Zionism – Page 12 – Planting Roots Bearing Fruits

Sexy Jews

No, that’s not an oxymoron. That’s a fact.

Tel Aviv is filled with a whole lot of sexy Jews. Sexy men and sexy women. Gay and straight and lesbian and bi. Toned muscle, pecs, six-pacs. Joggers, yogis, boxers, dancers, volleyball players. Shirtless, sweating, smiling, swimming, sunbathing. Hot. As. F*ck.

Many of them wear Star of David necklaces or sometimes yarmulkes. And they speak the language of the Torah as their bodies gleam effortlessly in the sun.

It is a true paradise.

In the U.S., Jews are often portrayed on TV and in films as sex-less geeks. Men are often portrayed as effeminate and too “bookish” to be sexy (think Ross on Friends) and women are often portrayed as overbearing and unbearable (think Fran on The Nanny). We are good at being lawyers, doctors, professors- but we almost never thought of as sex symbols. And even if there are Jewish sex symbols, such as Zac Efron, they are almost never talked about in connection with their Judaism.

That’s not because American Jews aren’t sexy- there are a lot who are! It’s because the society we live in has told us we’re not and I think we’ve internalized it to a degree, as can be seen in items like the semi-satirical “Nice Jewish Guys” calendar.

Here, that doesn’t exist because we built this society. The other day, I went to a gay beach in Tel Aviv. So in other words, other than a few tourists, a gay Jewish beach. The world’s only gay Jewish beach. And it was amazing. Besides the loads of hot guys, I just felt like I could be myself. I didn’t feel self-conscious speaking Hebrew among gay people or speaking Yiddish to my Israeli friend who came along. And I didn’t feel self-conscious about looking at the hot guys in a Jewish environment.

Since arriving 3 weeks ago, I’ve been to a gay rights rally, visited a gay art exhibition (including the cover photo for this blog), made friends with a lesbian rabbi, participated in an Orthodox LGBT Torah study group, started living with a lesbian couple, and so much more. I can’t even think of them as separate items anymore because I don’t have to go out of my way to do them- they are just a part of my life. As they should be.

For most of my life, my Judaism and my sexuality have felt like two separate worlds. Identities that aren’t supposed to touch. Here, in Tel Aviv, they are so intertwined that it finally feels natural.

I’m gay, I’m Jewish, and I’m sexy. Wanna go for a jog?

A hopeful story from the Middle East

In case you haven’t been reading the news (don’t worry if that’s the case- I don’t read it either), the Middle East is heating up this summer, and I’m not just talking about the day it was 103 degrees on the heat index last week.

There are tensions on the Syria-Israel border (in addition to the whole civil war there). There are also tensions on the Temple Mount in Jerusalem- the place where the Jewish temples of old stood and where the Al-Aqsa Mosque currently stands atop the Western Wall. If you don’t know what those are- don’t worry. The point is they’re all Jewish and Islamic holy sites. Two Israeli Druze policemen were killed by Palestinian terrorists on the Temple Mount and other Palestinian terrorists murdered a family having Shabbat dinner in the West Bank. Meanwhile, Palestinians are protesting the addition of metal detectors on the site of the first terrorist attack. I honestly haven’t read enough to know the details, but needless to say, there are probably provocative politicians on all sides who’d like to take advantage of this moment to escalate things.

So the only thing that really matters from that whole paragraph for the purpose of this blog is: shit is intense here. I am living in a powder keg. A powder keg I love and is full of beauty. And also lots of problems. Good thing I found a new friend in my building today who was hula hooping outside at 3 in the afternoon to hip hop music, because I gladly joined him for a little break from the heaviness.

In the midst of this chaos, there is also hope and it’s the kind of good stuff you will never, and I repeat never, see in any newspaper- not in Israel and most certainly not abroad. The thing you have to experience here.

