Dear self-exiling Brothers and Sisters of the dispersed Great Nation of Israel ....
Nope, too strong... (remember to erase before sending out)
Dear brothers and sisters,
I AM HOME! I HAVE BECOME AN ISRAELI! I suppose I should start chronologically and update you on the past couple days. Last Shabbat was Parshat Shelach in the Exile. It recounts the incredible story of the twelve spies sent to Israel to report back to the rest of the Jewish people their findings. Ten of the spies return and shout all sorts of alarming reports about a Land that swallows its inhabitants. They speak of giants who occupy the land and in whose eyes "we are like grasshopper." They speak about the beurocratic nightmares of the Aliya process and the horrendous customer service. They go on and on leading the people to such panic that they demand to go back to Egypt. Two of the spies, though, simply said: The Land is very, very good! They were no match for a people who never fails to mistake Democratic ideals for the word of God (kind of a mass self-worship) and most of the Jewish People did not want to go into Eretz Yisrael, resulting in forty years in the desert and the death of the entire generation.
The Rabbi at my parents shul reminded everyone of this monumental misjudgment of our people that has been repeated several times and again today as he bid me farewell from the pulpit Shabbat morning. Several people I had never before spoken to approached me. They shared with me their memories of the time in their life where they teetered toward soaring to the Land of Israel but put it off, some for as little as two months or a couple hundred dollars, only to see that window of opportunity slammed shut. Just like last weeks Parsha - at the last second, after being admonished by God - after having their eyes opened to the falsehood inherent in their decision - they desperately wanted a second chance at Aliya - and they were refused it, condemned to wander in a desert for forty years (engaging in investment banking and day-trading, all the while building excellent day schools that teach their kids everything except the Hebrew language) until their kids are old enough not to repeat their mistakes.
Saturday night I cleaned out my beloved Chevy Nova of all the flyers, signs and old bottles of Arizona Green Tea accumulated over thousands of miles and a whole slew of Exodus Shabbats across the East Coast. I found some old signs protesting Barak's demand that various despots in the Middle East accept his gift of various chunks of my eternal homeland, from the Golan to Jerusalem in exchange for a prize from some Jew-haters in Norway. It struck me how bizarre it was that Jews in America expect the right to exist to be granted to them for free, but until a year or so ago, nearly the entire Jewish community thought it made sense for Israel to have to beg to be granted that (Land for Peace: You just facilitate your own destruction, and we will try and get rid of our desire to do so by then, ok?)
I could not imagine going to sleep so I didn't even try. I went to the mikva at about 5:30 AM after waking my friend Tzvi (of Sushi Metzuyan fame) and his entire family to get the key. It was just what I needed, and I recommend it to anyone about to get on that plane Homeward bound. It gave me a sense of readiness to enter a Land that really does look daunting when you are not actually standing on its soil. Daunting in the sense of always wondering if it is really as incredible as you remember it to be, always struggling with the imposition of the Israel of Jpost.com and Arutz Sheva (not to mention Haaretz and all American news sources besides drudgereport.com) onto the actual place that you remember the last time you were there. You worry whether living there is going to be different than visiting; so drastically different as to render your previous motivations null and void -- until you realize that Israel operates like life, Godliness and the entire Jewish project: It is new every day, while recalling the affirmed truths you have accumulated on your journey at all times enables you to move forward and gather more sparks for that inner fire.
I had breakfast with my family and we were off to Newark Airport four hours in advance in anticipation of teary good-byes and full body searches by El Al security. We were not disappointed. The security questions this time around were incredibly thorough. (I just described their methods in detail but decided to erase it due to the fact that someone reading this is bound to want to destroy the Jewish State and I'll be darned if I'm gonna have anything to do with your nefarious plot!) My carry-on was the wrong size so we had to re-pack a bunch of things and stick it under the plane.
There were many people I knew at the airport but I stuck with my family. No matter how supportive your family is of your Aliya, no matter what incredible loving parents who share your vision, who admire you for it and who are the ones responsible for planting the seeds that sprouted into the move - it is very painful to see your child move across the globe. I waved good-bye to my holy parents who gave me the gift of an upbringing that led me to this point, and with a few tears, waved good-bye to my two youngest siblings, Aaron and Sara. They are 14 and 11 respectively, and between now and when they each make it here on a summer program and I convince them to stay on for the rest of high school (joke) I will be missing the formative years of their lives. And so it was with final moments of sadness that I boarded the plane - like a wedding in which we break a glass and shed a tear for that which is missing from our joyous occasions. A friend of my parents' from Albany sent them an email with the words "Hazorim b'dima b'rina yiktzoru" - that the seeds we plant with tears in our eyes will be reaped in joy. The words are from Tehillim 126, the biblical Zionist folk song of King David we read before Birkat Hamazon.
