Home is where the?

One of my clients asked me yesterday “where do you call ‘home’?”

It’s not a simple question for anyone who lives someplace other than the place they were born and/or grew up. My husband, for example, was born in Detroit, but if you ask him where he’s from, he will say “Florida” or “Miami”, because that is where he grew up from the time he was a baby. Ask me where I’m from, and I will counter with “originally, or where did I come from this time?” But the answer to the question “where are you from?” is not the same as the answer to “where do you call ‘home’?”

We are in the midst of my favourite time of year in Israel. Spring. Spring doesn’t last long here; the pleasant, sunny, warm days with breezy nights, quickly become the never ending, humid, hot summer. But it’s not just the season of Spring that I love. It is everything that Spring in Israel brings on the calendar.

The blue and white starts to appear just before Pesach. The city streets get decorated with flags and streamers. There is something in the air. Slowly but surely, more flags show up on apartment buildings, office blocks and cars. The pre-Pesach sale of wine and matza becomes a sale of disposable grills, beer and blue and white marshmallows.

This year is particularly special, this the 70th celebration of our little country’s independence. All year in school, the kids have been doing special projects to commemorate 70 years of the State of Israel. My parents’ generation saw it happen, watched a 2000 year old dream become a reality.  My generation is the first to grow up with the State of Israel as an established fact, a vacation destination for many, the place so many of our friends came for a “gap” year after High School, and for the rest of us, the country we have chosen to call “Home”.

It’s been almost four years since we arrived as a family. I can say with absolute certainty now that this was the best decision we ever made. I can say with complete clarity that my children have been successfully absorbed. They switch easily and flawlessly from English to Hebrew. They  have that air of confidence that I thought was only possible in Sabra kids. They have trekked across parts of the country that I have yet to discover and slept under the stars. The older two have already compiled lists of their preferences for the army. The youngest walks all over the city alone, coming home only when it’s getting dark, something I cannot imagine allowing a 10 year old to do elsewhere.

Where do I call home? There’s a little bit of home in each of the places I have lived.

Dublin, where I was born and grew up until at 17 I came to Israel. I have no family left there now, and only a few friends. I haven’t visited for more than 5 years, and have no plans to return right now.

London, my second home for so long as a child, and the place I lived for 3 years after my first stint in Israel. With my parents and all my siblings and nephews and nieces there, the pull is strong, and I love to visit. The feel of “home” is strong there, but I think it’s more a feel of familiarity. I didn’t enjoy living there.

Boca Raton, my home for thirteen years. I recently returned for the first time since we came back to Israel. I love Florida, I can’t lie. It was great to be back. It was wonderful to see Keith’s grandparents and so many of our friends. I really really really enjoyed driving a minivan for a week, on wide, six lane city streets, and easily parking it in any parking space. I had fun at Target, at Ulta and Marshalls. But you know what? I spent most of the time at the wheel of that minivan thinking “was this really my life for so long?” and then laughing. It seems so foreign now, so different and so not really me.

Israel. Grand total of almost 11 years living here. Most definitely Home. No explanation – none necessary. But this is just it. It’s just where we’re supposed to be.

Where do I call home? Home is where the heart is. And my heart is right here.

 

Going home, back to the place where I belong

(Lyrics from Daughtry, “Home”)

These are the words that keep popping into my head for the past few days.

I’m surrounded by a sea of blue and white. During the Pesach holiday flags and streamers began appearing overnight, all over the neighbourhood. Even cars are waving flags. This is my favourite time of year in Israel. For 17 years I missed being in Israel for the two weeks immediately following Pesach. My last Yom HaAtzmaut here was celebrating Israel’s 50th year, this year we celebrate 67!

The week after Pesach is Yom HaShoah, which we marked last Thursday. At 10am a 2 minute siren sounds, and the country stops to remember the 6  million Jews murdered by the Nazis during the Holocaust. To experience the siren cannot be described accurately. Even the dog understood that something important was going down, and she simply let out a low bark, before bowing her head, and laying down on the ground. The children all had special learning at school that day, and we spoke at length about the Shoah and the horrific impact that it had, not just on those who lived through it, but future generations. Something changed in my kids that day. There was suddenly something different about them. It’s almost as if they get it now. Why this is home. Why we brought them here. Why we can never let “them” win.

