Am I scared to be in Israel?
I hear this question as often as you can imagine. My response appears later but first…
I wake up each morning to a shining sun. A couple of minutes into my walk to work I receive the smells of fresh coffee brewing and breads cooking in nearby bakeries. I see children walking to school with siblings and friends ? some with yarmulkes as large as their heads and some with Batman lunch boxes some with Israeli blue and white t-shirts and some with Barbie doll stickers covering notebooks.
The city comes alive as birds fly overhead and trucks deliver freshly cut flowers and produce from kibbutzim. Neighbors speak to each other in Hebrew (the language of our Torah!) and signs in Hebrew announce the arrival of the newest videos and DVDs. The newspaper tells me the day of the month according to the secular and the Jewish calendars.
At lunch time I walk across the street to the falafel stand. In the one minute it takes to get there I pass Jews from Morocco Yemen Ukraine Ethiopia the Americas and elsewhere. The falafel man calls me and the others at his stand ‘habibi’ – an affectionate term for ‘friend.’
The street is filled with a mix of people from trendily attired youths to traditionally garbed haredim. As garbage collectors wearing yarmulkes go about their work cafes overflow with people laughing and arguing studying and drinking.
On my way home I pass ten synagogues on the 15-minute walk. The talis-like Israeli flag is flying from nearly every building. The expression of Jewish values is apparent on each block – state -sponsored homes for the aged soup kitchens rehabilitation facilities for the disabledfree health clinics petitioners lobbying the Knesset to increase the benefits for new immigrants.
At dusk I hear the call of the muezzin and the bells of the local churches. I see nuns returning to the monasteries and I observe Muslims kneeling in prayer at a local park. The neighborhood fruit vendor is outside the shul next to his stand and calls me to help make the prayer minyan for a stranger who is saying kaddish.
At night I walk outside into the cool desert climate and I look up to see the same view of the stars that Abraham and Sarah saw thousands of years ago. I see the illuminated walls of the Old City of Jerusalem and I think of King David following G-d’s instructions to establish this ironically named ‘City of Peace’ as the capital of the Jewish people. I see the mount within the city walls where King Solomon built our Temple and I can almost hear the buzz of prayer of
Jews from around the globe visiting the Western Wall.
One day last spring at 10:00 a.m. a siren sounded throughout the country. Nationwide cars stopped and drivers got out radio and TV broadcasts went silent bustling markets became still and everyone stood in silence for sixty seconds ? one second for every 100 000 Jews lost to the Holocaust.
The next morning Israelis stood silent again in commemoration of our fallen soldiers and for all of the victims of Jewish statehood. That night we were reminded why these people lost their lives as we began celebrations of Israel’s 55th year of existence. Streets named Ben-GurionHerzl Rothchild and Rambam – and squares named Zion and Rabin – were filled with celebrants.
Even the most secular of Israeli children can read the Torah in its original language with the ease that you read this article. Every child can attend a tuition-free Jewish day school. There are no conflicts between Saturday morning school athletics and Shabbat no tests (or even classes) are scheduled on the High Holidays and one can run to the local kiosk and easily make a last minute Chanukah purchase of menorah and candles. Friday nights I walk the neighborhoods and see Shabbos candles like decorations in the windows. I know that I will find young teenagers congregated in the middle of the street after Shabbat dinner as late as midnight boys in one group girls in the other and the brave few who venture between the two.
For the first time since the days of the Maccabees the Jews have sovereignty over the Land of Israel. For the first time in millennia the physical safety of the Jewish people rests in Jewish hands. The army navy and air force are led by Jewish soldiers whose priorities are the safety of the Jewish state and its people.
In 1965 my mother planned to take part in the Civil Rights march in Selma Alabama. At the last moment she did not participate due to fear of the possibility of violence. When she looks at pictures from the March in Selma – a sea of black faces with the few specks of white supporters mixed in – she relives decades of regret for not marching to express the values in her heart.
Am I scared?
I am scared to live a life of inconsequence.
I am scared to live in this moment in Jewish history and not be part of the greatest Jewish experiment of the Common Era.
I am scared to miss even a day of the privilege of living in a country governed by and for the Jewish people.
I am scared to take for granted that there is a place in this world that is committed to strengthening societal Jewish values.
I am scared when I read about the precariousness of Jewish lives before Israel’s establishment in 1948.
I am scared when I hear the voices of world leaders and bastions of the ignorant and educated alike calling for Israel’s end.
I am scared to be one of the good persons who sit quietly while those who preach hate and evil work diligently toward their goals.
Am I scared to be in Israel?
The idea of there being no Israel is much much scarier.
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