American (and other diasporic) Jews have been known to say “my heart is in the east” when yet another tragedy strikes in Israel. In my time embedded in an American Jewish community, I’ve never used the phrase or really understood its meaning until now. Today I should be getting on a plane headed towards Ben Gurion airport in Tel Aviv. I should be loading my suitcases into my rabbi’s car and kissing the top of my eleven year old best friend’s head. I should be crying “I’ll miss you” tears. Instead, I haven’t been able to get rid of the frog in my throat and I’ve been scared that if I truly start crying I’ll never stop.
How does one develop a relationship with a country they’ve never been to? That was my question as I endeavored into the small but mighty land Jews call home. Without being Jewish and without visiting, the task seemed impossible. I found that, like most things in my conversion, this grew relatively naturally and slowly. All of the history and politics were great to have and helped with my understanding, but what I found most connective was tracking those same topics through Torah. The parallels between then and now were startlingly easy to find. Then, before I knew it, I found the Israelites’ trek towards the Promised Land to mirror that of my own. As they ventured through the wilderness, I too found myself longing for a country I hadn’t previously spent much time considering. That is the beginning of what I call the magic of Israel. It has a way of captivating a heart. Then, when you compound it with the level of strategy, strength, and resilience, you find that the awe of Israel is actually quite grand.
With a slow, steady growth, I hadn’t realized the extent of my love for Israel until October 7th. Suddenly I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t look away from the news. I was handed a flyer with hostage Ron Sherman’s name and face on it at a rally not too long after. It stayed on my desk until my last day of work, long after his remains had been recovered. I realized that I was endlessly in love with a country I hadn’t been to, and it shocked me. What I first thought would be impossible had become undeniable. I love Israel. With a loving relationship comes maintenance. That kind of love is hard to maintain amidst missiles, bombs, and attacks both towards and from Israel. There are times when I disagree with how Israel handles things, yet I’ve found that there is a way of holding on to a love and a country I didn’t think I’d experience.
When I was accepted to Hebrew Union College, the idea of moving to Jerusalem for a year scared every fiber of my being. With the Israel-Hamas war still ongoing, and my growing sight loss, it seemed both impossible and irresponsible. It was scary until it wasn’t. I made a list of what to bring, of sites to see, and of memories I wanted to make. Before I knew it, the fear was becoming true excitement. It all seemed doable and “figure-out-able” the closer it got. Three months… two months… just one. One week… six days… five… the timer stopped. I’d left my job, ended my lease, and sold or donated almost all of my possessions. Five days before the biggest move of my life it was yanked away from me. Five days before a dream came true, the dream became a nightmare. To say the least, I am heartbroken.
Now I’m back to keeping an eye on the news and trying to swallow the frog in my throat. I’ll be starting rabbinical school online instead of in the heart of Jerusalem with more than twenty future colleagues. With weeks of uncertainty ahead, there is a chance that my year in Israel will disappear completely, and it terrifies me. As HUC does its best to protect its students, I am finding myself in a mixture of gratitude, sadness, and anger. Of course, I am thankful. I am safe. I am not hiding in a bomb shelter. I am not living without a needed bomb shelter. But I am sad. I am sad that this is what the world has resorted to. And I am angry. I am angry that a dream came so close and was thrown farther out at the last second. It was like a shooting star, and I missed my chance to make a wish. They say it’ll come around again, but certainty is never guaranteed.
Now I know what Jews mean when they feel as though their heart is thousands of miles away. My heart is in the east. My soul is in the east. My mind is in the east. And they’re all waiting for my physical body to catch up.
Humble Chutzpah 