Here, Now.

A huge thank you to my family and friends back home and in Israel who have checked in on me, even with the occasional frantic message to “COME HOME, IT’S NOT SAFE!” Things are intense, but I am safe and no, I am not coming home. Lots of hugs and Israeli kisses from me to you! I am safe (I feel the need to repeat this as many times as possible) and my program, OTZMA, has taken unbelievable measures to make sure of this. Our staff has been working around the clock to assure that we are in safe areas and that, if possible, life remains as normal as can be. I am in awe, in love and completely obsessed with the OTZMA staff and 27^th year participants.

In the past few weeks, part I of my program ended and we moved out of Karmiel and straight into a draining yet amazing five day seminar titled “Hope and Conflict.” During this seminar, we stayed in the settlements of the West Bank, traveled around Palestine, met extremely interesting people who spoke to us from all sides of the spectrum and I learned a multitude of facts and ideas that I am now only beginning to wrap my head around. Admittedly, I cried (ew, I know) to a staff member out of frustration for my lack of knowledge on all of this. I have found it most challenging to not know my stance on the issues that this country, now my country, faces on a day-to-day basis.  It is a work in progress.

Part II of my program, post seminar, would have led me and three other participants to a city close to Gaza called Ofakim and four others to Netivot. These cities are less than 20 kilometers from Gaza, and consequently OTZMA, JFNA (Jewish Federations of North American), and the higher security beings of this country did not feel comfortable sending us there. The eight of us are now in Arad, a place we are coming to realize may be home for more than a few weeks.

Last night I was invited to attend a dinner in Jerusalem with various chief JFNA professionals and executives from all over North America. (Yes, I am that important. Don’t act too surprised.) They flew in for just two days for a solidarity mission to see first hand what is going on Israel, traveling all over the south and even experiencing sirens and running for cover. Such is life in Israel. Their mission dinner consisted of around 30 people and when we arrived, me, Dganit (OTZMA program director in Israel) and Marc (a Netivot participant) were asked to say a few words about our current situation and experience. Impromptu speech? No problem, thank you 4 years of high school debate and 22 years of nonstop talking! I spoke about being displaced from my assigned partnership city, Ofakim, and what it’s been like to be in Israel during such difficult times. I voiced my support and love for Israel, albeit my lack of concrete opinion and viewpoint on the current situation, politics etc. I told them about my ever growing connection with this land, which began on my trip to Israel with Birthright in May 2010. I spoke about my confusion for my emotions when I hear about Ofakim in the news – missiles blowing up schools and cars, people spending all their time in a bomb shelter – because I am supposed to be there, now.  I don’t feel invested in the city, but I feel a stinging in my gut and I am categorizing it as sadness and guilt and confusion. I am still optimistic that I will be able to do some meaningful work in Ofakim during my time with OTZMA, but until then, I am in Arad and must make the best of things.

I tried to explain to this group of strangers, who I was introduced to as my “family,” what it’s like to be here, now, during these difficult and tumultuous times. Fortunately, I have not heard the sirens (called SEVA ADOM, or “red color”) or seen missiles in the sky. But my friends all have a connection to someone being called into the reserves – their friend’s brother, boyfriend’s friend’s cousin. My friends, among the millions of Israelis, hear sirens and run for shelter on a daily basis. Everyday I wake up to a new staggering number: of deaths, of rockets, of this, of that. In addition to my email and facebook morning ritual, I now check the Israeli news. (Which, now that I say it out loud, should have been something I’ve done all along. Oops.) My travel routes are restricted, and I am in a city that is unprepared for this program and don’t quite seem to grasp the concept of what we’re trying to do here. My life is being affected first hand and I would be lying if I said that I think the Arad experience is going to measure up to what I imagined Ofakim would be. But it’s not about that and it’s certainly not about me. It’s bigger than my experience, my program, and me. Being here now makes it easy to put things into perspective. Yes, I could get on a plane and go home tomorrow. But I don’t want to. I want to fight to live a normal life, just like the Israelis are. I want to know what’s going on, where it’s happening and why. I want to be here and support Israel as the American Jew I am so proud to be.

It was simply amazing to see the support of the North American leaders that I met last night. They could be sitting in their offices, safe and sound, waiting until Thanksgiving dinner and a long weekend off from work. They visited the cities affected most, met people traumatized by what they’ve been through and what they’ve seen, and hopefully are taking it all back to the states to do something. One of the speakers last night introduced an idea that I really, really liked: the idea that now is the time to use verbs. Helping, doing, acting. In the car on the way home last night I felt empowered by the people I had met, the things I had heard and the life I am now living. I want to help, do, act. I want to support the Jewish community wherever I am, however I can.

I am an American Jew, I am choosing to be in Israel right now and it is changing my life.