What Does Israel Mean to Me? Well, It’s Complicated.

I was sitting in the Negev Desert in the pitch black of night when I got the news. There was a still, coldness in the air, yet I had never felt so peaceful and within myself. Closing my eyes to soak in the surrealness of the moment, I was interrupted by a tap on my shoulder. It was my program director. “Casie, I just got a call from your Mom. Your Grandma just went into a coma. I’m so sorry.” My stomach dropped. I thought it was a dream. In this surreal place that felt like an alien universe, this news fell on me like a star falling from the sky. I asked to be left alone. Just me, the eerie stillness of the desert and the pitch black canvas of a star-splattered sky. I was over 6,000 miles away from my Grandma, yet something inside of me felt more connected to her than ever. Looking up at the stars, it felt like she was with me, peering into the same mysteriously powerful sky, staring at those same bright spheres of fire.

They say that when a person goes into a coma, they are most with their loved ones. They can feel what their loved ones feel, and see what they see. My Grandma had always dreamed of going to Israel. Before I left, she said to me in her kind yet enthusiastic voice she always used when talking to me on the phone, “Casie my sweet, you’ve got to tell me every single detail when you get back! And when you go to the Western Wall, make a wish and put a note in there for me.”

The next day, my Grandma passed away. I got the news as my tour group was packing up to leave the Negev Desert- to head to Jerusalem. We were headed to the Western Wall.

I couldn’t cry. Maybe it hadn’t set in yet. Or maybe I was on emotional overload. Idk. But strangely, I didn’t feel this empty pit of sorrow I felt like I should’ve felt. I felt with my Grandma, like she was within me experiencing the Israel she always dreamed, just through my eyes. Now, I’ve never been a spiritual person. But what happened next made me question everything I’ve ever thought about spirituality.

As I was walking towards the Western Wall gripping my note for Grandma tightly in my sweaty palms, an old woman approached me selling charm bracelets. She handed me a charm, and it was the Hebrew letter  “Chai” – which means “life”. When I was 11-years-old, my Grandma gave me the Jewish name  “Chaya”, derived from the letter “chai” – which yes, means “full of life.“

To this day, I still get chills when I rehash the details of those 48 hours.

Israel was the first country I ever set foot in outside of the U.S. It was the first foreign air I inhaled, the first time I had to struggle with a language barrier, the first time I befriended people from another country, and the first place the travel bug bit me. A lot has changed in me since the last time I was in Israel. Twenty four countries and six years later, I was nervous to go back. My best friend from childhood was getting married, so it was a no-brainer that I’d be there. But that meant re-visiting the country that’s been idealized in my mind for the past six years, and seeing it with a far more worldly, critical pair of eyes.

Would I still feel that same connection, or would it be just another country to me?

Welp, turns out, I have a much more complicated relationship with Israel than I had ever known. I mean, heck, Israel is one helluva complicated country.

The dichotomy of Tel Aviv vs. Jerusalem

Walking through the graffiti-splashed streets of Tel Aviv’s hipster Florentine neighborhood and down to the cobblestone art gallery-lined alleys of Jaffa, I felt downright inspired and invigorated by the creative energy. Tel Aviv is a bustling, modern, dynamic and artsy beach city full of artists, party animals, free-minded thinkers and hot people (I mean, tons of them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen more hot people in my life). Did I mention how much I love Tel Aviv? Everyone looks different, with different skin tones and ethnic features, different funky and far out fashion styles, yet oddly the same – and I look like everyone. My big wild curly hair, comically expressive hand gestures, and of course, the schnoz. Another first – for the first time, I didn’t feel like a minority with the label “Jewish kid” looming over my head. I felt like everyone else. Everyone slightly resembled someone in my family – it felt like home.

Now, disclaimer, I’m not the least bit religious or observant. I’m a “Seinfeld Jew”, as I like to call it. I mean, I had bacon cheeseburger sliders at my Bat Mitzvah for peep’s sake! Being Jewish to me is a cultural identity and not a religious one. Which brings me to…

Just 40 minutes down the highway, I found myself walking through the monochromatic beige stone streets of extremely conservative and religious Jerusalem, surrounded by Hasidic and Orthodox Jewish people all uniformly dressed. The energy took a 180 from Tel Aviv- to feeling unwelcome, surrounded by judgment.  Judgment for not living my life like them, for not being religious or “holy” enough. One Orthodox Jewish woman covered head-to-toe hissed at me in Hebrew for my “immodest” outfit as she passed (a tank top and shorts). Jerusalem is a stunning city full of old world charm and the holiest history in the world, but with that comes the repressive mentality of the people.

People are complicated.

To every story there’s three sides of a story – one side, the other, and the person who is slightly removed and sees both. It’s a blessing and a curse to feel a strong identity with Israel’s land and people, but at the same time strongly disagree with a lot of the politics and the mindsets.

I made friends with a lovely Iranian Jewish girl, whose family spent years fleeing from one country to the next until they felt at home and at peace in Israel.  I shared hilarious banter with an Ethiopian cheesemonger at the Jerusalem market, who was a part of the huge Jewish Ethiopian community in Israel. Holocaust survivors eventually sought refuge in Israel, finding comfort in being understood. Israel is a collection of Jewish people from every corner of the world, many of which sought a better life away from discrimination and persecution in their home countries. On one hand, hell yea, they deserve a home. On the other hand, I can’t help but think that they are treating the people they share this land with the way people treated them. Oh, the irony.

Outside of Jerusalem, a large portion of the country is comprised of free-spirited, hippie-minded, nature-lovin’, artistically driven people. Talking to these wonderfully open and warm people who see eye-to-eye with me on most every topic, it’s like there is this intense shift when it comes to the tension and relationship between Jews and Arabs, felt in undertoned and indirect comments. Hearing these casual blanket remarks and the underlying subtext made me feel uncomfortable and unsure of how to respond to beliefs that are so opposite to my own. How does one bridge the gap in perspective, context and values when we share so much, but also are so far apart? Remember when I said things are complicated…

Dear Israel, you ridiculously beautiful, complex country:

Seeing you with adult eyes has only complicated my deep relationship, and has made me realize how much I have changed as a person in the last six years. No doubt, Israel, you will always have a very special place in my heart. Nothing will change the fact that the most special, spiritual event of my life happened on your soil… and your hummus and sabich will leave me salivating for months to come. I’ll be back, Israel. I can only imagine what the next adventure will bring to our rollercoaster of a relationship.

It’s a lot to take in, I know. What’re your thoughts? What is your relationship with Israel?