internships and take the 74 (the bus route that was hit). My friends from work take the bus to and from the central bus station after work.  No one I know was hurt and everyone is ok. There are people there that I care and worry about when things like this happen. However, events like this build a community bond. This is why Israelis know their neighbors and are so friendly with each other in the private of their homes. Because when someone needs help, you can't rely on foreign allies to help. Being across seas only adds to the distance and only helps with rebuilding. You need a neighbor and a friend, or even a stranger, to rely on because if something happens you have help.

While this does shake me a little bit, it also pulls me closer to the country.  I have a need and a want to be there. I want to be in the middle of the action. To know exactly what is going on. American news sources over exaggerate the events so how do I know what to actually believe? Never for one moment was I afraid or scared of an attack. The fear of a terrorist attack is part of the Israeli lifestyle. You have to take the good with the bad. However, while an event like this is higher in Israel than the United States, statistically, there is a small chance of getting hurt. "Only" 30 people were injured and one was killed after being severely wounded, but in a country of 7 million, that's almost nothing. The statistics of getting hit by a car crossing the street is higher.

Simplicity

I miss Israel. That's a fact that everyone knows about me. Sure I miss hearing Hebrew swarm my ears and the Jewishness of the country. It's more than the connection I have with Israel, though. I miss the simple things of Israel. I miss the essence of the country. The details that make Israel what it is.

I miss the juice stands that squeeze of fresh orange, pomegranate, and/or carrot juice. The guys behind the counter, whether old or young, were always friendly despite my indecisiveness. They always complimented my friends and I, but not in a creepy manner. In a genuine "I'm Israeli so I notice American  girls" kind of way. That still sounds creepy, but you have to be in Israel to understand. Hence, my point of why I miss the country.

I miss the Jerusalem stone roads that I always slipped on. I miss walking to the bus stop with the sun rising over the Old City and sparkling against the Dome of the Rock. I miss the bus drivers and their crazy driving. I miss the honking. The shuttling to Tel Aviv every weekend via Sheirut. I miss the beach (though I think that's mostly a general thing because it is so cold here!) and the tire playground. I miss the cafes. I miss the Aromas and the Angel Bakery. I miss the kindergarten. I miss my misinterpretations. I miss the Israeli accent. I miss the "telawivtelawivtelawiv" of the sheirut drivers at the Tachanat Mercazit (Bus Station). I miss the sea of black, also known as the religious. I miss the pita. The hummus. The tahina. The falafel. The chocolate and its spread. The persimmons and the fresh fruit.

But most of all, I miss the silence of Shabbat. I live in the suburbs so everything is always still and silent. But there is no way to describe the busy, overcrowded, overpopulated, pushing and shoving citizens of Israel right before the beginning of Shabbat. As soon as sundown sets, it's like someone put a silencer on the country. You can see families at their kitchen table saying prayers over candles, wine, and challah. From my window in Jerusalem, I could see into the apartment complex next door and every Friday I would see a father blessing his little girl. Everyone in Israel is with family and friends. No one is worried about anything except what to eat for dinner. The closest you get to this warm fuzzy feeling of familial ties is Christmas of Fourth of July. You don't (or at least I don't) even get this feeling on Shabbat in America. There's just an essence about knowing that everyone else in the country is doing exactly what you are doing at exactly the same time that gives you a sense of security and warmth.

It's Not the Same:Hummus and Pita

I've been home for a while now and Israel is visible in my room. Maps of Jerusalem, Tel Aviv, and Haifa hang limply on my door as if to remind me that, though they are not the real thing, if I can close my eyes, I can still see remnants of my time in Israel. Experiencing the culture of Israel gave me a chance to reflect on the positives and negatives of America. Now, don't get me wrong. I love America and am very lucky to be born into such a great country (especially now when there is chaos all over the Middle East), but there are certain things about Israel (like besides everything) that I like better and Israel. For example, the food. There is no way I can eat American pita, hummus, or surprisingly, cottage cheese.

