Volunteering in Israel, circa 1988

Why the frizz? It's not humid.

I haven’t truly understood my visceral, deep-rooted Judaism and Zionism since the massacre. I suppose it’s been deeply ingrained in me, and after a lifetime of denying my affiliation with my Jewish identity, it is manifesting. I just wish my father were alive to see this.

He “sent” me to Israel when I was 22 to do “Volunteers for Israel.”

He was projecting his desires on me as was a common occurrence in my life, but I took him up on it and spent two months there. Two weeks were spent in Eilat cleaning Uzis and building barbed wire fences on an inactive army base while taking breaks on the beach. I had no idea why I was performing these tasks, I was in Eilat and didn’t particularly care. I was a naïve, uneducated – though highly educated – young person.

Immediately upon arrival I was greeted by warm, welcoming, loud Israelis asking me if I was from Brooklyn. They probed to uncover whether or not I was considering making Aliya, to which I replied, “No, not now, I don’t think so.” It was never a consideration. I wasn’t there with the intent to move to Israel, I had a vibrant – albeit tenuous – life in New York and that was where I was planning to be. Moving to Israel wasn’t a thing I ever considered or had a desire to do.

Then I met Tzvika. Tzvika Weisel. The name Weisel may ring some bells. It didn’t with me. I had no clue. I had no clue about most things. Tzvika was, in fact a great-nephew of Eli. When he told me that, I admitted to not knowing who Eli was. Tzvika, at the old, to me, age of 27 years old, was serving his time in the reserve on the army base where I was volunteering. We met and there was a spark. So, after the two weeks of volunteering came to an end and everyone else returned to the states, I stayed in Israel and traveled, making my way up north to Nahariya where he lived.

I spent about 3 weeks traveling by myself and sightseeing before I made it to Nahariya. There, I stayed with Tzvika in his apartment all day while he worked the front desk at a hotel. I have no memory of my days in his apartment. I would meet him for lunch breaks and in the evening with friends. I didn’t speak Hebrew and I concentrated so hard on mannerisms and glimpses of words I could understand until I got headaches.

So, when my childhood friend got in touch with me (I don’t know how) and told me she was getting married and that I was to be her Maid of Honor, I booked my trip back to New York. And that was that. I thought about staying with Tzvika in Nahariya, but the decision was evident. I was returning to New York to be at my friend’s wedding and to get back to my exciting and exhilarating future in the city. The future I had always dreamed about.

Things never panned out for me in New York, but once I was back, I was absorbed in myself and my life and I didn’t think too much about Tzvika. He called me some time after I was working and living on Long Island to tell me I should stay in the states and not come back. He wanted to close that door, and I agreed without any emotion.

But that doesn’t mean I forgot him.

On October 10^th I spoke to a friend who reminded of me why I feel so strongly about Israel.  She is Jewish but doesn’t feel the affinity and is resistant to supporting the state of Israel’s actions. She said, “You spent time there and fell in love!” I guess. I suppose that has something to do with it. But I still have a hard time understanding how American Jews can be so oblivious to what Israel means to us. I have a hard time understanding how they can protest this war and not see what is so real to me. That Israel is our homeland and is the only place that is safe, welcoming and loving for Jews.

So, I am going to Israel. In three weeks. I spontaneously paid and registered to volunteer with a group of local Jews. We will travel to a town in the Negev, and what we will do is a complete mystery to me. Just as going to DC on November 14^th (http://writerecover.com/2023/11/20/making-history-caffeine-free/) was a no-brainer, so too, is this. I saw a Facebook post, I signed up and I’m going. I have no idea what lies ahead, but I need to be there. I need to physically see and witness what is happening. I don’t know why. I will think about it and write about it while I am there, but I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.

It’s a strange experience right now being Jewish. I wish my father were alive to witness it. There is something about identifying as a thing that supersedes logic, and that’s the place I’m in today. I am Jewish, therefore I am. I don’t know.