Note: Due to my massive incompetence at blog keeping, I'm switching back to email. All my emails will be posted here, so if you are wondering about the change in format, that's why. Onto the blog...
Dear friends, family, and those who have taught me that the line between the two is not related to blood,
Shanah tovah from beautiful Tel Aviv (you know, to those of you celebrating)! It's been, as you know, quite a year, with my aliyah being the obvious and major event in my life in the last year. I've been quite atrocious at blog keeping, because it just doesn't feel personal to me in the way it does when I write an email. So from here on out, I'll be emailing. Let me know if you want off the list--no offense taken. Or if you want on. I'll post my emails on the site after.
Tonight, sitting around the Rosh Hashanah table with my boyfriend's family, there was a toast made, a l'chaim. A common feature at many Rosh Hashanah tables, wishes were uttered for the coming year. First among them was peace. And then, a wish that if there was no peace, at least there would be quiet.
And that was when I understood what Time Magazine got wrong in their piece, about which it seems everyone has something to say. In case you missed it, this week's Time Magazine cover story is an article called something like "Why Israelis Don't Care About Peace." The basic thesis, from what I understand, is that we Israelis are too busy worrying about our hip boutiques and beautiful beaches to be concerned about peace. The economy is booming, the wine is flowing, who cares about the Palestinians?
In that one moment, when a glass was raised to the idea of peace, or at least quiet, I understood why Time Magazine thinks we don't care. Caring is painful. A constant reminder that people just a few miles away (Qalqilya is 12 kilometers. That's a bit less than 8 miles.) want us dead is a pretty heavy burden to carry. So we talk about the unbearable heat, the delicious pomegranate, the new job, the upcoming trip. We talk, as you outside of Israel talk, about other things. Time is right--the conflict does not occupy every conversation.
What Time got wrong, though, is the background to this dialogue. While we talk about these things, I'm the only one around the table who hasn't served in the army. Some still serve, bravely and valiantly, I might add. So if we're talking about weather, food, jobs, or travel, it's because it's a distraction, a reminder that the guns and uniforms were put away before the holiday, a reminder that we exist outside of the holiday.
Because the truth is this: we are here for a greater reason. We are here to celebrate Rosh Hashanah in a way we can't outside this place. We're here because it's our home, because it matters. We're not here to fight a conflict. And if there is anything in this world Israelis want, its peace. We're just sick of having a candy we really, really want, dangled in front of us and then taken away, all the time. That's what's going on here--it's the classic case of the boy who cried wolf. We've heard these claims before, that people will bring peace, etc, etc, etc. Putting aside the fact that I personally still believe in President Obama and his vision for the Middle East, Israelis are sick of it. They're sick of hearing that it'll happen, that we could reduce the size of our army, that I can send back the gas mask I just picked up a couple of weeks ago. They're sick of promises. That's a different thing than not caring.
On a different note, sometimes I'm reminded of just how much and why I love this place. Those are good reminders for the days when everything in sight makes me CRAZY. Yesterday, while running around doing all my shopping before the holiday, I was in the shuk (market) and all of a sudden, a six-year old boy exclaimed "shanah tovah!" Someone responded in kind, and everyone continued about their business, buying and selling, always wishing each other a happy and blessed new year. But it stuck me again, in that instant, the beauty of a place where a six year old has no idea there is anything going on other than Rosh Hashanah. Because here, that's what's happening.
Yesterday, I realized, yet again, that my Mum was right. When we would walk out of TBK after Rosh Hashanah services, and the ever-present sponge cake and punch reception, she would exclaim "don't you feel so lucky to be Jewish? Isn't this just so great?" That's not a knock on any other religion, simply a statement that she was glad to have our own. I agreed with her then, and always have. But perhaps never more so than the day before my first Rosh Hashanah as an Israeli, hearing a child's innocent Hebrew exclamation.
So, shanah tovah to all of you. It's been wonderful to see so many familiar faces over this last year, and with a bona fide guest room now in place, I look forward to welcoming more of you as you find your way here.
Finally, I would be remiss if I did not issue a massive thank you to all of you for your support over this past year. It has been a challenging year at times, but there are no people like my people, and your love has helped me make it through.
Shanah tovah u'metukah--a happy, sweet new year to all of you filled with good health, laughter, and maybe a visit to Israel.
Much love,
Rachel
PS If I'm missing people, I'm sorry. Feel free to forward this message. If you're a friend of my Mum's who gets this from my Mum in addition to me, I'm also sorry. Tell her you're on my list and I'm sure she'll take you off of hers. Everyone is bcc'ed in the interest of privacy.
