In the early hours of my first morning in Israel our guide took us straight from the airport to a lookout over the Judaean Hills. We all stood at the railing while Uri pointed out every town and explained some of their histories. The ten of us stood in silence. I wondered what I would discover and experience in the next few days. I thought of all the times I had had to weigh the importance of a trip to Israel against the risk I would be taking if I decided to go. It was there that I realized I had made the right choice. After several moments of contemplation, we all stood in a circle with our arms around each other and recited the Shehechianu–the Jewish prayer in celebration of a major life experience.
The experience of going to Israel used to be a fairly common one for American Jewish teenagers. But now, almost three years into the intifada, I realize that my choice to travel to Israel was hardly common at all.
For years, I had looked forward to this summer, when I would be old enough to participate in the Israel Study Tour (IST)—a six-week experience in Israel that is run by the Colorado Agency for Jewish Education (CAJE). Older friends told me about the power of praying at the Western Wall, the people in Israel, and the love that they had formed there for the country, their Judaism, and the Jewish people. They told me they would never forget their experiences; they told me it was going to be the summer of a lifetime.
But in the months before I was to make my trip, the intifada grew more violent than ever. March of 2002 was one of the bloodiest months Israel has seen. A suicide bomber killed and injured scores of people after he walked brazenly into their Seder celebrations in a Netanya hotel. A Palestinian teenager—a girl my age—did the same in a Jerusalem supermarket. IST was faced with a dilemma: should the trip go ahead or not? After months of discussion, CAJE decided to cancel IST. I was heartbroken. The trip that I had so looked forward to was gone.
But there was still another option—the North American Federation of Temple Youth (NFTY) trip to Israel, known as the “2002 L’dor V’dor Israel Experience.” I recalled that two years before, NFTY had sent approximately 1,400 Reform Jewish teens on its trip to Israel. Then in 2001, NFTY sent none—a decision that generated a huge amount of criticism from both Israeli and American Jews. In 2002, NFTY changed its mind, deciding to resume the trip.
I was impressed with the itinerary for NFTY’s Israel experience. But my parents and I had less than a week to decide whether I should go. I was scared. Was it really safe? On the outside, my parents did not seem as scared as I was, but I could sense their fear. I was the one who seemed most doubtful. “If IST says it’s not safe, then how do we know that NFTY is right?” I thought. “Maybe it’s not the right time. I could always go in college. What if there is a bombing? Is it really worth going?”
Had it not been for my parents’ support and positive attitude, I would have stayed home. They assured me that NFTY had good judgment. They told me that the time was now—that here was an offer that probably would not come again. Most importantly, they told me that they would support me whether I decided to go or not. It wasn’t until a few days before I left that my parents’ fears became apparent. “When you leave for Israel,” my mother said, “I want you to know that my heart will be going on that airplane.”
Many people told me not to go. Others were fearful for me. A few thought I was crazy. Fellow students at my Jewish day school, parents, Jews and non-Jews alike, warned me against making the trip. “Only ten are going?” almost everyone asked sarcastically. Yes, only ten Reform Jewish teenagers decided to go on the NFTY 2002 Israel Experience. But those ten proved exceptional.
For the five weeks we spent in Israel, I felt the impact that Israel had on my friends and on myself. We learned about our Judaism and we formed a connection to Israel. We argued, discussed, and questioned together. At Tsiporri we drew a chilling parallel between the Jews of Tsiporri, who lived and assimilated with the Romans, and the Jews of today. There, I realized I had to decide how I wanted to integrate Judaism into my everyday life in the Diaspora. I asked myself questions like, “Do I want to keep kosher?” “Why is Judaism so integral to me?” “What do I think about intermarriage?” “Why is Israel important to me?” Questions that I would never have struggled with had I not gone to Tsiporri.
Not only did I form a deeper connection to Israel and my Jewish identity, but I also formed friendships that I will always treasure. I came back from Israel with friends from all over North America–and from Israel as well. The ten of us were lucky enough to spend two weeks with ten Israeli teenagers. Before we met them, I was nervous. I was about to meet people my age from a different country, and I was concerned that our cultural differences would be too great a barrier. But by the end of our two weeks together, they were lifelong friends.
On the night that we first met, we walked down to the shores of the Kinneret to talk together. Sitting as one group, we exchanged memories, thoughts, and experiences. Passersby would not have been able to distinguish American from Israeli. For two weeks we would experience the desert, Kinneret, and more with our new Israeli friends. I would see Israel through an Israeli’s eyes.
We discussed Israel’s security issues involving the Golan Heights as we sat atop those very hills. We danced to disco tunes on a boat in the middle of the Kinneret. We wandered through the same desert the Israelites wandered through for forty years.
What is Israel? Not just a patch of ground—it is a land that speaks. Every stone in Israel has a story. All my life, I had sung the Mi Chamocha—the song that the Israelites sang at the shores of the Red Sea when they were freed from slavery—but I had never stood on the same spot that the Israelites stood on until I went to Israel. I touched the mountain where Abraham almost sacrificed his son Isaac. I read passages from the Torah while standing in the exact places those passages referred to. A whole new aspect of my Judaism was opened up to me: prayers began to have new meaning; my Jewish identity grew; I felt a connection. I felt like I was home.
Becoming friends with Israeli teens, I got a sense of what it is like to be an Israeli my age. I now have ten friends who will be joining the Israeli Defense Force this year. I learned about the good and bad of Israel. I listened to stories of soldiers who died for Israel so that the Jews could have a homeland. I debated whether we should keep the Golan Heights. Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with Israel for all that it is–the good and the bad.
Never, during the entire five weeks that I was in Israel, did I feel unsafe. Instead, I was glad every day that I had decided to go. There were bombings and shootings while I was there, but I was never scared that I would be harmed. I felt at home. I felt like I belonged there, and that nothing could make me leave. There was only one thing that I was afraid of—that people in the rest of the world would listen to the news and believe that Israel is an unsafe, violent place. That others would stop traveling to Israel. That people would not see beyond the terrorism.
Violence still casts a shadow over Israel, and parents and teenagers are having to ask themselves the same question—is it safe enough? Again, people are going through the same struggle. What would my answer be? As a teenager who has had the privilege of visiting Israel, I would tell fellow teens to go. Yes, Israel seems like an unsafe place at the moment. Yes, i
t would be a risk to go. But it would be an even greater risk not to go. If teenagers do not travel to Israel, the ramifications to those teens, to Israel, and to the Jewish people as a whole would be catastrophic. If teens do not go to Israel, they will not be able to fully grow as Jews. And Israel will lose the support of its most valuable resource—youth. If people can see beyond the violence, they will be forever changed. They will find a land that is overflowing with spirit, love, history, pain, bravery, ancestry, stories, struggle, argument, and peace.
The night that the NFTY Minyan was to leave Israel, Uri took us to that same lookout in the Judaean Hills we had visited at the outset of our trip. The view was the same except for one thing—we couldn’t see the towns. The morning fog hid the clusters of light from view, and we were unable to make out where each city was. But Uri pointed out that we knew the towns were there because we had seen them before. We had experienced Israel.
Then he told us something I will never forget. He said that we must take this message back with us: today, many people are unable to see the beauty and importance of Israel. To them, this beauty is covered with the fog of violence, bloodshed, and fear. The ten of us know what is beyond that fog—we know what Israel holds. Ten of us saw past the haze and we are changed because of it. Israel is the land that will always call me back.
