October 25, 2004
Alison on Aliyah:  Bitten by the Bug

            Last weekend, I went to Tel Aviv to meet up with a good friend of mine from Providence for six precious hours before he had to catch his flight home.  I almost didn’t go.  I thought all week about what a pain it would be, to travel by bus from Beersheva to Jerusalem to drop off my dog at a friend’s place, and then on to Tel Aviv during peak rush hour traffic, just to catch what would amount to merely a glimpse of my friend before he was once again whisked away.  It was indeed not an easy day for me, and when I arrived – 45 minutes late, no less – at the restaurant, I was exhausted and dehydrated.  But the moment I caught sight of his eyes for the first time in quite a while, I knew it was all worth it.

             This was his first trip to Israel, a fact that no one who knows him can fathom.  He seems like he was meant to live here, or at least be a frequent visitor.  He often speaks with regret of a number of unfulfilled plans to come here, and although this trip lasted barely four days, it was clear that even five minutes on the ground would have been worth the trip.  Indeed, it was obvious immediately that he was a changed person.

            It was his eyes that tipped me off.  I saw instantly that he had been “bitten by the bug,” as we say here.  He told me that from the moment he touched down, he felt safe and truly at home.  Incredulous that he hadn't come sooner, he was already thinking about his next trip.  Most of all, he had come to the conclusion that it is his new mission to, once he returns home, express to others how it "really" is here and encourage them strongly to visit.

            What amazed me most about the time that we spent talking about Israel, was my own reaction to his words.  Although I was terribly pleased that he had fallen in love with the country as so many of us have, I only realized through hearing his descriptions how much my own have changed.  I can remember back to the times that I would return to the States brimming with love and hope and passion, literally filled up by the time I had spent here.  I remember the words I used to use to describe the country, the unqualified gushing and utter conviction that Israelis could do no wrong.  My views were simple, and black and white:  America bad, Israel good.

             And so, as I watched my friend gush about how safe Jerusalem is and how wonderful the people are, I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia for the days when I used to feel that way.  Although I am still "head over heels" for the country, I have had to come to the painful realization that all here is not what it seems when viewed through the naive eyes of a tourist.

             I have had to grapple with Israelis ruder than any American I have ever known, and I have become completely used to behavior that would have made my mouth drop open in the States.  And as safe as I generally feel here, I know rationally that living in Jerusalem can sometimes be merely a matter of cheating death on a daily basis.  I have begun to see the "greys," and to approach nearly everything I hear and do with a healthy grain of salt.  I find myself speaking with more cynicism, and rolling my eyes at least fifty times a day.

            On the other hand, I have grown to appreciate the positives here on a much deeper and more genuine level.  Now that I know what the alternative is, I feel terribly lucky for the Israeli friends that I have made, who are by far the most loyal, trustworthy, and sincere people I have ever known.  When I manage to accomplish a task at the post office in under a half hour and with no one yelling at me, I feel quite willing to drop to my knees and kiss the clerk's feet in relief.  And Jerusalem – with all of her problems, I am still struck speechless when asked to describe my love for her.

            So as I asked my good friend to clarify his feelings, to elaborate on them further and explain why he has them, I realized that perhaps we are still in the same place after all.  After my repeated questioning and his continued inability to articulate his answers, he simply looked at me and said, "I have no words to explain it.  I simply feel it, and it is more powerful than I could ever have imagined."  I just nodded, filled with a deep sense of understanding.

             For the only thing that ultimately distinguishes the true lovers of Israel is our shared inability to express why we do.  It is something so strong, and so all-encompassing, that words simply cannot capture its power.  With all of its contradictions and irrationality and inexplicability, it is the truest love I have ever known.  I am so glad I got to see my friend feel it as well, and I hope that he will be able to pass it on to those around him.