“Come home.” The words seemed so simple, beckoning to me from the pale green flier in my hand — an advertisement for an upcoming Palo Alto conference for “returning” Israelis.
“Returning” has always been a part of the plan: Ever since my family moved to the Bay Area from Rehovot, Israel for our two-year test of Silicon Valley life, we’ve thought about returning. When those two temporary years turned into many more, I assured myself that, just as soon as high school was over, I would return to Israel and join the Israeli army. And when I chickened out and opted for university instead, I promised myself that as soon as I had a college degree in my hand, I would take my rolled-up diploma, newfound skills and suitcase, and book the next El Al flight to Tel Aviv to start my career in Israel. I would return.
But graduation came and went, and, almost a year later, here I am — still debating, still weighing my options, still trying to choose between the land of opportunity (and by that I mean California) and the turbulent, tiny corner of the desert we Jews call home.
Like so many of us, I comfort myself with the promise that I’ll go back when the time is right — when the situation calms down a little bit, when the economy is slightly more stable and jobs are easier to find over there. But lately, I’ve started to think that there may never be a “good” time to return to Israel.
I’ve also realized that before I can “come home,” I have to determine where home is.
That decision has been my preoccupation for a long time. Will I really be happier in Israel? Will it be too difficult, after all these years of Americanization and getting comfortable with all that the Bay Area has to offer — non-smoking restaurants, relative safety and an unspoken policy of “no pushing at the supermarket”— to try to adjust to Israeli life once again? On the other hand, that feeling I have when I’m in Israel — which I can only sum up as “at home” — is something I’ve never fully attained here in the United States.
Yes, life is good here, and I do love living in San Francisco. But even with a job, a social circle and an American passport, sometimes I still feel like a guest.
Focusing back on the pale green flier (which I tucked neatly into my desk drawer): Next to the words “come home” was an illustration of a flower. The words “USA” and “Israel” were written alternately on each petal, and an “Israel” petal was pulled out, the clear victor in this version of the “he loves me, he loves me not” game.
In reality, making the decision to move back to Israel is much more than a petal pluck and a long, annoying flight — it’s a sacrifice, a change and a huge adjustment.
After a recent discussion with my boyfriend, in which I analyzed the pros and cons — OK, glamorized the pros — of moving back to Israel, he assured me that there have always been Jews living in the diaspora, and that, in some way, that is a necessary element of Israel’s very existence.
In other words, living in Israel is not the only way to support our Jewish homeland.
But wanting to return to Israel is not only a Zionistic endeavor. It’s also a selfish desire — wanting to be where I feel I am most happy, where I want to raise my future family and to re-create for my children the happy childhood I had.
I keep trying to attain the flexibility of a snail — to happily carry my home on my back wherever I am — but more and more I’m overwhelmed with the feeling of a shell-less slug. The diaspora, California, San Francisco — it’s all like a temporary, comfortable rental to me.
“To me, home is where I make it,” my boyfriend tells me. “Of course, I love Israel, but home is also where I’m with the people I love.”
In spite of all my attempts — analyzing the situation, weighing one place against another — I hate to admit it, but he’s right.
“Are you missing Israel?” read the words at the bottom of the pale green flier. “Are you living in the U.S. but breathing Israel?”
Yes, I am. But maybe that’s OK — for now.
Michal Lev-Ram, born in Israel, is a freelance writer in San Francisco. She can be reached at [email protected].