Crossing the Yarden

By Yarden Frankl

A Year?

Could it be true? Have we really been Israeli citizens for a year? Are we starting to lose some of our "olim chadashim" baby teeth? Can I get a real passport yet? How 'bout a gun?

Any Israeli will still be able to pick us out even before we open our mouths and give it all away, but we are no longer paralyzed by fear at the thought of going grocery shopping or arguing a phone bill. We are not fazed when someone calls us Friday morning to invite us for Shabbat meals. Driving to Tekoa or Bet Hagai no longer seem like taking a mission to Afghanistan. We have favorite stalls in the shouk where we buy our fruits and vegetables. We even have our own "egg guy." (In the U.S. I had my own doctor and my own lawyer, but I never imagined I would have my own "egg guy.")

The year has passed faster than any in my life. I find it hard to believe that we are soon going to be welcoming a new group of clue-less Olim to the country and to the Yishuv. It will now be our turn to tell them how you get a drivers' license and where the best shwarma is. We can explain that the shortest way to Ramat Bet Shemesh is to turn right at the "Don't Turn Right" sign, and that a typical day "camp" is a day washing cars and eating chocolate on bread.

I will never forget the day we arrived. After two days of traveling from San Francisco to Israel, a journey that was both physically and emotionally draining, I got to embrace my former and soon-to-be future neighbor at the airport. No matter how often I explained the feeling of uprooting myself from my community and family to live in the Jewish State, the only ones who could really understand the powerful emotions I felt deep down were the ones who had done the same thing. Now it will be my turn to tell the new arrivals, "It's ok, you made it. Welcome to the club."

So after a year, perhaps it's a good time to give the real answer to the question "Why did you make Aliyah?" While Israel may have lots of better things, from Jewish schools to humus, honestly that's not why we came.

We came because every time I visited Israel beforehand, I found myself crying as the plane crossed the Mediterranean, and I could see we were over land. I felt my heart beat faster as the plane came to a stop by the terminal, and I could see the blue and white flags flapping in the breeze. I even felt like the tired-looking, overworked, young woman who stamped my passport was my cousin.

On the return, I always felt that something was wrong as soon as I checked my bags. At first, I could not understand this feeling. By the last visit, (when we had definitely decided we would NOT be making Aliyah), I was physically sick in the airport. I had this huge feeling of guilt that I was abandoning the land of my ancestors, the land that should be mine. To make matters worse, the plane to New York had been used the day before as one of the Nefesh B'Nefesh flights. The Nefesh B'Nefesh logo was painted in bright colors by the plane's door. By instinct, I reached out my hand and touched the plane, much as you would a Mezuza and with tears in my eyes thought "maybe, one day...."

The day came and we are here, thank G-D. It's not always easy. There are big struggles like the fight to save the yishuvim, and little struggles like remembering to say "L'hitraot" instead of "Itriot" when saying goodbye. But you know, with all the challenges and struggles that lie ahead for us, we are still living a dream that millions of Jews through thousands of years would have done anything to live.

After one year, I can proudly look from the top of Neve Daniel out to the horizon and say with conviction, "This is our home and we're not going anywhere."

A welcome to the new olim and Shabbat Shalom from our blessed nation.

© 2006 Yarden Frankl