This week, on Tuesday night and again on Wednesday morning, we will have a siren again, this time to remember Israel’s fallen soldiers, and victims of terror. My younger two kids are having a ceremony at their school early Wednesday morning, and my son is taking part in Daglanut – if you recall, last year I posted videos of the Daglanut ceremony from Ben Gamla. He is also one of two flag holders who will escort soldiers to light a candle at the school’s memorial. I have no words to describe the pride I feel, and I haven’t even seen him do it yet! Oh  yes, there will be pictures, and hopefully video.

As Wednesday progresses towards evening, the cafes will slowly start to open again, the melancholy music on the radio will begin to sound a little more upbeat, and the streets will start to fill up. As we approach the festivities of this week, I’ve noticed my kids are starting to throw in more Hebrew words to their everyday vocabulary. I see the smiles on their faces as they point out all the flags on buildings. I hear them singing along to some of the Hebrew songs on the radio when they think I’m not listening. It’s as if they are suddenly Israeli. They still have a long way to go, but I have a feeling that Yom HaZikaron and Yom HaAtzmaut will be a turning point for them. Yom HaShoah was the starting point, when they started to “feel” it, that they are part of something bigger.

Last year I posted about the void I felt for the 16 years I wasn’t here to celebrate Yom HaAtzmaut. This year, that void is filled. I’m home, I’m back where I belong, with my family, in our country.

Chag Sameach.

Ein Li Eretz Acheret (I have no other land/country)

It’s the eve of Yom HaZikaron (Memorial Day) as I write this. My Facebook timeline is filling up with blue and white, with photos of memorial candles, and pictures of Israeli soldiers. There is also video footage from various wars Israel has fought, and from the declaration of the State in 1948.

Every year, since I left Israel in October of 1998, I find it so incredibly hard to be out of Israel on these two days. Nowhere can recreate the feeling of being in Israel on Yom HaZikaron and Yom Ha’Atzmaut (Independence Day). No matter how moving a ceremony you participate in, it cannot compare with the ceremony at the Kotel, or on Har Herzl. No matter how fun the local celebrations are for Yom Ha’Atzmaut, it cannot compare with the fireworks, the flyovers, the barbecues that clog up the medians, and the hiking throughout Israel. If I ever question my Zionism, my commitment to the Jewish State, these are the 2 days that have reminded me constantly, for 16 years, that Israel is still my homeland, and that I will go back one day.

This year, it’s no easier, except for the fact that G-d Willing, this is my last time being out of Israel for these two days. If everything goes as planned, next year we will be in Israel for Yom HaZikaron & Yom Ha’Atzmaut. My children will experience the sirens of Yom HaZikaron for the first time in real life (as opposed to on a screen). They will hopefully be incredibly proud to take part in Yom Ha’Atzmaut celebrations, as new Israelis, maybe even Hebrew speaking Israelis by then. I look forward to barbecuing with new neighbors, watching fireworks, going out on the town, and watching the Israeli airforce fly over the country.

As our time draws closer, people keep asking if I’m excited. I answer no. They ask if I’m nervous, I answer no to that also. They ask how I do feel, and I can’t answer truthfully. My emotions are mixed. On the one hand, I am going home, back to the land that truly allows the Jewish people to live Jewish lives. The calendar is based on Jewish holidays. The week is based around Saturday being the Sabbath. On the other hand, I’m leaving the placed I’ve called home for the past 13 years, the friends I’ve made, the house I love (and yes it’s on the market, if you know anyone looking for a house in a fabulous neighborhood in Boca, put them in touch with me!), the conveniences that make the US such a great place to live. I’m moving to a country where no one will argue that life is easy. I’m moving to a city where I know very few people. I’m moving from a house to an apartment, leaving a pool & a backyard, my fruit trees, my two car garage. I’m leaving many comforts, and an easy way of life. So how can I be excited? That’s a lot to leave behind.

So why am I not nervous? Should I be nervous? After all, starting again gets harder, the older you get, and this time, unlike the other 3 times I’ve moved to a different country, I’m doing it with 3 kids and a dog in tow. I’m not nervous, because in my heart of hearts I know, and Keith knows, that we are doing what is best for our children. There is no better place to raise Jewish children than in Israel. This is not about education, contrary to what some people have said to me. We are not moving to Israel because of the cost of tuition for Day School in the US. If that was the case, we’d have moved years ago! But to have my kids grow up Israeli, with that special brand of independence, and, dare I say, arrogance that is unique to Israelis, that is a gift that I can give to them. It is a gift that they are currently not excited to receive, but G-d Willing, in time, they will thank us for it.

For now I leave you with the song that for me, and so many others, epitomizes how Israel makes me feel: