In middle school, I had a friend named Kobi. He was the first Israeli I ever knew. I have known many since.
I remember once in high school, or college, hearing that Israel was being bombed. I remember asking Kobi how his family was. And I remember distinctly that he said that they were worried, and were going to fly there soon.
Fly there soon?!? This stuck with me so long, even to this day. Anywhere else in the world, people would stay away when their homeland is being bombed. Not Israelis. They're the the toughest motherfuckers in the planet.
I have always loved and respected this pervasive and defining character of Israeli people.
I remember going to kobi's apartment. His mom would offer me food.
"No thanks, I'm not hungry."
"Ok, I'll make you a small plate,"
After I'm already beyond full, "you want dessert?"
"No, pleAse, I am stuffed," I begged.
Huge piece of chocolate cake appear before me.
To me, I have never met people of greater constitution and fortitude than Israelis.
I have NEVER wanted to go to Israel.
No matter how much people told me how great it is, no matter how special, how warm and inviting, I had never gotten over the idea that it is a place of war. That it's not worth it. Everyone says the same thing.... That only Gaza and the West Bank are dangerous. Hamas' crappy rockets can't even GET that far into Israel. That the rest of Israel is perfectly safe.
So when people tell me to go to Israel, I always ask the same thing. Why? Convince me. No one had ever come up with concrete reasons... They just told me it was great. That is, until a really cool student I had last year. She instantly rattled off 10 great reasons why I should go to Israel.
She convinced me that maybe, one day, I'd go.
So when justin and I were talking about traveling together this summer, Israel immediately came to mind. It was a place we'd both never been, Mediterranean climate, English spoken, great food, beautiful beaches, great nightlife, lovers of jazz and salsa. Old, old shit. Jews. Maybe I'd finally connect to Judaism here.
And then, about a month ago, three young Jewish boys were killed in rural Israel, presumably, by the terror group Hamas.
This prompted an instant threat of escalated violence, political turbulence, and unrest, still primarily in Gaza.
Justin and I weren't worried. Our parents were, but my parents are worried when I cross the bridge to Brooklyn. It will be fine. Everyone says so. For God's sake, all of these westchester parents send their kids ON THEIR OWN HERE. One of my colleagues from work, Steve, told me I had no reason to worry. Steve got worried about chemical fumes from the neighboring dry cleaner when his son moved in to manhattan. If Steve wasn't worried, I wasn't going to get worried.
Today was our third full, non jet-lagged day in Tel Aviv. The plan was to spend the day at the beach, and make plans as to where to go elsewhere in Israel tomorrow. We begrudgingly already decided not to go to Jerusalem (south of tel aviv, and still nowhere near Gaza) because we had heard of rioting and a lot of protests. Jerusalem is the home to most of the important Jewish monuments, and although we were really looking forward to that, it just wasn't worth the risk to us. Everyone told us we were wrong. We should go. Jerusalem is safe.
Jerusalem was fired upon yesterday. With a crappy rocket. No one hurt. Still, going to steer clear of Jerusalem.
We walk around the beautiful, ancient, Jaffa port area (the area technically outside of Tel Aviv) and get some bread at a famous, old bakery that uses baking techniques from hundreds of years ago, the man tells me that my bread has za'atar spice on it, and asks if I know what that is. I smile proudly and say yes. Justin and I spend a gorgeous day at quiet beach in Jaffa. The beach is small, sparsely populated, with clear water and soft sand, showers and water fountains, a bar and a bathroom just steps away. I remark that for me, this is paradise.
We take a walk, longer than we intended, and I get loopy and lightheaded from the sun. We walk to what has been argued is the best ice cream store in the world. The adorably perky waitress is so friendly and asks us where we're from and I cheerfully settle upon espresso/cardamom and guava/mint.
It is really fucking good ice cream.