The other day, I had a cab driver named Samir. Samir is a clearly Arab name so as I like to do, I spoke with him in Arabic. Turns out he’s Bedouin and from Haifa, which is quite interesting because most Bedouin live in the Negev Desert down south, a testament to their nomadic desert roots. Turns out, he’s married to a Kavkazi Jewish woman who converted to Islam in order for them to be married. In Israel, all marriage is through religious channels, so if you want an interfaith marriage, you have to go to Cyprus to get a civil marriage and come back. We’ll save more details for a future blog. He and his wife are raising their kids Muslim but they speak Hebrew at home and are sending their kids to a Jewish school (they could have opted for an Arabic-language school instead). In addition, the kids are currently quadrilingual and are in elementary school. They speak Hebrew, Arabic, Kavkazi (a Jewish language related to Persian), and Azerbaijani. They will also learn English in school, making them quintilingual by middle school.

We talked about the immense cultural and religious diversity his children will experience. He said he wants them to know about Judaism and Islam and other cultures and religions. I told him how in the U.S., people of all different backgrounds study, play, and grow up together. It was an amazing, complex, and beautiful bit of gray space in a land where all too often things seem black and white.

I’d like to encourage you to spend a little less time on NewYorkTimes.com or Haaretz and a little more time getting to know real people. People in your neighborhood, people around the world. If you have the chance to come here (or already live here), let’s explore together. If you’re in another city, get to know your neighbors. It is good to be well-read and it is also not the only way to be well-informed. Step outside your comfort zone, embrace your humanity, and we’ll see our way out of this crisis. Or at least get a well-deserved break in an oasis of peace. One conversation at a time.

My first Israeli protest

Today I went to my first Israeli protest. Not a pro-Israel protest, but an actual protest inside Israel.

Recently, the Israeli government announced that it recommended to the Supreme Court that gay couples not be able to adopt. In twisted circular logic, they claimed it was because of the prejudice kids would face because of people who were anti-gay. Just like the current government and this very policy they’re promoting.

Needless to say, LGBT Israelis and allies were really pissed off. Including me, because I’m now one of those people. Thousands of people protested with colorful signs, shouting chants, and cheering with speakers who affirmed their identities and criticized Benjamin Netanyahu’s backward government.

One thing that was interesting was that, being from DC, the crowd seemed small to me. If I had to guesstimate, there were 5-10,000 people there maximum. I’ve been in many, many rallies in D.C. that were over 200,000 people- on issues ranging from immigrants rights to pro-Israel to gay rights and beyond. And I was at Obama’s first inauguration which had approximately 1.8 million attendees. So my perspective is influenced by my personal experiences at much larger rallies. That being said, Israel is a very small country compared to the U.S. (8.5 million vs. 323 million), so according to my Israeli friends, this was a sizeable protest. Always good to consider how someone who grew up here might view things to put it in a new light.

What was very clear was this crowd was fired up. People were angry and enthusiastic. And there was a real sense of community and common purpose. Their rally chants could be improved (some were really long and hard for people to follow)- but I feel confident that I can help with that. Rally chanting is one of my favorite things to do, as some of my protestor friends in D.C. know.

The crowd was fairly diverse too- you had people from several different youth movements and political parties (although not a single coalition-member party was represented, which is shameful). I was particularly proud that the rally was co-sponsored by the Reform Movement- my movement. Not a single other religious organization was represented. I was never prouder to be a Reform Jew. You had all the colors of the LGBT spectrum present- and mentioned quite clearly in the speeches. I’ve definitely been to some protests in the U.S. where the emphasis was quite clearly on the G in LGBT and not so much on the other letters. Not here- everyone was welcome.

After I started feeling tired and hungry, I went to meet a friend for a happy hour. There was this group of olim (new immigrants) and I started talking to one woman who was French. I was really excited because I love speaking French so we got to talking. She told me she was Modern Orthodox and that while people were more traditional in France, she preferred the more modern streams of Orthodoxy she had encountered in Israel. She saw a gay rights sticker on my shirt and asked what it was about. I explained that the government was against me adopting children because I was gay. And she had the gall to actually say, to my face, that she didn’t think gay couples should be allowed to adopt either. To put this in perspective, she was probably 25-30 years old, was finishing her Master’s thesis, and was looking for jobs in high tech. Not exactly the stereotypical profile of a bigot. But a bigot nonetheless.

