LOOKING AROUND: Into the Red Sea
By Barbara Sofer
March, 14 2002
Dear Karen, In the midst of these days mired by bloody terrorist attacks, I've been wondering what I would do if I were in your position. If I were living in a quiet suburb in the US, as you are, would I sign up my teenager for an educational program in Israel? Now? With young people being deliberately targeted at cafes and bar mitzvas, and discos attacked by the terrorist enemy? Or would I bide my time - another summer, perhaps - and send my child to a Shakespeare workshop in London or a Torah program in Manhattan? Next year in Jerusalem.
Your days start and end by watching the Israel news. You hear of the ghastly attacks as soon as we do. And yes, you know from so many trips here that the situation looks worse from abroad than it does in Israel. Should I tell you that just yesterday I bought a necklace on Rehov Ben-Yehuda and ate ravioli at an outdoor restaurant? (I did.) But I would be dishonest to say we weren't living in hyperalertness, watching jackets buttoned over paunches, ears cocked for blasts and sirens. I can appreciate your dilemma. That all your older children took part in Israel programs, and that Adi - she even has a Hebrew name - is expecting to go too, makes this decision harder.
You were afraid when your other kids came, too, she reminds you. This time it's different, you want to tell her. But you don't, because in the end you may sign the permission form.
On one hand, yours is, in a sense, the most personal of decisions. This is a question about outgoing, good-hearted Adi and not a theoretical child. On the other hand, the answer goes to the heart of the relationship between those of us who have chosen to live in Israel, and those who have opted to live in the Diaspora. When the going gets very tough, who is ready to face up?
From an ideological point of view, the answer is easy. "Come. Come. Come now," has always been the Zionist mantra, regardless of inflation or fedayeen. "Come now. Come as tourists." "Come now, come as students." And best of all, "Come now, as immigrants." I remember hearing this from no less than prime minister Golda Meir, lecturing a group of us Young Judea graduates in a seedy hotel in New Jersey. "Come. Come. Come now, before you acquire debts. Come now before you fall in love with non-Zionists," she said unequivocally.
Although life in Israel has never been easy, deciding to move here while the country is undergoing a recession, suffering from terrorism and guerrilla warfare, has to be an even greater act of faith than moving in relatively boom times. Deciding to come here on a vacation, summer, semester, or year program is likewise an act of solidarity and faith.
How different the national mood would be if tens of thousands of tourists were buying candlesticks and t-shirts, soaking in the Dead Sea, sampling northern wines. Teenagers, too, supporting fast-food emporia and street-fair jewelry barkers. Their programs employ teachers and tour guides. But the kids aren't wanted only for their pizza-buying potential. They contribute an ebullience and lightheartedness our own teenagers lack.
We're feeling very much alone, as we rather bravely face the danger around us. It's not as if we haven't noticed that Jews and other Israel support groups from abroad aren't filling all those hotels built for the supposed millennium surge in tourism. As terror escalates and one attack follows another, even friends and family seem to have lost interest. A secret: you, Karen, are among the few who consistently check on our family's well-being, even when terrorist attacks are meters away.
We have put our children in dangerous positions, of course. I wouldn't wish on you the nights of fright of knowing your son is crawling through brambles behind enemy lines. And then there's the daily danger of stopping for an ice mocha at a crowded coffee bar. For us, every terrorist attack involves a round of phone calls to find our own scattered brood.
Diaspora teens who come from abroad are generally better protected in their well-considered programs, minimizing risks, maximizing security, than our own, who have absorbed a sabra hubris about their freedom. Each program comes with its own evacuation plan in the unlikely but terrible circumstance that such a plan would be needed.
But there is no guarantee that as a nuance of their desire to destroy us, our enemies won't settle on a group from Boston or Seattle. Chances are, of course, that she will be fine, but there's no way to absolutely guarantee Adi's safety - or anyone else's.
In the silver-lining category, if you do let Adi come, the troubles will probably serve as a bonding experience. And I predict that your occasional doubts about the morality of Israel's military actions will be resolved when you rely on the Jewish army to protect your daughter's life. That you, whose devotion to Israel and the Jewish people is unfaltering, should struggle such a dilemma is already a victory for the enemy.
But for all my Zionism, for my "for better or worse" simplistic devotion to this country, I remember the pain of sitting with you, who had come to bring joy to our family simha in other tough times, huddling in front of the TV as buses exploded in Jerusalem. My particular fear was that something would happen to you and Adi, all because you came here out of love and friendship.
So I cannot give advice. Nor can I say "Come. Come. Come now,"
as Golda once told me, and I blithely packed my bags. The decision today
is closer to that of Nahshon, who walked into the Red Sea while the waters
high and turbulent. The decision must be yours and David's and Adi's.
Whatever you decide, we will understand.