While Israeli pita is sold in supermarkets, it is still not the same. It doesn't have the fresh smell of flour and yeast that wafts not only up and down the aisles, but also lingers on your hands for hours afterwards. My nose doesn't tingle with delight when I choose a bag of pita in the supermarket. As I pick up the pita, I can't feel the heat as it warms up my hands. The pita is not fresh and does not beg to be eaten at that moment. There are no the dew drops on the bag thus instead of ripping open the knot, you place it neatly into the carriage.  You don't hear Americans yell "Wow! 5 sheks (roughly $1.50) for 10 pitas?" In America, you can't taste the oil and the floury thickness of the bread. You taste a flat round pancake that is easily severed in two. So, I am stuck with a circular piece of bread. And to dip in what? The hummus in America is not even close to the taste of hummus in Israel. There is an ingredient missing. Lemon juice? Garlic? Tahini? I don't know, but either way I refuse to eat it because the taste is so dramatically different. My tongue tell me that I am eating an entirely different condiment. In order to remedy this problem, I have resolved to make my own, which tastes 100 times better than American hummus and while it is not close to Israeli hummus, it's more of a chickpea concoction than the Sabra brand is. And then there's the cottage cheese, or as they say in Israel, Coh-Tij. I don't know what it is, but the cottage in Israel is...creamier. Milkier. Just more...edible.

Ok, so maybe I'm snob when it comes to food (I am certainly enjoying my Starbucks now), but you don't know the differences until you have tasted them. It's like eating American cheese all your life and then going to France and eating Brie. You can never go back. Or like eating supermarket brand chocolate and discovering that Hershey and Nestle exist. Or even pizza. Store bought pizza is ok, but Italian pizza is the real prize. The food is better an ocean away because it isn't processed as much and no one cares about eating healthy. Ok, that sounds wrong. What I mean is that people eat based on what their body tells them, not society. They will eat white bread, 3% milk, 5% yogurt, cottage cheese and sour cream, 25% cheese. Yet despite what may seem like unhealthy food choices, there are very few overweight people in Israel (and in the Eastern Hemisphere, in general). When I first arrived in Boston, one of the first people that I saw was overweight. It's kind of a shocker you don't realize. People in Europe just aren't fat. And it's because the food is more natural in those countries. If I really knew what I was eating in the US, I'm pretty sure I'd throw up Though Food, Inc. and Supersize me did a good job on that too. C'mon, America. Isn't it time to start eating organically and not the GMO crap?

It's Not the End

My last week and a half in Israel consisted of exploring the country and hanging out with friends.

I went to Chevron with a friend from the program. I looked at the website beforehand to see what kind of tour it was going to be. Apparently, though, I was the only who did not get the memo to wear a long black skirt and a black shirt. I was in jeans and a pink jacket. I stood out like the smell of fish at the shuk. Our first stop was Rachel's tomb, where we entered the West Bank. The bus drove between two tall cement walls. While I felt isolated, I knew how much these walls protected the Israeli people. Rachel's tomb was pure chaos. There was construction on the women's side so the men's side was split for both. Because it was time for the morning service, a lot of religious school groups were there. Just imagine trying to swim through a sea of feisty religious women. It's not a pretty sight. In addition, the 13 year old girls were texting on their phone. I personally felt no connection to this place, but I was respectful. These girls are supposed to feel a greater connection and they were busy texting their friend about some stupid comment.

Our next stop was the actual city of Chevron. There, we saw the tomb of Ruth and Yishai (Jesse). The tour guide didn't say much about the history of them. Nor did he say much at the Beit-Hadassah museum. I learned more reading the captions of the pictures than I did from him. There was no historical context. He didn't explain why Chevron was so important, besides the fact that the patriarchs and matriarchs are buried there. He didn't talk about why the city is split up. He didn't talk about the conflict between the Arabs and Israelis. After a quick break for lunch, we walked to the Machpela, or the Cave of the Patriarchs. The tour guide kept on persisting that everyone would feel a connection to the Seventh Step and I felt guilty for not feeling anything. I mean, personally, I think, the Kotel is more exciting. It was cool to see the temple and the tombs of Avraham, Yitzchak, Ya'akov and Sara, Rivka, Leah, but let's be honest. Do you really think there is a body in these elaborate boxes? It may be the place where these characters were buried, but there's no way of knowing for sure. I felt the historical connection, but the emotional connection was not there. But even if I were to feel a connection, like I do at the Kotel, I wouldn't feel the need to kiss the ground. They were just people like you and me. Sure they were the founders of Judaism, but they were still humans. We were at the Cave of the Patriarchs during Mincha, the afternoon service and one of the Rebbe's was crying as he prayed. I think it's wonderful that you have such a great connection to this place, but it's just a building where the patriarchs are buried...maybe. I guess I don't have that deep connection.

Before I left Israel, last Sunday, I went to a reserve and absorbed the last bits of Israel. I took in the sea and the Old City walls. I closed my eyes and took a picture of the beautiful country so that I can remember it exactly as I see it and feel it. As I flew home on the airplane, we flew over the beach in Tel Aviv. The same one I went to the first day I was in Tel Aviv. For now, everything came full circle for I will be back in this Holy Land once again.