The Hope (I Think)

I was thinking (yes, here we go). I’m not that girl anymore—you know, the one who wrote about falafel stands and the eccentricities of my new home in a place far, far from my “old home.” I’m not sure when it happened, when I changed, but if you really pushed me for an answer, I think I would say, “The moment I heard the question, ‘Is this your first war?’” Yes, these words were said to me by someone I’ve grown to respect and care for deeply, my boyfriend’s mother. When I squeaked out an incredulous, “Yes,” she did a quick tally of the wars she’d been through in Israel and the rough estimate was 6 or 7. That was when the rockets were first starting to land in the north of Israel last summer, when I lied to my parents and told them that I wasn’t in Haifa. The rockets only reached Haifa 12 hours after I left for Jerusalem, but that night, I laid in bed and wondered aloud if they could hit the room we were in. I was assured they would hit another bedroom first—as if that was some sort of assurance.

I sit here now, after reading a political cartoon on CNN, one which asks the question, “What’s the most depressing spot in the Middle East?” Luckily, my home is not listed as one of the choices, as well it shouldn’t be since I have running water, electricity, pizza take-out, and safety. But I’m in the neighborhood, and yes, I wonder, “What will be the result of the chaos that is ensuing in Gaza, in Lebanon, in Iraq?” I wonder, “Can the rumors of negotiations between Israel and Syria be true when, as Nadav says, both sides are sharpening their swords?” Why do I wonder? Not to depress myself, no. I wonder because I know that we are all very close to one another here. Trouble there means trouble here. Chaos there could mean danger here.

And yet, yesterday I sat on the beach in Haifa eating a chocolate ice cream cone, discussing which dogs on the boardwalk were cutest and which kids should probably put on bathing suits before their tushes got sunburned.

I've always said I understood it, the “Israeli”–what he is, who he is, how he thinks. But I think now I am beginning to really internalize the idea as it is a description that more and more describing . . . me. The personality one develops after living in this country for a while may quite possibly be something special to the Israeli experience. It includes the ability to be so “fed up,” as my southern step-mom would say, over the state of the world, the state of the country, the state of the courts, parliament, etc. while at the same time reserving a corner in one’s heart and mind for hoping for the best. It’s eternal optimism mixed with feelings that only the witnessing of tragedy and destruction can produce.

It's the "coming of age" of "The Hope" -- HaTikva.

The Boycott of Israeli Academics and Why the English Academia and Their Logic Wouldn't Pass a Freshman Survey Course

I can't say it better than Bradley Burston already has. Check it out!

Boycotting Israel as Moral . . .