|
|
May 6, 2005
Becoming a citizen of Israel
Loyalty to a country develops over time and in many unexpected
ways.
DVORA WAYSMAN
On the day that Israel was born, May 14, 1948, I was a teenager
living in my hometown, Melbourne, Australia. I heard the announcement
on the radio as part of the evening news and I am ashamed to say
that it registered little more than other international events.
I was Jewish, but it was my religion, not my race. "Zionism"
was just a word I had heard - and understood no more than Jean Paul
Sartre's existentialism, which was also being discussed at the time.
Today, I have an Israeli passport and I live in Jerusalem –
two facts which are probably the most important statements I can
make about myself. In the intervening decades, I have travelled
thousands of miles in physical distance; but in philosophical terms,
you would have to measure the journey in light years.
How much in our life is governed by chance, and how much is pre-ordained
bashert, fate, kismet, call it what you will? I don't suppose anyone
can answer this with accuracy, but the prophet Ezekiel foresaw it
all centuries ago – that we Jews of the Diaspora would be gathered
from the four corners of the earth and planted within the borders
of eretz Israel: "And I will bring them out from the peoples
and gather them from the countries and will bring them to their
own land, and feed them upon the mountains of Israel by the rivers
and in all the inhabited places of the country."
This is quite a frightening concept, that we Jews have so little
control of our destiny – and yet I must admit I am in Israel
through no conscious decision of my own. Logically, I was the most
unlikely candidate to have ended up in Israel – a third-generation
assimilated Australian, very content with my lifestyle there, with
minimal Jewish consciousness and no Zionistic interest whatsoever.
But I married a religious and Zionist Jew, who felt that our four
children needed contact with Israel to understand that they had
their own land and their own people. So we came to "look around."
Thirty-four years later, we're still here, with all of the children
having served in the Israel Defence Forces, graduated university,
married and given us 18 wonderful Israeli grandchildren.
It is tempting to say that I fell in love with Israel instantly
and our aliyah was an immediate success, but it would not be true.
The first few years were traumatic, with enormous culture shock;
a drastic drop in our standard of living; worry about the language,
the economy, the security and a gnawing homesickness – a longing
for family, friends, familiar places. Even such trivia as the songs
we used to sing, the newspapers we used to read and the radio programs
we had enjoyed all assumed ridiculous importance, as if we were
drug addicts with withdrawal symptoms.
But gradually, the feelings changed. The Yom Kippur War in 1973
had enormous impact. Suddenly, the whole country drew together and
despite the fear and the tragedy, it was wonderful to see Israel
become a family, supportive and caring. I felt for the first time
that these were my people – we celebrated victories together;
we grieved together when boys were killed, and they were all our
sons.
As strange became familiar, I became involved with Israel in a way
I had never been even with my birthplace. Everything that happened,
good or bad, was significant to me personally. Sometimes, like after
Entebbe, I walked 10 feet tall with pride; then, after terrorist
attacks – and there have been too many to enumerate –
I became angry at the world's double standard that shrugged its
shoulders at our anguish, yet dared to condemn us when we retaliated.
At times, the government has made decisions that hurt and disappointed
me and occasionally, as in every society, I saw instances of injustice.
The bureaucracy has always been infuriating and the quality of life
leaves much room for improvement, yet everything that happens affects
me.
I have never heard politics argued so passionately as in Israel;
religion is discussed fervently by believers and non-believers alike;
every hour the population listens to the news, even while riding
public transport. We are our country and what is happening to us
in every sphere of activity is enormously important to every man,
woman and child because the stakes are gigantic – they concern
our survival.
Once, if someone had asked me who I was, I would probably have described
myself as a writer, a sometime poet, a dreamer, an idealist. I am
still those things, although a few dreams got misplaced along the
way and some of the idealism has toughened into realism. But if
you asked me that same question today, my answer would be: "I'm
an Israeli." And I would say it with pride, and no regrets.
Dvora Waysman is a writer in Jerusalem and the author
of nine books.
^TOP
|
|
