By Rachel Barton
SAN DIEGO — “So, how was Israel?”
I’ve lost count in the passing weeks of how many times I’ve been asked this question, and how many times I’ve fumbled for an adequate answer to express my feelings associated with the five months I spent as a Jerusalem resident. Many times I’ve found myself wishing that I could express it not through words but with the senses: the mingling aromas of spices and freshly baked bread wafting daily through the open markets, the freshness and flavor that burst forth from everything I consumed, the sight of the light glinting off of the gilded Dome of the Rock, which I could see from my bedroom window. The undulating sounds of Hebrew and Arabic rolling rapidly off the tongues of the people, and the sound of the one question that cut through everything else like a knife: “So, are you thinking of making aliyah?”
The sensation associated with that question was something akin to a wrestling match occurring in the pit of my stomach. How could I answer this with a simple “no,” after gushing about how much I was loving my time there, and explaining how important Israel had always been to me? To nearly every Israeli that I encountered, it seemed like a logical progression that after growing up loving Israel from afar in the diaspora, I should bid my life of sad deprivation ‘adieu’ and immediately settle myself in the place where all Jews should naturally want to carry out their existence. If only it were that simple.
The question, of course, had entered my thoughts from time to time even before it was presented to me on a routine basis in Israel. Ever since my first visit when I was twelve years old, Israel had been to me like a sort of dreamland where I didn’t have to explain to people what it meant to be Jewish, where items for Jewish holidays could be found on more than just the small corner kiosk in the grocery store. Above all, it was associated with an undeniable sense of longing. Now here I was, no longer longing for it but living it; yet something in my gut told me that aliyah would not be my true calling.
Some time before arriving in Israel, I had decided that I wanted to pursue a career in the Jewish nonprofit world. I wasn’t entirely sure what that would entail, but felt strongly that with the consistent influence the Jewish community had had on me throughout my childhood and young adult life, it only made sense that I should give back to it and ensure its continued existence as an adult. It also seemed logical that the best place to start my exploration of this path would be in the epicenter of all things Jewish; and in many ways I was correct. Yet I was unaware of the lessons I would learn; about myself, about Israel, and the many facets of what it means to be a Jew.
Throughout my time as a participant in Masa Israel’s Career Israel program, the most fascinating conversation I had was during our weekend-long dialogue seminar in Ein Gedi. While staying in a hostel overlooking the Dead Sea with a group of Israelis from our peer demographic, we discussed every topic under the sun. The question that prompted the conversation which would play itself over and over again in my head countless times was something along the lines of, “What do you do in your life that makes you feel Jewish?”
The Israelis, to my surprise, reacted as if this were some sort of trick question. “What do you mean, ‘feel Jewish’? I am Jewish, that’s all” was about the summation of their response. The responses from the non-Israelis—which included Jews from everywhere in the world from France to California to Guatemala—included things like going to synagogue, celebrating Jewish holidays, and seeking out activities with other Jews. It was clear in this moment that some sort of collision of ideas had occurred. The Jewish existence was not the same for everyone involved; for some it was an action, for others just a matter of being. Did being a Jew in Israel mean that one didn’t have to actually do anything to be Jewish, that it was simply a fact of life?
We went on to discuss other topics, such as whether all Jews should be expected to make aliyah, and what were the most important aspects of leading a meaningful Jewish life—it was concluded by the group at large, both Israelis and non-Israelis, that geographical location was not at the top of the list. It was determined as general consensus that while maintaining and supporting a Jewish homeland was critical, Israel needs the Diaspora to continue to exist, just as much as we in the Diaspora need Israel.
This conversation, and the cognitive ripples it created, were what helped me to come to terms with my vision for my own Jewish future. I realized that I did not have to live in Israel permanently in order to be an ‘ultimate’ Jew; I could embrace the fact that Judaism in the Diaspora means more ‘doing’ than ‘being.’ I realized that in the end, I would be more satisfied with committing myself to creating a nurturing Jewish community outside of Israel, and being a dedicated spokesperson and supporter from afar, than trying to re-learn how to be a different type of Jew from within. And most importantly, I realized that this five-month experience as a temporary resident had equipped me perfectly to do just that.
Now, living back in San Diego and actively seeking my path as a Jewish professional, I am comfortable saying “no” when people ask me if I intend to move back to Israel—although the question comes much less often. I will always treasure the experiences I had, and I now relish the longing feeling that resurfaced so quickly after I returned to the United States. I can appreciate it now that I know exactly what it means; and that when I set foot on Israeli soil again, which will be often, that Israel still is and will always be my home.
*
Barton, a participant in Masa Israel’s Career Israel, spent a total of six months in Israel, including five months in Jerusalem.