What are we fighting for?

A few days ago Otzma hosted an educational day for us called "Aliyah Day." Allegedly we were going to learn about the waves of immigration over the past few generations, and we were told that moving to Israel would not be shoved down our throat. Well... instead we spent hours upon hours listening to people tell us why they moved to Israel, why we should move to Israel, and how to do so. I was put off quite a bit and unfairly shut out most of the speakers as I ventured into Lala Land. At least I'm honest?

Every few minutes I took something in. I listened to a bit of what this woman who reps an organization who helps "Anglos" build their lives in Israel had to say . Never in my life has the term "Anglo" applied to me living in the states, but I guess in the Middle East things differ. Anyhow, she discussed reasons why people move to Israel in terms of push and pull factors. She explained that many new immigrants who move to Israel move here because of push factors. Either because of discrimination in their homeland or perhaps life there is just bad for everyone. Thus, these factors push immigrants to find a "better" life for themselves in Israel. However, she explained, that most Americans, and English speakers in general, move to Israel because of a pull: an emotional, spiritual or political calling to live here. As she sees it, and as it probably is, life is more comfortable in our countries. Or perhaps it is easier to make a comfortable life for one's self. She made light of it, but put it in perspective by saying that some community centers help immigrants from Ethiopia or the former USSR earn their bread and coffee... this organization helps Anglos find their neighborhood cafe to pick up a mochaccino. In other words, they help us find the luxury and comfort to which we are accustomed. Apparently, out of all of the nationalities of people who move to Israel, Americans have the highest percentage of returning to their country of origin. Maybe because the pull wears off. Maybe because it is hard to find work that makes the same amount of money that one can make in the states. Because it is hard to be so far away from family... the list goes on. Food for thought.

The following morning I went with Michal to a memorial ceremony commemorating the death of Amir, one of Michal's high school friends who fell during war. Unfortunately for Michal, and most other Israelis our age, she has had many friends from high school or her military service pass away while serving in the Israeli Defense Forces. Car after car arrived, and people poured into the cemetery to remember Amir. Friends of his from school, from the army, family friends, and current soldiers sent by the military itself. Now, my Hebrew may not be perfect, but I didn't need to understand a word of Hebrew to feel the pain of his parents and his friends who spoke, read, or led prayer. While watching and listening as best as I could I couldn't help but focus on the fact that I have never been to a funeral of someone who was killed by another person. Cancer, car accidents, sudden heart conditions... yes. But someone who was murdered? In America when someone's child dies we think of the pity that a parent must bury a child, but in Israel politicians preach about the day that parents will stop burying their children... and children will start burying their parents.

I had another one of my moments wondering what I am doing here. Am I lucky that I wasn't born here? That my friends and I didn't all have to serve in the military? Do I think it is crazy or admirable that my little brother and closest friends voluntarily serves in the American army? Philip, Rob, Juls and Warren... I find it most admirable and I respect you more than I could ever tell you. I looked at the attendants and wondered how many fallen soldiers each of them knew. How many of their friends or siblings died fighting for this country.

I thought about the mourner's kaddish itself; the prayer recognizing those who have died by recognizing life itself. It's one of the first Hebrew prayers that I memorized by heart- possibly before I was even capable of reading Hebrew. Why? Because I remember that being the one prayer that Dad always said in honor of his parents at the end of services. I remember him choking up, which he still does (sorry, Dad), and hurting because my dad was hurting and remembering those that he loved. To this day, any time I am in any type of service I recite the mourner's kaddish. Even if I'm not honoring someone's yartzheit. Even if I'm a woman, and therefor not supposed to recite it, I recite it in honor of my grandparents, relatives, friends, and those who have no one reciting it for them.

So the ceremony continued. His friend spoke about the current situation in Israel and how Amir, as an upright good-hearted person, would not sit back and watch, but would fight to make things better. He said that Amir didn't fight and die so that the situation would be as it is. He died to make it better for others. Fortunately I had a car ride to digest with Michal...

After we agreed that extremism in any matter is dangerous, she admitted that she holds an extreme stance on one thing: Michal will never leave Israel. Why? Because if she leaves Israel then everyone who died fighting for this country's death is in vein. So many people fought for this land, how could she just turn her back- be it for love? for a better job? for a change? She is not staying in Israel for religious purposes (such as people who stay because they believe that Gd gave this land to the Jewish people), not because of political purposes... but because thousands of years ago people go married on this land in the same manner that Jewish people get married on this land today. We write the same kitubahs (contracts), stand under chuppahs, and stand for some of the same values as the Jews who lived here many generations ago.

I'm really not drawing any conclusions here... or making any statement in particular. Rather I'm presenting food for thought and saying out loud how grateful I am to have the opportunity to be here right now. To have the experiences that put me in agonizing emotional turmoil, expose me to things I'd rather not think about, to dance like no one's watching, to struggle at the market with a foreign language, to be invited into random families' homes for Shabbat dinner, and even to live in a run down absorption center with people who come from all over the world.