But now, during my stay in Eretz Yisrael, all that I had read flooded my mind, and despite the safety of the neighbourhoods I stayed in, it was difficult to truly relax.
*** It has been a few years since that first visit, and I am now faced with the opposite problem.
On my first visit, I was afraid of being out in the streets with the muezzin sounding. The people he was calling to prayer felt far too close for comfort during those times. I was afraid of every shifty-eyed, dark man I saw. In all honesty, I was afraid of having to live in a place with such an explosive past and unpredictable future.
But now I have been living in Eretz Yisrael for a while, and I have discovered that our land is so much more than the politics and terror threats described in the papers.
I have just fetched my daughter from gan. We are coming down some steps when I notice a bus pulling up. The automatic doors fly open and tens of men spill out onto the sidewalk. Some carry Gemaras or bags; others are involved in heated discussions. They scatter in various directions, heading home for lunch. They have just spent the entire morning learning Torah.
We cross over the road, helping two little boys across too. Their long peiyos fly in the wind as they run off down the sidewalk. My eyes follow them, and I notice a mother helping her son off a bus full of children returning from cheder. There are school buses, and kollel transports everywhere, as so many return home from their morning spent in growth in Torah and yiddishkeit.
An older lady signals for my attention. I look at her questioningly and she points at my stroller. “The blanket’s dragging on the floor,” she says concernedly. I thank her, rectify the problem and move on.
We enter the building and meet a Sefardi neighbour. We exchange friendly greetings and then keep walking. We neighbours may all have our differences, but we get on well. We are all yidden heading for the same goals.
All whilst breathing in the kedusha in the very air of Eretz Yisrael.
Today I am no longer afraid to be here. The opposite: I’m afraid to leave. The intended date of my family’s “yeridah” is not that far off; we have just reserved plane tickets without a return date. And I am afraid of leaving our land of kedusha for a place where maintaining and bettering our standard of Yiddishkeit will be harder.
But leave I must.
But one day my family and I will return. And when we arrive, it will be I who will say dreamily, with a deep breath and a slow, happy smile, “I could stay out here all night.”
