How to be a Zionist in Three Easy Steps...

By Rabbi Elyse Winick
KOACH Assistant Director

I'm just about over the jet lag now. It's three weeks since our flight touched down in the US and though it's less surreal to be here, not a moment passes that I just wouldn't rather be there.

At the beginning of June I was privileged to travel to Israel with our most recent Taglit-birthright israel group (registration for the next round opens September 12!). Rabbi Charlie Savenor, Assistant Dean of the Jewish Theological Seminary Rabbinical School, was my partner in crime for a truly exhilarating experience. Each time I staff a Taglit-birthright israel group, it's as if I'm experiencing Israel for the first time. Each group helps me see Israel in a new and different way; each group teaches me something new about Jewish living and Jewish meaning.

My family arrived to celebrate my son becoming Bar Mitzvah soon after the group departed. We toured the country and soaked in its rarified air. After two weeks, my husband returned to stateside responsibilities and the children and I stayed on. They were happy campers at the Ramah Jerusalem Day Camp and I was both thrilled and fortunate to spend three weeks as a student at the Conservative Yeshiva at our Fuchsberg Center in Jerusalem. It was (though I repeatedly apologize to my husband for saying this), the best vacation I have ever had. We learned the ins and outs of countless Jerusalem neighborhoods. We ate excellent and inexpensive meals. We shopped in Mahaneh Yehudah (the open-air market). We davvened in a different shul every week. We translated Spanish telenovellas first into Hebrew and then into English. We went to concerts and museums, movies and cultural festivals. We sat on our mirpeset (porch) eating rugelach from Marzipan Bakery and garinim (sunflower seeds), a cool breeze at any hour.

One afternoon at the Yeshiva, Rabbi Daniel Goldfarb (Director of the Yeshiva) invited me to lead minha (the afternoon service). I was honored and as I walked to the amud (podium), I heard him say something about chanting a psalm from Tehillim at the end. I wasn't quite sure why or what he had in mind, but I went with the flow, leading our kahal (community) in the responsive and plaintive chant. When I sat back down, he told us that two more hayyalim (soldiers) had been abducted, these in the North, and that a military offensive to ensure their rescue was in the offing. We returned to class, subdued, wondering what would happen next.

That night I lay awake in my bed listening to planes overhead. I questioned our safety, as Katyushas fell throughout the North. I woke the next morning, took my kids to camp and walked to the Yeshiva. Jerusalem was unchanged. Cafes were full, shops were bustling, traffic was as busy as ever. It was disconcerting, trying to match the news reports with life on the street. I cancelled (unwillingly) plans to spend Shabbat in Afula (that Sunday night rockets did reach Afula). When not in class...or on Ben Yehudah or Emek Refaim...or at a museum...I was glued to the TV. The days moved forward and Israel was at war, but until reserve troops began to be called up, the mood in Jerusalem was still one of business as usual. Museums and restaurants welcomed the children of the North for free admission, free food and hugs. I cried as I read each sign and I marveled at the way people were drawn together to support one another. Masorti kehillot (Conservative congregations) moved into bomb shelters; others opened their doors to their brothers and sisters from the North. My son asked to donate money he had received as a gift to the relief effort. We prepared to leave, but oh-so-unwillingly. Our trip was coming to its scheduled end and we were heartbroken. It felt like we were jumping ship. It felt like leaving was totally unnecessary. It felt like we were leaving a place where our very existence mattered to go back to a life of creature comforts and a lot less meaning.

We came back to the States and were glued to the TV once more. What we saw on TV was not the Israel we had left. We wandered aimlessly, trying to figure out where we belonged. Each day's news was more devastating than the day before. One day in particular, we read of 10 soldiers killed in an open field at Kfar Giladi. My heart stopped. Our Taglit-birthright israel group had spent its first few nights at Kfar Giladi. I didn't feel vulnerable because we had been there. I felt terribly, painfully connected, deep in my core.

I'm not a product of the Conservative Movement. The Movement found me, more or less, when I was in college. In high school I had been involved in Young Judaea. By accident, really. A friend and I had founded a youth group at our synagogue and after a very successful year, having no knowledge of USY, we merged our group with Young Judaea. We were shomer mitzvot (observant) and Israel focused. I attended Young Judaea's conventions and summer camps and served on its regional board. I did everything a Judaean could do short of go on Year Course, its year in Israel program. I loved all of those experiences, but there was one stumbling block to my being fully happy with it. In defining Zionism, Young Judaea said quite clearly that if you didn't make aliyah (move to Israel) you just weren't a Zionist. This was very troubling to me. I felt so close to Israel -- how could I not be a Zionist?

Towards the the end of our trip this summer, I asked my kids if they thought they could envision living in Israel. I know it was an unfair question. We were on vacation, everyone around them spoke English, we ate out most meals -- none of it was real life. But the tears they shed as we packed our bags told me that they'd be willing to be asked again. Perhaps they will be asked again. And perhaps we'll live out our days as ardent-but-distant fans of the Jewish State, traveling as often and for as long as our budget can sustain.

But libi b'mizrah, in the words of Yehuda HaLevi, my heart is in the East, and it always will be. And that, I'm quite sure, makes me a Zionist through and through.

[Posted 8/23/06]