She proceeded to tell me that actually she preferred gay couples to single people. She thought single people absolutely shouldn’t be able to adopt. She would rather a gay couple adopt than a single person. And, in her opinion, straight couples should get preference over both because that’s what’s best.

I was in utter shock. I thought Tel Aviv was this diverse, international, progressive Jewish paradise where people loved gays. The prejudiced people live in the “other Israel” (read: everywhere outside of Tel Aviv- the periphery, Jerusalem, etc.). And while there is a lot of truth to that (it’s an extremely gay city with a lot of progressive people and other parts of the country can be more conservative), there are also people who don’t fit that mold. There are clearly people in Tel Aviv who are bigots. There were also some Modern Orthodox people at the rally protesting for my rights (and in some cases, their own because they were gay themselves).

The point is Israel is not black and white. There are confusing gray spaces that require careful navigating. I thought I could count on a highly-educated young French Jew to support me and I was wrong. I also saw Orthodox people at this rally wearing yarmulkes.

Israelis like to tell me that life in Israel is “lo pashut” – not simple, not easy. Well no shit! Life isn’t easy in America either, which is part of why I’m here. We have our own insane politics, our expensive healthcare, our gun violence, our poverty. We have our issues too. And so does Israel. And one of them is gay rights. Israel is by far the most progressive country in the Middle East on gay rights and it also is not a place where I feel equal. It has a lot of work to do and I intend to be a part of the community that makes it happen. Join me, here or abroad, in fighting for my right to equality. I was part of the movement to pass marriage equality in America and I intend to win here too. “Yes we can” is not a dream- it’s a statement.

Israeli socialized healthcare

Israel has many beautiful things: a gorgeous seashore, delicious Middle Eastern food, a sense of empowerment for the Jewish people, a multicultural society, and much more. It also has its share of challenges- low salaries (relative to the U.S.), endless bureaucracy, regional conflict, and so much more.

I’d like to focus right now, though, on one of the best aspects of living in Israel: socialized healthcare. In Israel, everyone, by law, has health insurance. It is provided through one of several government-approved plans. Approximately 4-5% of your salary is deducted automatically, on a progressive scale, and you simply have health insurance. If you want the super-duper supplemental insurance which covers things like massages and acupuncture (yes, you read that right American friends), it costs…$32 a month! There are no deductibles, no pre-existing conditions, and no premiums.

To an Israeli, this might hardly seem noteworthy. But allow me to explain how healthcare works in America. When I lived in the U.S., I was self-employed. I paid $500 a month simply to have health insurance. There are literally millions of Americans who have no insurance at all- which could result in emergency room visits costing many thousands of dollars if they get sick. People literally go bankrupt in the U.S. because of healthcare costs- they could even lose their home. In addition to my $500/month premium, I also had to pay what’s called a “deductible”. A deductible is the amount of money you personally have to pay before the insurance company starts paying anything for your treatments. Since my plan was very high-quality (by American standards), my deductible was fairly low: $1200 for in-network (doctors that worked with my insurance company) and $2000 for out-of-network (doctors that didn’t work with my insurance company but might be the best ones for what I need). That means that, before the insurance company will even pay one cent for your treatment, you may have to pay as much as $3200 in addition to your monthly $500 fee. Even after you “hit your deductible” (meaning you’ve paid these amounts), the insurance company only covers part of your treatment and you or your doctor have to submit paperwork to the insurance company each time, which may decide they don’t feel they should pay for your treatment. Sometimes, they’ll only tell you what they’ll cover after you go to the doctor. And sometimes, the insurance companies will not cover your treatment. Please re-read that Israeli friends- sometimes, even with health insurance, you will not get any payments from the company. In short, this is like playing Russian roulette and it can be very, very, very expensive. I’ve had years where, including medicines, doctor’s appointments, and insurance payments, I’ve paid $15,000 for healthcare- or more. Just for that one year.

So now perhaps you can see why I’m in awe of the Israeli healthcare system. Today, I went to get my healthcare card. It took all of 20 minutes. There is an app I can use to schedule my appointments. All medical records are digitized (oh yeah, Israeli friends- you often literally have to send pieces of paper between your doctors in the U.S. because there is no centralized healthcare system). I’m only beginning to learn the system, but I can already say that it is leaps and bounds ahead of what we have in the U.S.