I was seated in 40K, a window seat. To my left was a Russian couple. I told them I was making Aliya and the man gave me a hug as his wife said incredulously, "it is a very difficult time right now, you know." "Im lo achshav, eimatai," I asked (if not now, when). The man gave me a knowing look and a smile as I drifted off into dreamland before the plane could even take off. I woke up and wrote a little bit before the meal arrived and then drifted off again until my neighbor nudged me awake excitedly to show me Genoa, Italy out the window. I took out my notebook again as slogan and t-shirt ideas pop into my head, reminding me of my friend Yishai who always has a new batch waiting each time we see each other:
"The Ten Spies are Still Lying to the Jewish People"
"End the Occupation...of the Exile. Jews, come Home"
"Ten Out of Twelve Have Always Said Aliya Wasn't Possible"
The lights came on in the plane as we prepared for landing. I thought about my situation: I was being flown, all expenses paid, on the wings of an eagle made of steel (way better than the feathered kind because not only are there kosher meals and bathrooms, but there are "special kosher" meals and those really hot, moist washcloths they give out right before landing). There was an intense heat wave and the cloud cover was so thick that I could not see that we were over land until seconds before we landed. As the wheels touched down I felt a relief wash over me. I had been certain that some insane circumstance in the US (like a dirty nuke for example) would keep me from arriving Home and shut down the airports or force us to land in Uganda. I had waited for this moment for so long. I started belting out Hatikvah before they could put on the canned "best of Israeli folk songs" album (which used to be awesome, but perhaps, in the flight crews quest for variety, has become a smattering of obscure Israeli pop music). Others joined in and together we sang about our Jewish souls yearning to return to the Land we had just touched down in. It was an incredible feeling.
Upon exiting the plane I kissed the ground as one kisses their grandparents. I then got up and took out the shofar I had brought with me. Teka b'Shofar Gadol L'Cheruteinu, v'sa neis l'kabeitz galuyoteinu! Blow the great shofar for our freedom, and raise the banner to gather the exiles! We say that every day. So I blew the shofar with all my strength and people just stopped. When I was done and I got on the little bus they taxi you from the plane to the terminal in, everyone just nodded in agreement. Wherever I looked, people responded to the call of the shofar with the sentiment: We agree, its time to wake up, its time to come Home.
The flight arrived an hour early but a gentleman from AACI (Association for Americans and Canadians in Israel), holding a sign with my name on it, was already waiting for me. His name was Stanley and he whisked me past the lines into the secret part of Ben Gurion that only Israelis and new Olim know about. The process was painless and took about twenty minutes, at the end of which I was holding a document that looked much like my US Passport, but which had a picture of the Menorah from our Holy Temple embossed on the outside, with the name God gave our forefather Yaakov written underneath. It is my Teudat Oleh and I have been told several times already that if I lose it - it is IRREPLACEABLE. Unfortunately, my name is spelled wrong, but tomorrow when I go to the interior ministry for my Teudat Zehut, we will iron it all out.
When I joined the rest of the flight back at the baggage carousel, I received a pleasant surprise. All six of my bags came out quicker than any single bag I have ever taken to the Holy Land. I zipped past customs without making eye contact and arrived at my free cab (new olim get free transportation to anywhere in Israel located to the west of the Jordan River) before the scheduled time my flight was supposed to land.
My cab driver was impressed with my Aliya for about four seconds, then we listened to the news and talk shows nonstop - interrupted only by my incessant questions: Ma Hamila Hazot, "kenufiya"?, "Eich korim et hashchuna hazot?" I was so relieved to see the land right there where I left it. I don't know if I half expected it to be gloomier and to see actual scorched earth alongside the roads or what - but it was a very beautiful drive from Lod to Jerusalem.
Lions greeted my as I entered the city. Some Jerusalemites poke fun at them, but whether they are a sneaky advertisement gimmick from Peugot, or an inspirational reminder of our strength as a people - they add something to the city (kinda like a golden calf?). The heat was incredible. The Earth and Sun teamed up and sandwiched us all like a pile-on in elementary school soccer (look how poetic being a Jerusalemite has made me). I put down my bags, met my new roommate, and went with my brother (who is here for another month in Maaleh Adumim) to the Old City.
I asked the soldiers on guard what time they were opening the Temple Mount for Jews to pray on. He sent me to the Holy Wall instead. Never hurts to ask, though - it IS what this whole Al-Aqsa Intifada is about, isn't it? If our holiest site is closed to Jews because an Islamic shrine was built on it - perhaps we will get all-Jewish hours at the Kaba'a in Mecca when we build a Beit Knesset there.
On my way back to Nahlaot (I live on 19 Chacham Shalom, apt #5 - overlooking Gan Sachar and a stone's throw from the supreme court building, not that I have measured it yet) I walked through machane yehuda. Many people have begun to shop during not-so-crowded hours. The only problem is that with all those people shopping during the off-hours, a crowd has been assembled, thereby replicating the original conditions. I bought a whole bunch of fruit to feed to my blender, which is the one appliance I brought with me from America. Instead of unpacking I just stood out on my mirpesset (balcony) overlooking the city of Jerusalem and sang a song into the night. Shir Hamaalot Bshuv Adonai Et Shivat Tzion Hayinu K'cholmim When God returns us to Zion everything will have been like a dream,
B'ahavat Yisrael,
From the city of inner light and mundane miracles,
Unable to sleep because being awake is so incredible,
Ezra HaLevi
Cell Phone: 064 430 244