We're in the cafe chairs that face the street. My free public wifi that is available throughout most of the streets of Tel Aviv kick in and I get and email from my co-op board's management agent that they've been informed that someone is in my apartment without me, and that is against the lease rules. There's an ambulance loudly ringing down the street. I'm seething over this email and yelling about it to justin, and I'm suddenly wondering why he isn't looking at me when I'm talking to him about something important... He's looking off into the distance, with furrowed brow.
"Cindy... Everyone just got off the street."
It's an air raid siren.
We walk back into the ice cream shop and the 5 employees are quietly huddled in the stairwell, away from the glass. We join them. A lady with her child and a stroller walk in the store and they do the same. We sat there quietly, for a couple of minutes.
As soon as it was over, everyone went back to business as usual.
I was shaken. My first, and hopefully last, air raid drill. Oh well, people must go through this all the time.
Justin was REALLY excited to go to this Georgian (the country, not the US state)
restaurant called nanoutcka that I found. Justin plays with a singer at a Georgian restaurant back home, and is tickled by his almost innate ability to pronounce Georgian words correctly, like khatchpuri (a meat dumpling.). He's really in love with the food, and has wanted to take me to the east village restaurant for a long time. this place even looks like one of my favorite East-Europe-cum-East-Village restaurant Yaffa cafe (uncoincidentally owned by Israelis, I think.) it's kitschy and cute and has good reviews and the waitress is nice. I was still light-headed, perhaps now because of my damned co-op who doesn't think my cats deserve to live while I'm away, and maybe because of an air raid drill. Either way, some good meat will be good for me, he postures.
I quickly order the salad assortment plate and justin goes to order the meat dumplings and realizes that the PLACE IS VEGETARIAN. Justin is horrified. I've never seen him so pissed off about FOOD. How dare they call themselves Georgian and be VEGAN!?!?! Justin took his (formerly) vegetarian mom there once, and the owner rolled her eyes back into her head, he recounts. Ticked off, hungry, and probably also a bit shaken by the drill, orders their "meat" dumpling and I think both of us just want this day to be over.
We both start to relax, and finish our meal, and get to talking to the waitress. I sarcastically say, "had my first air raid drill today. THAT was fun." Her face turns a bit, and I remember that it's really hard to understand sarcasm in your second language, even if you ARE Jewish, and that was a probably a really insensitive thing to say.
She gets my sarcasm, though, and instead of the casual attitude I was expecting to hear, the one most Tel Avivians give off of "oh yes, it's terrible, but nothing ever happens here, you're safe," she says "yeah. That was the first one we have had here in two years. Everyone is pretty shaken up and went home. Not a lot of people out today."
A young man who is currently in the IDF (Israeli defense force) was seated next to us and interrupts our conversation. Yes, he said, the air raid siren happened it after I left today. The government will never let anything happen to tel aviv. This is our center, our heart, maybe you should just stay here in tel aviv. Go north. Stay away from Jerusalem.
Justin and I walk practically in silence as we head towards home. It's just after sunset, and the streets are indeed quieter than they have been since we arrived.
We get back to our apartment, and Justin informs me that the air raid drill wasn't a drill at all. The Israeli army's Iron Dome intercepted a rocket headed towards tel aviv.
It's time to go.
It had always struck me as funny how the word "Hamas" has a homolog in Spanish: "Jamas," meaning "never." And that is how I feel right now. Never. Never again.
Israelis are strong. This is their home. They have learned to deal with this every day. God bless them, because I just can't. Every little noise from the air conditioner has woken me up for two days, and I just spent some quality time on my VACATION looking at the new, gps enabled, public bomb shelter map that was just activated by the tel aviv municipality, and reading emergency alerts from the us government that are conveniently delivered to my email. Justin is hitting the "refresh" button on his computer every couple of minutes, obsessively reading the IDF twitter feed on how many Hamas members they killed today. Our parents are in a panic. Mine already have one dead child, and don't need another. It is not right to do this to them, and it is no longer fun for us.
I'm so sorry, Israel. I tried. The couple of days I spent here were so wonderful, and I was so excited to get to know you better. But this isn't going to work out between us. I wish you all the best.
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