There are a lot of things Israel can learn from the U.S. This is something Americans can learn from Israelis. Socialized healthcare works. It is not a theory, it is a fact. At a time when the American government is cruelly trying to dismantle Obamacare (which in and of itself it not even that great of a system, but was at least in the right direction) and kick millions of people off insurance, Israel guarantees all of its residents healthcare. Jewish, Muslim, Druze, Christian. Rich and poor. Young and old.

Healthcare is one of the reasons I made aliyah. Some things are easier in the U.S. than Israel, but healthcare is absolutely, without a doubt, not one of them. I was tired of my hard-earned money going to greedy insurance companies and wondering when or if my medical conditions would be treated. I’ve made a long list of doctors I’m going to go see and I can’t wait. I’m also going to get a lot of massages because they’re awesome and are a huge stress relief.

Health is life. Without it, you can’t do anything. I’m glad and grateful I live in a place that values it. And I pray that the American government learns from its ally what it means to take care of your people’s health.

My New Minority Identity: American

When I decided to make Aliyah and come live in Israel, one of my main reasons was to live with my people- the Jewish people. As a minority in the U.S., I’ve been subject to a great deal of antisemitism throughout my life and while there are some beautiful things about being a minority, it can also be extremely hard. I often felt, even in good circumstances with good people, like I had to explain who I was and what I believed in. Having talked to other minorities in the U.S.- Muslims, African Americans, Latinos, etc.- I know that my struggles were shared by many people.

Part of the reason I came to Israel was to not be a minority anymore. To live in a Jewish-majority state and in Tel Aviv, where the LGBT community is so numerous that even if it’s not a majority of the city, it’s a very high percentage. Where my identities would be validated.

This has been true for these identities in many ways. I am constantly surrounded by hot Jewish men who I glance at- and often glance back! I am surrounded by street signs with the names of Jewish leaders on them and I hear my favorite Israeli music blasting out of the windows of cars passing by. In many ways, I couldn’t ask for a more validating space to live in.

At the same time, I’ve discovered I have a new minority identity that I didn’t fully expect when I moved here: American. It never seemed particularly noteworthy or clear to me in the U.S. that, even as a double minority, I was also part of the majority as an American. Never has that been more clear to me than in Israel.

The other day, I was talking to a gay guy who noticed all my pictures on Facebook of me going around Israel. He knew I was an American oleh chadash (new immigrant). He told me I looked like a “tourist” and laughed. I told him I didn’t find it funny- that there are many other ways I could’ve visited Israel, but I made a very tough decision to uproot my life and live here as a citizen. He told me “not to take it that way” and thought it was funny how I was “such a new immigrant”.

Last night, I was at a board games night and this guy told me that in English, “peaches” means “boobs”. I told him I was American and that’s not a thing. He told me he was in front of the White House two weeks ago yelling at Trump so he “emmmm, reeeeeally knowwwwz Eeeeenglish fluent”. Just to clarify this for everyone- I had an Israeli correct me on my English- after I told him I was American.

I was sitting in a cafe with a new friend talking about Israelis’ favorite complaint about Americans- that we were too “PC”. I asked him to explain exactly what he meant by that. The friend, a well-intentioned and left-wing guy, told me “you guys have this whole debate about using the word n*gger and I don’t understand it”. I proceeded to summarize the 400 year history of this racist term after which, to his credit, he finally admitted there are legitimate reasons why people don’t like this word.

Today, however, may just take the cake. I was at a gay Torah study and this older man, seemingly out of nowhere, starts telling the group how all the “kushim” (an Israeli word somewhere between “colored” and “n*gger”) in the U.S. are homophobic bigots even though gay people always supported them. My blood pressure shot sky high. When I wanted to respond, the young rabbi in the room told me I could do so in “one sentence”. I said “sorry I’m going to take a few”. I tried to explain that not only is this a gross overgeneralization and racist, but that there are a ton of LGBT black people too and “black” and “gay” aren’t mutually exclusive categories. I also mentioned that the NAACP, among other groups, actively supported the LGBT community’s fight for marriage rights. Instead of any sort of acknowledgement of my much needed nuance, I was shouted down by younger participants who told me, the only American in the room, that black people in my country are homophobes. Because I suppose when watching rap videos on YouTube is your only reference point for actual African Americans, you’ll come to such thoughtful conclusions.

