Aliya: Two Years On

Two Fridays ago, on a sun-drenched November morning in Jerusalem, I had one of those untypical 'typical Israeli moments'.

On one side of Emek Refaim stood 40 crimson clad protesters of all ages whistling loudly and calling on drivers to hoot their horn in support of better conditions for teachers who have been striking for the last 2 months.

100 yards down the road opposite Café Hillel the noise of car horns persisted, but this time due to a traffic jam caused by a chefetz chashud, a suspect package.

In many ways, that scene is Israeli society in a nutshell. Two problems – one social, the other security; Both central to our future and ability to live prosperous and happy lives. Neither with simple answers.

And in the background, regular Israelis trying to maneuver between the noise and enjoy a relaxing day off in a café.

The first night of Chanukah marked two years since my arrival in Israel. And while I’m sure I’ll be told by those Israelis who disagree with my political views that I haven’t been here long enough to ‘really understand’, time has undoubtedly eroded the ‘chadash’ part of being an ‘oleh’.

In many ways, my Aliya has been a process from ideological fervor and excitement – appreciating the grocer's Shabbat Shalom wishes, Shai Agnon's Nobel Prize speech on the 5o Shekel bill and countless other small things Israelis take for granted - to simply living life, with all its disappointments and excitements, its ups and downs.

If new immigrants get off the boat feeling Israel is their oyster and that the country offers a wealth of possibilities, a 'veteran oleh's' experience is generally more sober, maybe even more jaded.

Two years on, life in Israel is normal, regular. Like a long-term relationship, it's often harder to maintain constant romance. One doesn’t necessarily start every morning excited. Faults become more apparent.

Yet every now and then, things happen to remind you why you are still in love, why you choose to stay.

And when all the thrills are taken away, the commitment remains as strong as ever.

Despite all the changes, most of my thoughts regarding this country remain the same. I still don’t enjoy being asked why the hell I moved here. I continue to be excited by the uniqueness of how religious festivals are marked as national holidays, or amazed by the opportunities, challenges and responsibilities that power and sovereignty provide us, the Jewish people, with.

And despite the issues whose solutions remain somewhere over the beautiful Mediterranean horizon – of territory and terror, of education and economics, of settlements and society – I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be.

Because whether we like it or not, here is where things of importance to the Jewish people are being played out. This is the front line in shaping all of our futures. And why wouldn’t I want to be a part of that?

And even for those who find ideology and idealism passé, there's always the attraction of relaxing with some toasted bagels and coffee in the November Jerusalem sunshine.