In honor of the holiday of Yom Ha’atzmaut, I am finally going to tell my Israel story. It’s not the prettiest of stories, but after 10 years, I refuse to hide anymore. I will tell, because I will not allow my silence to eat at me anymore.
Every Jew has been to Israel has a story about their adventure there – like, “Remember when we went down the Jordan River?” or “Remember the Dead Sea?” Every story comes with an amazing laugh or a great reminiscing smile.
My story of Israel doesn’t come with a lot of these memories. There are some, but they are overwhelmed by one particular memory. Most people don’t know, but my Israel story comes with a different side of Israel. It’s one of heartbreak and exile.
I don’t often talk about it, but the story goes something like this: It was July 16, 1999. I was on an Israel program, 10 days into a six-week trip. We were about to leave the kibbutz we had been staying on that weekend, when the director of the program called me into the small kibbutz office. He put my mother on the phone, who was forced to tell me that they were kicking me out of the program. No reason was given. They just were, and I would leave the country that evening. They tried to blame me, but it was all a lie.
The last day – from talking to the girl who would become my friend for the next 10 years to spending 45 minutes in the Old City – was a blur. Random flashbacks show up from time to time, whether it’s my red-headed friend running across the courtyard, her face red and streaming with tears after she found out I was leaving, running my fingers across the Wailing Wall and sobbing, or the sun setting over the city of Jerusalem. But will never forget holding my friend Eve’s hand and crying from the glorious beauty that was Old City when my eyes first came across it.
The horrible things that happened after I came home – from finding out that I was just a turnkey in a plan for that Israel program to avoid going out of business to being offered a legal settlement that was never paid upon, being told to not tell my story to anyone, ever – don’t matter anymore. I realize how much this experience, of being thrown away like a piece of garbage from this program and being thrown out of Israel for an unknown period of time, changed me.
I became much tougher, not letting the world get to me as much as it had before. I was wounded, but it gave me strength. I found the positive aspects that come from such a negative experience, and instead of letting it become my crutch, it became the stepping stone that I have used throughout the course of my life. The sense of ethics it gave me – not tossing aside any person just because it would save my own skin – was crucial to how I live my life. It inspired further study into what ethics really meant, both for this world and for me. What that horrible director did to me gave me strength -- so much so that last year I actually decided to commemorate the 10th anniversary of the worst day of my life.
And yet, I miss Israel with every sinew of my body. I long for my return to the Promised Land, being able to land in Tel Aviv and kiss the holy ground. I yearn to be able to touch the Wailing Wall, to be able to let it dry my tears. I miss even what I have never had the chance to see before – the Dead Sea, the shores of Tel Aviv, and Sfat, where I have always longed to spend a Shabbat with the mystics. My heart has ached for Jerusalem and its holy light ever since the day I left.
It wasn’t like I never had the chance – a lot of people I knew lied that they had never been to Israel before in order to go on the Birthright Israel trip. “You can just lie,” they said. They thought I was so stupid to refuse to do that – after all, didn’t I want a free trip to Israel? Didn’t I want to go back? The answer was absolutely, with every molecule in my heart – but I was lied to as I was kicked out of Israel. I refused to lie to get back in. I was better than that, better than that evil man who sent me into exile.
Still, I fill up with jealousy as I watch my friends and other people I know go back and forth to Israel like it was a hop, skip and a jump away. Most of them don’t know the truth about me. In fact, my own former roommate didn’t know until I had told him about a month ago over dinner with him and his amazing girlfriend. I came to the conclusion then that I should no longer be holding my exile inside of me. It was a cancer on my soul. I decided that I shouldn’t lie to anyone who asks me whether I had been or not. I am way past that point in my life of deluding anyone or telling people, “It’s hard to talk about,” or even just whispering about it.
And I try desperately to comfort myself, tell myself that one day I will return. Ari has told me that we will go someday, although every day that we are both unemployed, it seems more and more unlikely that we’ll be able to make it there. I have thought about attending the Jerusalem Culinary Institute, but it’s another one of those impossible dreams.
I then wonder about our ancestors, who saw the Second Temple destroyed in 70 CE and then were forced into exile, never to see their homeland again. Their descendents only got it back 62 years ago. I understand their mourning, the pain our ancestors must have felt to leave their home, and the desperation to find a new place to call home.
Fortunately, I did find a home in the end – Orange County, and then Long Beach, became my home, and I love it with all my heart. But no matter how far away I am, I don’t stop dreaming about the Old City at sunset, the blue of the Red Sea and the first time I laid eyes on the world’s largest crater, where there was nothing but earth and sky, and fell in love with a country half a world away from anything I had known.
And one day, I will return. I will return to the land from my exile, and G-d willing, in my lifetime, I will see the Holy Temple built up once more, and we will celebrate in its joy and perfection. We will see the end of war, strife and sorrow, and find the cause for celebration.
I wish you all a happy Yom Ha’atzmaut, celebrating all that Israel has given to us. I know it gave me something to live for throughout the dark times of my life. Let Israel be the light that shines on for us and guides us through the darkness.
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