I could channel my legitimate anger, sadness, hurt, and loneliness into a bunch of sweeping generalizations about Israelis, but then I’d be just like people who stereotype me and my (other) country. Instead, I’ll say this: some Israelis are raging racist anti-American bigots. Others are open-minded, eager to learn, and sweet. And many fall somewhere in the middle. People, in the end, are people. You can find good and bad ones (and mediocre ones) any and everywhere. It takes some filtering, but I hope I get to the point where I’ve built a really solid social circle here that validates all my identities: gay, Jewish, Reform, progressive, and yes, American.

To Israelis’ credit, even if their main point of reference about American culture is a trip to New York, Lady Gaga, and Game of Thrones, at least many are trying to learn about my other culture. Most Americans know much less about Israel than Israelis know about America. That being said, I’d encourage Israeli to dig a little deeper about my country. It’s one thing to know the pop culture of another place and quite another to understand its social intricacies. Ask me questions, dive in- don’t be afraid. I’m open to talk, just like I was with my friend who didn’t understand the word n*gger and was open to listening to me. That’s dialogue. I’m eager to learn about you and eager to share about me.

In the end, I came to this country to be changed- to grow, to experience, to live in a new part of the world that is deeply connected to my identity. I thank the Israelis who are making this journey possible. At the same time, I am an oleh chutzpani – an outspoken new immigrant. I didn’t just come to be changed- I came to change. There are things about this society that must evolve, and that includes the way it treats its minorities- Arabs, Druze, Russians, French, and yes, Americans.

You can count on me to raise my American-Israeli voice. I’m just getting started.

Israeli folk dancing on the beach

Yes, you read that right. Tonight, I spent 4 hours Israeli dancing on the beach. Israeli dancing consists of line, circle, and couples dances that are rooted in traditional Jewish dancing and fused with modern songs and steps. Here’s an example.

I’ve been dancing since I was 14 years old, when I would go to the Israeli dancing club in a small windowless room at my high school during lunch. It was so fun that my friends suggested I start going to a weekly session in Rockville, MD, so I did! I danced with the Israeli dance troupe at my college, called Magniv, and even choreographed for them. After a few year break from dancing, I reconnected with the community last year in DC and have been going weekly ever since.

My first week in Israel was so chaotic, I didn’t get a chance to dance. But this week, I made sure to go. It’s one of the best decisions I ever made. It’s hard to describe to you what it feels like to dance to the songs of your people on the beach as you watch the sun set over the Mediterranean. There was such an energy that the fact that I was sweating every ounce of liquid out of me didn’t matter. I met some really nice people- it was so welcoming and people I literally just met were grabbing me to dance circles and couples dances with them. And what really struck me was how young everyone is. I’d say 50% of the dancers were under 35, something that will astonish my American friends who dance. It was so nice to hear many songs I knew- connecting my American Jewish life to my new Israeli life. We Jews really are an international club!

Beyond that, a few things stood out to me and moved me. One, dozens and dozens of people- tourists, Israelis, young, and old- gathered around us and just watched. Some would make their own goofy dance moves. Others took video clips. And most just simply watched and enjoyed. I’ve never felt so appreciated and validated in my life. Other than one very special instance where a Catalan TV crew filmed my Israeli dance session in Maryland (that video will come out in January- I’ll keep you posted), I’ve never felt like this very treasured activity or my Judaism in general was worthy of a spectacle. And I don’t use the word spectacle in a negative way- I mean that I felt highly appreciated. It made it even more special. In addition, it gave me great naches (pride) to see that the Municipality of Tel Aviv sponsors the dancing. Therefore, it is 100% free of cost. This is the benefit of being in a place where your passions, your traditions, and your culture are actively supported. Not tolerated, not enjoyed, not accepted (those are all good too though!)- but financially supported by the government. You’d be hard-pressed to find another place in the world where the government funds Israeli dancing.

