It's hard to concentrate on other things when the international headlines are pretty much all condemning the country you're living in for everything from "state terrorism" to stupid, damaging decisions (the latter from Ha'aretz, the main daily here).
What happened on that ship bound for Gaza was tragic on so many levels. For the people who were killed, for the soldiers sent on a problematic mission, for the Israeli state that needs no more reasons for the world to hate and blame it for everything (painful also in many ways) and for civilians in Gaza who are being screwed in the long run by everyone, including their own leadership.
I really hate to get political. I've learned a lot by living here (and since the day I wrote "I want to study anything in the Arab world except Israel/Palestine" in my grad school application). Still, I feel unqualified to be a commentator. That's the main thing I've learned. I think that only when you have spent some time immersed on both "sides" of a conflict can you have something approaching a genuinely fair view. And it's really hard to do that.
The best way I can describe what I see is that Israel is a country straddling two worlds, expected to play by two different sets of rules at the same time. It is damned no matter what it does.
I will also say that I have, by living here, developed a sincere respect and appreciation for Israeli society that could never, ever have germinated by watching or reading international news.
Anyway, our family is linked indelibly to the Israeli identity, for better or worse, since my husband and daughters are all Israeli citizens. I think about it every time we fly with three Israeli passports.
I wonder how we'll explain the many facets of their Israeli identity to the girls when they're a little older. At their age, of course, they know only the fun of holidays, the familiarity of Hebrew, the love of their family here. How can we help them retain the positives--heritage, pride, strength--while someday explaining why Israeli flags burn on TV and various world leaders want to see the country "wiped off the map"?
Monday, May 31, 2010
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Where am I again?
Today it's the tail end of the sharav, the hot wind that blows periodically across this region from the Arabian peninsula, carrying dust and sand and sucking the moisture out of all living things. Yesterday morning I hurried out for a walk at 7:30, before it hit full bore, and even then came back parched with a dusty feeling in the throat. The sky turns hazy yellow and visibility withers. You get inside and close things up.
One upside to the sharav for me is that it reminds me where I am. It's surprising how easy it is to forget, some days. Some days I spend the bulk of my day ...like now, online, especially since I telecommute to my old job, essentially. The virtual world creates more connections, true, but it also makes it easy to stay in our own little silos. Here, I don't have to do a whole lot to assimilate. Since we moved here, my main interaction with non-English-speaking locals has consisted of 15-second conversations with supermarket employees, checking in with preschool teachers and the occasional visit to a doctor's office. No wonder my Hebrew is still pretty bad.
Once you know your way around any neighborhood or valley or region, you can usually get in your car and drive from A to B without too much interfering. Maybe you're listening to your own CDs. You get in a zone. The scenery becomes comfortable; your eyes pick out the relevant details and you stop noticing other things that used to seem strange. You could be anywhere, daydreaming.
It's not all like that... I mean, we--I--do get out. There was the two days spent in the hospital where Noa was born, in an ultra-Orthodox community near Tel Aviv. That was definitely Somewhere Else. We also see Israeli friends, we tool around, I have a Hebrew tutor. Our food is labeled in Hebrew. I catch parts of the national news on TV and listen to Galgalatz (Army radio, the most popular station).
But, on some level, I sort of feel like the old Chinese lady who lives in San Francisco and reads Chinese newspapers and cooks her favorite dishes at home and has Chinese friends. It's natural, I guess. Most of us, when we have a choice, don't change all that much. We all want to feel at home.
One upside to the sharav for me is that it reminds me where I am. It's surprising how easy it is to forget, some days. Some days I spend the bulk of my day ...like now, online, especially since I telecommute to my old job, essentially. The virtual world creates more connections, true, but it also makes it easy to stay in our own little silos. Here, I don't have to do a whole lot to assimilate. Since we moved here, my main interaction with non-English-speaking locals has consisted of 15-second conversations with supermarket employees, checking in with preschool teachers and the occasional visit to a doctor's office. No wonder my Hebrew is still pretty bad.
Once you know your way around any neighborhood or valley or region, you can usually get in your car and drive from A to B without too much interfering. Maybe you're listening to your own CDs. You get in a zone. The scenery becomes comfortable; your eyes pick out the relevant details and you stop noticing other things that used to seem strange. You could be anywhere, daydreaming.
It's not all like that... I mean, we--I--do get out. There was the two days spent in the hospital where Noa was born, in an ultra-Orthodox community near Tel Aviv. That was definitely Somewhere Else. We also see Israeli friends, we tool around, I have a Hebrew tutor. Our food is labeled in Hebrew. I catch parts of the national news on TV and listen to Galgalatz (Army radio, the most popular station).
But, on some level, I sort of feel like the old Chinese lady who lives in San Francisco and reads Chinese newspapers and cooks her favorite dishes at home and has Chinese friends. It's natural, I guess. Most of us, when we have a choice, don't change all that much. We all want to feel at home.
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