Wow. When you pray for perspective, it's somewhat startling to then receive it. And yet here I am, experiencing the slow, creaky, opening stage of a Turnaround. This, dear Reader, is a Turnaround of the heartfelt, deep-sitting, emotional kind, that relates to living in the Land of Israel.
I have lived in Israel for a year and a half, and have shamefully avoided visiting any of my cousins based in the Gush. It's hard to explain why, but here are my thoughts. I spent this weekend with family - my lovely, fun cousins from Anglo backgrounds, who, with the full backing and encouragement of the government, settled themselves in a newly founded neighbourhood called Alon Shvut - "Oak of Return", in 1970. Less than an hour outside of Jerusalem, Alon Shvut is an expanse of Jerusalem-stone built houses, perched in Judea - within the southern West Bank. It is situated in what our now-goverment has declared 'Area C'. It acts as the focal town for other still-expanding neighbourhoods, Efrat, Elazar and Neve Daniel. These neighbourhoods are commonly known as part of the shtachim - the settlements.
Yesterday afternoon, I found myself at a relaxed seudah shlishit in a neighbours' garden. The sun was setting, people were transitioning into that period of calm as shabbat ends...savouring the time with family and friends, before yet another hectic week begins. From the porch swing, I looked out at the expanse of these settlements, at the Caravilla homes, at the few brave houses built randomly, one hilltop over.
A lady next to me remarked that while it was risky of them to go and build outside of the designated shetach, "in this country, what would happen if we didn't take risks?" It wasn't her exactly (truthfully, she became kind of annoying a little later on) and it also wasn't a build-up of events. Up until that point, I was experiencing a really normal shabbat.
Yet as she spoke, something inside me just... gave way. Something released, and I gazed in wonder around me, as I indentified the prickly grass under my feet as the Land of Israel. Not just a neighbourhood, not a 'disputed territory', but Eretz Yisrael.
This may not seem like a revelation, but I have spent so long - so, so long - trying to grapple with how I feel about the idea of people settling this land within the boundaries set out in the Torah which I believe in, but not within the boundaries of the modern State of Israel.
Because the government chooses not to recognise a place doesn't make it any less true. Baby, if I cover my eyes I can't see you, but you're still there.
I woke up this morning at 8.30am on a weekend, to go to shul, in order to hear the Aseret HaDibrot - the 10 commandments. As the rabbi's son recited them slowly for us, I fondly remembered my own little brother on his Bar Mitzva shabbat, 7 years ago now, so nervous to recite this important portion for his community. His voice hadn't broken yet, I can clearly recall his lilting, choirboy voice wafting over the mechitza towards me. I was so proud. I watched the rabbi's son today begin his parsha as a little boy, never having leyned in front of his kehilla, and I saw him finish as a man - shaking the mens' hands as he stepped down from the bima, adjusting his new, first, tallit.
The religion I belong to is overwhelming, muddled and often frustrating for me, as a young, modern, woman. And then there are these moments, when tears come to my eyes, when I see through the vast windows of a shul in Alon Shvut, the real Land of Israel spread before me. I didn't think it would happen to me, this breakthrough. I have been bound, constrained by the methods and approaches of my secular education. It's a wonderful blessing that I was taught to reason, to use my mind and its facets to think critically. If every issue or decision were a sandwich, my critical thinking would be the bread. The filling, however, just has to be my heart. How do I feel about this? How does this sit with me? Do I feel right doing this, feeling this, acting this way? And so, for a heartbreakingly long amount of time, I have just refused to address the issue of the shtachim - how I feel about those who live there, how I long to be one of them and am terrified that these are my real, secret feelings. My critical thinking has taken me to a place where I am labelled 'left-wing tendencies'.
I am repulsed by ignorance, by bigotry and hatred. I will not raise my children to hate those that have shared this land with us for decades. But maybe I won't just give up "our land" because they are there. Maybe I need to start having more faith in all areas of my life, but maybe most importantly this one. This has been my mistake. A Turnaround has begun today. I feel as if I have begun to work my way out of a heavy coccoon.
Yesterday afternoon, I found myself at a relaxed seudah shlishit in a neighbours' garden. The sun was setting, people were transitioning into that period of calm as shabbat ends...savouring the time with family and friends, before yet another hectic week begins. From the porch swing, I looked out at the expanse of these settlements, at the Caravilla homes, at the few brave houses built randomly, one hilltop over.
A lady next to me remarked that while it was risky of them to go and build outside of the designated shetach, "in this country, what would happen if we didn't take risks?" It wasn't her exactly (truthfully, she became kind of annoying a little later on) and it also wasn't a build-up of events. Up until that point, I was experiencing a really normal shabbat.
Yet as she spoke, something inside me just... gave way. Something released, and I gazed in wonder around me, as I indentified the prickly grass under my feet as the Land of Israel. Not just a neighbourhood, not a 'disputed territory', but Eretz Yisrael.
This may not seem like a revelation, but I have spent so long - so, so long - trying to grapple with how I feel about the idea of people settling this land within the boundaries set out in the Torah which I believe in, but not within the boundaries of the modern State of Israel.
Because the government chooses not to recognise a place doesn't make it any less true. Baby, if I cover my eyes I can't see you, but you're still there.
I woke up this morning at 8.30am on a weekend, to go to shul, in order to hear the Aseret HaDibrot - the 10 commandments. As the rabbi's son recited them slowly for us, I fondly remembered my own little brother on his Bar Mitzva shabbat, 7 years ago now, so nervous to recite this important portion for his community. His voice hadn't broken yet, I can clearly recall his lilting, choirboy voice wafting over the mechitza towards me. I was so proud. I watched the rabbi's son today begin his parsha as a little boy, never having leyned in front of his kehilla, and I saw him finish as a man - shaking the mens' hands as he stepped down from the bima, adjusting his new, first, tallit.
The religion I belong to is overwhelming, muddled and often frustrating for me, as a young, modern, woman. And then there are these moments, when tears come to my eyes, when I see through the vast windows of a shul in Alon Shvut, the real Land of Israel spread before me. I didn't think it would happen to me, this breakthrough. I have been bound, constrained by the methods and approaches of my secular education. It's a wonderful blessing that I was taught to reason, to use my mind and its facets to think critically. If every issue or decision were a sandwich, my critical thinking would be the bread. The filling, however, just has to be my heart. How do I feel about this? How does this sit with me? Do I feel right doing this, feeling this, acting this way? And so, for a heartbreakingly long amount of time, I have just refused to address the issue of the shtachim - how I feel about those who live there, how I long to be one of them and am terrified that these are my real, secret feelings. My critical thinking has taken me to a place where I am labelled 'left-wing tendencies'.
I am repulsed by ignorance, by bigotry and hatred. I will not raise my children to hate those that have shared this land with us for decades. But maybe I won't just give up "our land" because they are there. Maybe I need to start having more faith in all areas of my life, but maybe most importantly this one. This has been my mistake. A Turnaround has begun today. I feel as if I have begun to work my way out of a heavy coccoon.
