Seven Years Back...Seven Years Forward

Eight years ago we decided to take the job offer from Intel and make aliyah. It was a one-way move.

It took us another half year to get it all organized. We packed up and moved.

Then we arrive. Las year was our sabbatical (שבתון in Hebrew) year, our Shmita year. It was a time for us, whether we knew it or not, to take a bit of a rest, a rest from this exhausting and exhilarating process of absorption into Israeli society. I did a bit of a mental relax, not really a check out, more of a check in - an adjustment of expectations.

The history of the State of Israel and the stories surrounding her founding are told in epic, mythical proportions in the diaspora. It's hard as a Jewish child not to be engaged by these stories, won over, even. The challenges were massive and daunting. The confidence and enthusiasm were boundless. The pioneers who founded the State of Israel would be successful. We talk about the heroic establishment of Israel, the heroic history of the country, and the heroic story of Zionism. (Well, they do on the Promised Podcast, at least, and you should listen to them, it's good stuff.)

Unlike the pioneers of the American west, the pioneers of modern-day Israel were my grandparents' generation, my parents' generation even. They were within reach of me - I could have lived that experience if only different decisions had been made.

My family made choices that took them to the US and then spread us out around the country. They weren't choices that brought us to Israel. When I made it here on my own the combination of the childhood history and stories coupled with the sights, smells, and tastes were intoxicating. All of this in a country based on the Jewish calendar - on Jewish time (okay, so always running a little late!).

Years later, when all the pieces of my life aligned, I found myself finally boarding a plane with my family to move to Israel. When we got here it was all that we hoped and yet so deeply lacking. Something was, is, missing here for me.

These last seven years I have been attempting to keep my eyes wide open to what life here is. It's not all amazing triumphs and conquering insurmountable odds to be a light unto the nations. It may be, well, just a bit too modern, a bit too capitalistic, a bit too consumer oriented, for me, at least.

I'm sitting on the bus on my way to the train. It's early in the morning and I know the route well. Up ahead, off to the side of this high-speed road, there is this little glimpse of the struggles of the past. On the side of the hill someone has placed an antique dump truck - it's bed raised and frozen in time. The faded and dusty blue truck body and the peeling yellow painted dump bed seem to wink at me from times gone by. (I've tried to snap a picture, but to no avail, so here's Google Maps' image.)

Then I look up the hillside just a bit higher and I see the buildings of the historic Meir Shfeya Youth Village, brought to existence by the generosity of Hadassah. There, a beautiful mix of children (including mine) learn and grow to be the future of this country. The humble stone buildings peek out from the pines, cedars, and palm trees - a bit of historical, yet modern Israel. It remains, stronger than ever, to remind us of what was once here - as we rapidly pave it over and build it up.

And I feel a bit sad that my ancestors didn't decide to move us here to work, toil, suffer, and struggle as we engaged in such intensely meaningful work of establishing a home for themselves.

My bus ride is over and we have arrived at the train station. Several stops into my ride (I've gotten a local service bus), there is a bit of a ruckus down the aisle. As the noise approaches me I come to understand there is a blind woman on the train and she is hoping someone near her will be getting off at her stop and can help her get where she needs to go. The conversation engulfs a number of other passengers - getting up and sitting down, consulting one to the other, making plans. Of course she quickly finds someone who happens to be going near where she needs to go. The two women get up and walk to the door to alight. Of course she finds the help she needs. And most likely, her helper today is going to go a bit out of her way to help her and that's no big deal at all to her; it's just what you do.

I found myself contemplating these two tableaus for the rest of the ride. That piece of the past where my son now learns daily, that reminds me of the sacrifices and hard work of those who came before us, and of which I can never be a part...and the modern day experiment of such a variegated and challenging society where we are all trying to get along and perhaps even be a light unto the nations as we help each other find our way. It's that second part which is the part of the experiment that remains. And it remains for me, for us, to pick up where others have left off, to keep building this country. It may be a bit obscured by the modernity and capitalism of our time, but it's still there.

Ironically, it seems to me that my job as a olah (immigrant) to this country, at this time, in an era of unprecedented growth and development, is to help remind those who were here before me of what they lived through before and how remarkable and wonderful and beautiful it was. Even in all its hardship. Lest we forget what has happened in the past, lest we forget what we are capable of accomplishing, lest we turn a blind eye to our obligations to the future.

Now a little humble brag to round this out. We got a call a few weeks ago to inquire if we would be profiled in a weekend newspaper. We said sure, it was a project with Nefesh b'Nefesh. We answered a lot of questions about our experience moving here and living here and we had a photographer come to our house. For the moment we only have the article in Hebrew. I'll post it in English when we get it. It's remarkable to think about what we have accomplished in our seven years - now on to the next seven!