In case you thought we don't need Israel anymore...

When I talked to people in the US about why I chose to make aliyah, there would inevitably be some eye-rolls--not from my amazing, non-Jewish friends, but from my Jewish ones. Why would I choose to pick up and leave a career, just starting out doing what I love, all my friends, my family, and that which is familiar, to live in a desert, monitor my water intake like a heart attack patient monitors fats, learn Hebrew, and probably struggle to find a job?

Some days I wonder myself. I still don't have many of my own friends here, and those I have are mostly leaving at the end of the school year. It's been a little cold recently, but every time I turn on the heat, I feel spoiled. And frankly, getting up and into ulpan 5 days a week by 8:15 can be a major drag.

But then there's a day--or rather a class--like today. In my uplan class, we've each written texts about a city we grew up in, or lived in. Nothing particular--just to practice writing. Our teacher grades them, and then one at a time, we discuss them in front of the class. Needless to say, I wrote about Wegmans, my beloved city of Rochester, and my other city, Washington, DC. I finished my somewhat amusing (a girl can dream, right?) presentation after another classmate, from Amsterdam.

Then it was another classmate's turn; for her sake, we'll call her Sarah (safe Jewish name, right?). Sarah's the oldest person in my class, at about 50, and today during a conversation, she told me that when she came to Israel, she didn't even know the Hebrew letters. Her husband sells classroom supplies, an hour's commute from where they live, and works ten hours each day. I'm not lying to say I was sort of wondering about why she made aliyah. If it was hard for me at 25, I can't even imagine what it would be like later.

But it turns out that unlike me, who ran to something, Sarah ran away. And today, she told us why. Her grandparents moved from Syria to a small town in Turkey (I assume it's small because I've never heard of it, but it could be a huge city, for all I know...), and she is really, really Turkish. As in, she speaks only Turkish, and when she needs to look up a word in a dictionary, she has to use two, because there's no Hebrew-Turkish one.

She told us how in her home city, she remembers one Passover when men with guns circled her house, and it was only by luck that no one was injured. She paused to stop the tears streaming down her cheeks. They went to the local government, but nothing changed, and the threats and shooting of the Jewish community continued. The threats against the community grew to be really unsafe, so they left. Some came to Israel, and some went to Istanbul.

She went to Istanbul, got married, had two children, and a career. Eventually she came to feel unsafe there too, she said, crying again. The government does nothing to protect it's Jewish citizens, and she's not a fearful woman, but the fact that her Prime Minister rails against the Jews continually really upset her.

I'm not an expert on the Jewish community of Turkey. But I know Sarah, and she's not an alarmist; she's a middle-aged woman, who probably would have been perfectly happy not learning another language, taking two different buses to Hebrew class. But she felt unsafe--so unsafe she had to leave. In 2009 (when she came).

I'm not nearly doing justice to her story, but there's a reason that three of the people in my class of 20 are Turkish. And there's a reason they could make aliyah--that they will be able to learn Hebrew, find jobs, and pay rent. And that reason is partly due to the Israeli government (though don't get me started on them...) and partly due to the generosity of the people who read this blog, American Jews who give.

This is not an advertisement for the Jewish federation system--I'm not being paid, and though I used to work for them, I didn't do any of this. But I can tell you that a serious part of why Sarah's in my ulpan class, why she was able to run, and come to a thriving place--it's because of the philanthropy of American Jews, and because of the Federation system.

So if you're one of them, who thinks maybe in 2010, our local federation should leave more money in the local community (I know about the devastating effects of the economic crisis), because really, who needs Israel today, I'd rather go out for dinner or on vacation, I could spend my money somewhere else or any other excuse, I'd ask you to reconsider your gift--or to raise it.

Israel matters for people like Sarah, who have somewhere to run when they have nowhere else where they can simply be. It matters for me, when I chose to live my life in a place where the air is Jewish and Sunday is just another workday. And it matters for you. Because we're all in this together. Because all of us are responsible, one for the other. Because this is your place, if, chas v'chalilah, you ever need it. Israel matters--and we all need it. Because when someone kicks us out of our cities, like they did to Sarah, they have somewhere to go.

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...