Israel
at 67
luxury of a car in those days.) There was
one cafe in the area, Kapulskis, which she
used to love going to. There was a makolet
in a rusty, sardine-grey tin shed, where an
old blind man would sell us sweets, relying on the honesty of us children as we
placed our carefully counted coins in his
hardened, wrinkled hands. Israel in the
eighties was a far cry from the trendy,
cutting-edge technology hub and coffee
culture it’s become today.
One of my most surreal childhood
memories was one July when there was a
chamsin, an extraordinarily hot heat
wave, where we lived on cordial ice lollies
that we made in glass cups, there was water rationing. All the water was turned off
and a water truck drove down the main
road to distribute water. I went with my
aunt, feeling like Alice in Wonderland
with our clanging pots and pans to fill
them with the precious, transparent liquid. It felt festive and important to be
there. To learn not to waste, to wake up
with the rooster who crowed from the
back unpaved streets of Kiryat Ono.
On a plane trip back home from Tel
Aviv, I remember discussing with my
brothers what rating Israel would get as a
country. We decided it wasn’t a firstworld country, nor was it a third-world
country (after all, how could the country
of kosher bazooka chewing gum be third
world?) We concluded that it was a second-world country. In many ways it’s still
a second-world country with many people
living below the poverty line.
Who would go live in a second-world
country? But the call to Israel defies explanation. Having emigrated once, I understand that one can’t take emigration
lightly. To move countries is to lose your
whole identity. Nobody knows who you
are. It’s almost like dying and being reborn. The key to a successful emigration
is what you choose to focus on – the dying and all you’ve left behind, or the rebirth with its new opportunities.
Emigration is up there with all the
great stressful traumas that we face in human life. But I’ve learnt a lot from having
done it once before. It helps to come from
12 JEWISH LIFE n ISSUE 83
I’ve learnt that you must create your
home in your heart, so that wherever you
are, you are at home.
a migrant family. It helps to have the legacy of being a wandering Jew.
So, here’s what I’ve uncovered about
emigration. When you move to a new
place, it’s a chance to start again. You can
be whoever you want to be, and hopefully,
it’s your best self. However, you can’t run
away from any issues or problems. Be it financial, emotional or just those irritating
people who drive you crazy. It will all
manifest in your new abode. My husband
reminds me of this continually. He says,
“You don’t leave a place, you need to go to
a place.” You need to want to be there. To
invest yourself in the environs, invite
people you’d like to meet for meals and
for impromptu coffees, rather than passively waiting for people to welcome you
into their busy lives. You create the space
that you live in. You create who you are.
You create the life you lead.
Of course, I’ve discovered all this the
hard way. That there’s no space for victimhood or complaints. You make your choices and live in the present, because no
amount of whinging or whining is going to
make things better. I’ve learnt that you
must create your home in your heart, so
that wherever you are, you are at home.
And as I think about this, I