Monday, January 18, 2010

On the importance of "mishpucha"

I came to Israel on my own. When I came here for the year after college, that is.

Coming back, on aliyah, for real, I knew I was coming home, in more than just one sense.

Although we have no "blood relatives" in Israel, I was given a host family when I was here for the year--people to spend holidays and weekends with, a place to call my own. Many people in my program enjoyed their host families, but few like I did. We were a match made in heaven--I was young enough to be both a sibling and a playmate to all three kids, and old enough that my host parents felt like friends in addition to parental figures. Even when I was in the States, at least every couple of weeks we would talk--catching up, telling me about dance recitals or birthdays I had missed, and since I've been here, I've loved being a part of all of it (when I can make it to Haifa...).

I always knew the importance of family, but never have I felt it more than in the last 3 months, since I've left my own home, with my amazing parents and brother, and an incredible community. So many olim (people who move to Israel for good) go back home because they just can't do it. This is a HARD process. It still remains to be seen whether I'll succeed myself.

But I can tell you that of all the things that have been hard, having a family here has made each of them easier. I have a place I can go anytime I like, where I'm not a guest to be waited on, but a member of the family. Sometimes the kids are in a bad mood, sometimes I go read a book, sometimes we do nothing at all, and sometimes we go hiking, or something else. They had to meet and approve my boyfriend, and they call me, worried, if I go too long without being in touch. Just like any other family. And coming from far away, with no friends or "family" here, that is invaluable.

It's been three and a half years now since we met--I've watched each child turn into someone new and frankly, delightful. And at my host brother's birthday dinner last night, I again reflected on how lucky I am. Making aliyah for me didn't just mean coming home to Israel, but also to my wonderful family here. It doesn't make it not hard, but it's a whole lot easier.

If Israel wants to know how to make olim feel at home, they need do nothing more than give them host families who will love them, take care of them, and make them feel a part of the family. A rent subsidy or arnona discount doesn't even come close.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Ulpan Begins, and What is Israel's Destiny?

I started Ulpan this morning. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's basically a really intensive Hebrew course (read: five hours per day, five days per week, for five months). It's free to new immigrants, and due to my previous knowledge of Hebrew, I'm in a class with people around the same level (the fourth level, but called level Bet--basically B--go figure).

There are a few interesting things about Ulpan, but the most interesting to me is the variety of places we all come from; my class is entirely new Olim (immigrants) from: the US, Russia, Holland, Ukraine, Brazil, South Africa, Australia, France, Switzerland, and...I'm sure I'm missing some. Everyone made aliyah (immigrated) within the last year and a half.

It's exactly the vision those first Zionists had. Here we all are, most, if not all of us, there actively, of our own choosing, not running away from anything. We're choosing to build a new society, one of our own making, a Jewish state.

It's also amazing to think of all those who came before us, to these same classrooms (Ulpan classrooms all basically look the same--sparse, maps from the 70's, etc), and if not the same rooms, needing the same knowledge--pioneers in the early days of the state, from everywhere, Jews from every country you could imagine--who came by choice, and not by choice.

Jews who had nowhere else to run, and so they ran here--from Syria, Iraq, Morocco, Russia, Argentina, Uruguay. It also makes you think of the blessing of this place; there are still some Jewish communities where things are tenuous at best; there are 25,000 Jews still in Iran, and life is not great in France from what we're hearing.

Those are bad situations, but what a difference from what was the case, oh, 65 years ago. I came here of my own choosing--but what would have happened if I didn't have that choice? We know the answer to that question, which is what makes the preservation of this place all the more interesting.

And it also makes you (or at least me) ask what the essence of this place is--what is it supposed to be? A great example (and by great, I mean incredibly complex) of that question is what we do about African refugees pouring into Israel (at least one of whom was at the same Ulpan placement test as me--hence the somewhat dubious connection). They're coming here because they literally have nowhere else to run, and as a people that's been running for a long time, we Jews should get that, and offer them refuge.

On the other hand, particularly when the conflict in Darfur was particularly bad, they were attempting to pour into Israel--in numbers that would have left Israel unable to help them or its own citizens. We had an obligation to help them, but we're dealing with our own problems too, and fundamentally, this is a Jewish state, right? Not an African Muslim one? So what do you do with African Muslims who are risking their lives to get here? What do you do with their children? We cannot ethically send them back to a place where we know they will be killed--we blame those who did that to our people during the Shoah--but there's a limit to what we can do for them here. It sounds like a flimsy excuse, but there is no state in the world that can offer shelter to millions without changing its identity. What does that mean for a state whose identity is the reason for its existence?

As per usual in my life, I've got no answers but lots of questions. I'd love your thoughts, here's an article on the topic from US News and one from Haaretz, as well as one from Slate for those of you who are interested. (Look at my linking skills!)

Finally, thanks for your comments (both made publicly and to my email). They are fascinating, and I am glad someone other than my Mum is reading this (though yay, Mum!). Happy 2010 to you all--may this new year fill us with intriguing questions, and at least a few answers...