My parents left for Israel this morning. This means that for the next two weeks, while they gallivant around with their wonderful guide, meeting with interesting people and seeing fascinating sights and eating eggplant for breakfast, lunch, dinner and even (my mother swears) dessert, I will be on heightened alert, and will find myself deeply aware of the perils that would be involved in my day-to-day goings about if those goings about were happening in Israel.
I know this because it happened to me last January, when they visited Israel for the first time since my bat mitzvah trip 20 years before (I went again on a teen tour in 1987, but haven't been since). They jetted off armed with GSM cell phones, promising to steer clear of buses and hotels and leaving behind a long list of "things to do if we don't come back." Needless to say, this is not the way to reassure your child that your trip to a country ripped by terrorist attacks will be perfectly delightful.
While they were away, I found myself boarding the bus in the morning, thinking about what it might feel like to have to board a bus in Jerusalem knowing that it could explode at any moment. As I waited for my coffee in the morning, I would imagine the decision-making process an Israeli must make before stopping into a neighborhood cafe. And I clearly recall going to a party and wondering what it would feel like to attend such a gathering knowing that simply by joining a large group of friends for a celebration you became a target for terrorism.
In a way, this heightened awareness is good, because it forces me to pull my head out of the insular American sand in which I often hide it. But the reality is that I cannot possibly comprehend what it is to be Israeli, and to live day-to-day with the reality of terrorism. My Israeli friends tell me that they do not consciously assess the risks of boarding busses, dining out, and visiting friends. Those risks are simply part of life in Israel, and you cannot live in Israel without becoming a raving, housebound lunatic unless you accept them and proceed to live your life.
And of course my parents had a wonderful time, and came back bursting with excitement and satisfaction and wonderful gifts.
This year, they are traveling with several friends from their synagogue, and much of their trip will be spent with friends in Zichron Yaakov, a community near Haifa whose Reform synagogue has become the sister congregation to my parents' shul in Boulder. It is no easy proposition to sustain a Reform congregation in Israel, where a small Orthodox minority controls religious life, and the majority is completely secular. So my parents and their friends have developed a cooperative relationship with Zichron Yaakov, and members have been traveling in both directions over the past few years to build relationships and discuss how the partnership should proceed.
That they are in Israel for a purposeful visit and are not simply running around with cameras around their neck taking pictures of the cute little soldiers with their cute little Uzis does not alleviate my anxiety. I cringe in horror and sadness whenever I read of terrorist attacks in Israel. And I believe fervently that American Jews need to travel to Israel now, to support the economy and to let Israel know that we have not abandoned her. But, selfish child that I am, I just want my mommy and daddy to come home safe.
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