From a forwarded e-mail from my uncle and it reasonates very, very true for me for most part.. except her opinion on Israelis' "quick fuses." Of course, she's older than me so...
The Luckiest Jews In The World
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By:Caroline B. Glick Wednesday, April 23, 2008
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I just published a collection<http://www.israelbooks.com/bookDetails.asp?book=659&catId=1&gclid=CMuU5vLO15ICFQQPuwodSyKb5w> of my essays in English. Each time I am asked if I amalso releasing the volume in Hebrew I feel a pain deep inside me when Ianswer that no, right now, my publisher is only interested in an Englishedition. Indeed it is a shame because I wrote most of the essays in Hebrewas well.
Writing in Hebrew is a qualitatively different experience than writing inEnglish. Hebrew is a more compact language than English. It has fewer wordsand the words it has are denser and more flexible than English words. A1,200-word essay in Hebrew will be 1,800 words in English.
This is a mechanical difference. But there are deeper distinctions as well.One level beyond the mechanics is the multiple meanings of Hebrew words. Thedensity of meaning in Hebrew is a writer's dream. Nearly anyone can imbue aseemingly simple sentence with multiple, generally complementary meaningssimply by choosing a specific verb, verb form, noun or adjective. Thesedouble, triple and even quadruple meanings of one word are a source ofunbounded joy for a writer. To take just one example, the Hebrew word"shevet" means returning and it also means sitting. And it is also a homonymfor club - as in billy club - and for tribe.
In 2005, the IDF named the operation expelling the Israeli residents of Gazaand Northern Samaria "Shevet Achim," or returning or sitting with brothers.But it also sounded like it was making a distinction between tribesmen andbrothers. And it also sounded like "clubbing brothers."
As this one example demonstrates, one joyful consequence of the uniquedensity of the Hebrew language is that satirical irony comes easily to eventhe most dour and unpoetic writers.
For a Jew, knowing, speaking and writing Hebrew is an intimate experience.This is particularly so for those of us whose mother tongue is not Hebrew -because as the secrets of the language slowly reveal themselves to us wefeel we are discovering ourselves.
Hebrew encapsulates the entirety of the Jewish story. Modern Hebrew inparticular is an eclectic amalgamation of classical Hebrew, Yiddishisms, andexpressions from the Sephardic Diaspora experience. Greek, Roman, Aramaic,Turkish, Arabic and English expressions meld seamlessly into the stream ofwords. It is not simply that it is the language of the Bible. Hebrew is alsoan expression of the unique culture of a small, proud, often besieged, oftenconquered and permeable people.
Its power to explain that cultural experience and that historical baggage issomething that often leaves a newly initiated member of the Hebrew-speakingworld gasping in a mixture of disbelief and relief. It is unbelievable thata language can be so immediately and unselfconsciously expressive offeelings that have traversed millennia. Understanding its power as a tool ofexpressing the Jewish condition is one of the most gratifying discoveries aJew can make.
But the experience of speaking in Hebrew and of living in Hebrew isincomplete when it is not experienced in Israel. It is one thing to pray ina synagogue in Hebrew or even to speak regular Hebrew outside of Israel. Theformer is a spiritual duty and a communal experience. The latter is a socialor educational experience. But speaking Hebrew in Israel is a completeexperience. Hebrew localizes the Jewishness, Judaism and Jews. It anchors usto the Land of Israel. Taken together, the Hebrew language and the Land ofIsrael stabilize a tradition and make the Jewish people whole.
I write all of this as a means of explaining why a Jew in the Diaspora,particularly the United States, would want to live in Israel. LeavingAmerica is difficult on several levels. In my own experience, it involvedphysically separating from my entire family. It also involved cutting myselfoff from my language - English - and immersing myself completely in a tongueI had yet to master. Beyond that, it meant leaving a country that had doneonly good for me and for the generations of my family who fled to Americafrom the pogroms in Eastern Europe at the turn of the twentieth century.
As someone who loves me told me 17 years ago as I packed my bags for anunknowable future, "People don't emigrate away from America. They beg tocome to its shores."
But would it be right to characterize leaving America as an act ofingratitude? Do Jews have to reject America in order to go to Israel? No, wedon't.
Coming to Israel is not rejecting America. It is embracing a choice tobecome whole in a way that life outside of Israel cannot provide. Thatdoesn't mean life cannot be fulfilling for a Jew outside of Israel. Millionsof Jews can attest to the fact. It certainly doesn't mean that life inIsrael is easier or safer or more lucrative than life is elsewhere.
Israel is a troublesome, hard, often irritating place. It is a young countrythat belongs to an ancient, eternal people who are all imperfect. Some Israelis, particularly those who today occupy the seats of power, are weakand irresponsible and often corrupt and self-serving.
Israelis have quick fuses. Among other things, this distinctively Israelirush to anger makes being stuck in rush hour traffic a bit like dancing awaltz in the middle of a shooting range. Then too, service is not a conceptthat most Israelis - particularly in service professions - are even vaguelyfamiliar with.
Beyond the general fallibility of Israelis, there are the wars and thehatred and the terror that make up so much of life in Israel. Beingsurrounded by enemies and living in the midst of jihad-crazed Arab states islike sitting on the edge of a volcano. And rather than acknowledge thedanger and contend with it, Israelis - frustratingly and dangerously - moreoften than not blame one another for the heat while ignoring its source.Yet once a Jew catches the Zionist bug, none of that is important.
Once a Jew allows himself or herself to feel the pull of our heritage, of ourlanguage and our land, the frustration, danger and hardship of living inIsrael seems like second nature - as natural as breathing in and out.
I recently moved to a home on the edge of a valley filled with forests andcarpeted by wildflowers. Every day I hike for an hour or two along thetrails below. A few days ago, as I walked late at night, I considered thedark and silent hills surrounding me and felt safe. They were liberated in1948.
As I stood for a moment, I thought to myself, "These hills have already beenconquered for you, by people better than yourself. Now it is your job tokeep them safe for the next generation. And it will be the next generation'sresponsibility to keep them safe for the following one."
The thought filled me with a sense of privilege and peace.
People ask me all the time why I insist on living in Israel. Usually I justshrug my shoulders and smile. I, a woman who makes my living from words,find myself speechless when challenged with this simple question.
I spend several months a year away from Israel working. But every time I goaway on a long trip, inevitably after three weeks or so, I begin to feelincomplete. I start to long for the smells of Israel. My ears ache to hearHebrew all around me. I want to go back so I can walk down the streets on Friday afternoons and smile at perfect strangers as we bid each other Shabbat Shalom.
Why do I live in Israel? Because Israel lives in me, as it lives in allJews. It is who we are. And those of us lucky enough to recognize this truthand embrace it in all its fullness and depth are the luckiest Jews in theworld.
Caroline Glick is deputy managing editor of The Jerusalem Post. Her JewishPress-exclusive column appears the last week of each month.
