On lychees, principles, and why I'd rather be here than anywhere else

I was going to write about lychees.

I was going to say that Friday, my husband and I went to see the hospital where (please, God) I'll give birth, make sure it looked ok.

On the way there (he had a meeting beforehand, so we met there), I walked by a fruit and vegetable store. Something that looked like this:

They're all over Israel, but somehow not near our new apartment and I've been really wanting some lychees. If you've never had a fresh lychee, they're amazing--sweet, and sticky and they taste of summer. They're my favorite and when we lived near the market I would buy them by the kilo, finishing them off in two days.

But, anyway. Yesterday. I was walking to the hospital, saw the lychees, and decided to pass--I'd get some later, I figured, and walked on.

Just as I walked into the maternity building of the hospital--I mean, as I literally crossed the threshold to wait for our tour to begin--the siren went off. I was quickly ushered into the ER which doubles as a shelter, and a few minutes later, life continued.

It's a good thing I didn't stop for lychees.

But that's not the post that I need to write. You see, I've been writing about how things are hard and scary, and there are rockets falling. People are empathizing and feeling sorry for me, and for us.

The thing is, I'm a bit of a liar. Because about 98% of the time, things aren't hard and scary. They're filled with lychees, visits with friends, delicious Israeli breakfasts, our need to figure out where to hang paintings in our new apartment, and nice cool air conditioning at home.

I got an email from an old friend in the US whose sibling is coming here on Birthright, wanting to know if it was a good idea. And here's the thing. It's not a good idea. It's a GREAT idea. Now is the PERFECT time for you to come see Israel--my Israel. Ok, ok. It's a little warm. Pack some tank tops.

You will hear sirens (unless we end this thing soon, please God), and stand in a safe room for a few minutes. Big deal. You don't live here, you'll get over it. Notice how no civilian has died on our side? We take care of our people. No need to worry.

You know what else you'll hear?

You'll hear gratitude--from waiters who are pleased that you've come to their shop when others were too scared.

You'll hear the Mediterranean lapping away at a beautiful sand beach, with matkot (sort of like ping pong without a table or scores...) paddles going non-stop.

You'll hear Israelis wish you a quiet evening when you buy something, you'll hear guards explain where to go and implore you not to run if there's a siren.

You'll hear the silence that envelops you on a Friday night, as we sing Shalom Aleichem, and you'll hear small children shriek with joy as their Dads throw them in the air, more involved than anywhere I've seen in the world.

Worried you might see an explosion?

I don't know about that. I can't make promises.

But you'll see us--a people under attack, and a people strong. YOUR people. The ones who send our husbands and our fathers and sons and brothers off to defend the land that will be here if you ever need it.

You'll see us laugh in those bomb shelters, as we trade jokes--if you see someone twice, in Hebrew you say "third time, ice cream!" and you'll hear that same exclamation in the shelter, even as we say "God forbid" in the same breath, and head off to the rest of the day.

You'll see our beautiful, resilient children, who giggle when they guess how many booms there will be, and our teenagers, as difficult and obnoxious as anywhere else in the world (I actually happen to love all the ones I know personally but we're dealing in generalities here).

You'll witness our amazing history, going to Yad Vashem and coming out to a vibrant, full Jewish state.

You'll see our state of the art hospitals, universities, famous restaurants, and did I mention how good looking Israelis are? We immigrants really bring down the average.

Forgive me, I'm an old-school Zionist.

I believe that people need a place, and this is ours--that nowhere else in the world is fostering Jewish life the way we are.

I believe that the emphasis that exists on family is unique here, and that my children will grow up stronger for it--even though it will mean Facetiming a lot, with a lot of the people I love.

I believe in a land with very little need for machismo. You don't need to prove your manhood when you spent three years in a combat unit, or are an officer in intelligence.

I believe in an army that calls Gazans ahead of time to warn them of coming attacks, even as Hamas wants them to die as human shields, sacrifices to a cause.

I believe in a state that would rather protect me and my unborn child than have the headline that something happening to me would generate. They're coming to check our shelter next week and make sure it's up to code--just to be sure.

I believe that our prime minister, who I didn't vote for, and who I don't support, wants nothing, and I mean nothing, more urgently than for all of his citizens to be safe at night. And that nothing will happen to me for publishing that line.

I believe in a country where the death of enemies is reported on the news, where it's accepted that a celebration of their deaths is a perversion of who we are and what we stand for, and where soldiers were recently sent to jail for their racism, because it doesn't represent who we are, and what is expected of them during their service.

I believe in the most moral army in the world--the IDF. I could link to ten stories about how hard we're working not to kill civilians, how people I know are at risk to make sure not one child dies, and how hard we apologize when we make a mistake.

So should your sibling come here? Should you schedule a trip? Should you cancel your upcoming trip? Odds are, they'll be safer here than anywhere else--even in the midst of this mess. The food is certainly better here (could be a blog post unto itself!), and the sand is warm. The airport is full of souvenir chocolate, balloons and flowers. Come on over--I've been busy with brunch, friends, shopping and work, but I hear the water's warm and inviting. And the lychees? They're a must.