For all the issues that surround the State of Israel, Zionism, the Arab-Israeli conflict, and what have you (and I’m not denying those issues exist), there’s one simple fact: this is a place where my faith and culture is valued in a way that nowhere else can truly replicate. I wish that for all peoples- it’s an incredible feeling that we all deserve.

I’d like to give a major shout-out to my Israeli dancing family in DC. Next time you find yourself in Israel, which I hope is soon, please please please let me take you dancing. It will be a memory you never forget.

Listening to bluegrass in Tel Aviv

I had a rough time sleeping last night. Lots of pent-up emotions that I’ve felt over the past week came pouring out. It has been really hard- meeting dozens of new people, escaping an abusive AirBnB host, finding new housing (then finding housing after that housing), hours of bureaucracy, jet lag, adjusting to the heat, and so much more.

There have of course been amazing and life-changing moments as well. Even those have the potential to stress you out as much as you enjoy them. When even the street art in Tel Aviv plays on biblical motifs, it is hard to escape Judaism even in Israel’s most secular city. It’s part of what makes it so cool to be here.

And so hard. In America, if I wanted to engage my Jewish identity, I could prepare myself. I could go to a synagogue or a Jewish Community Center, to Moishe House or a friend’s Shabbat dinner- and I could tap into my Jewishness. I knew what to expect and how to behave, even if I had never met the people. Because it was my American Jewish culture. And as soon as I stepped outside the event, I was back in American non-Jewish society. Sometimes that made me sad, as I felt I needed to check part of my self at the door. And sometimes it was refreshing as I could recharge myself in the broader society.

Here, everything is Jewish. When I say everything, I’m not exaggerating. Israelis might not see it this way. For me, as an American-Israeli, it feels that way. All the signs are in Hebrew. For instance, next to a parking garage, there’s a sign that says “Boachem Leshalom” which means “come in peace”. To a religious American Jew, however, this reads differently. It’s the beginning of a famous verse of the prayer Shalom Aleychem, something we sing on Shabbat. Next to a parking garage!!! I can’t think of an equivalent in the U.S. but perhaps it’d be like seeing “He is Risen” on an elevator.

It’s awesome and totally exhausting. I’m not used to having Judaism everywhere in my life. And such heavy duty politics mixed into casual conversations (and this is coming from someone who grew up in Washington, D.C.).

Sometimes, you just need a break from it all. This morning, I put on some bluegrass music from one of my favorite bands that I saw in Charlottesville, VA years ago. Something you will never, ever hear in Israel. Something thoroughly American and beautiful. I called an American-Israeli friend and made plans to talk about light, apolitical, non-religious things. I don’t know- football, college stories, old flames, who knows! The point is nothing serious!

As I sat down to eat breakfast (boy am I missing my shredded wheat, trying to find some in Israel), I went to Google Advanced Image Search and googled “pictures of hamburgers”. And I felt a wave of relief and comfort come over me as I scrolled through picture after picture of hamburgers, cheeseburgers, bacon burgers, you name it. Some of which I don’t eat. And to be honest, I didn’t really eat hamburgers much in the U.S.

But it just felt like home. Where I don’t have to extend myself, to explain myself, to go into the depths of politics and religion, where I could just be. I felt out of place often in America. And I also miss it. It took moving to Israel to make me feel truly American.

What’s this blog all about?

One week ago to the day, on July 4th, 2017, I made one of the boldest decisions of my life: to move to Israel and become an Israeli citizen. In Hebrew, this process is called “aliyah”. Every Jew (even if someone is a quarter Jewish) has the right to this opportunity enshrined in the Israeli “Law of Return”. As long as you go through the (heavily bureaucratic) process and your ducks are in a row, you are free to make aliyah. No matter what country you’re from, whether you’re Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, or not religious at all. Actually, even if you profess another faith like Christianity but have 1/4 Jewish roots. We’ll go into the Law of Return another day in more depth, but for now let’s just say this is truly a unique process. Immigrating to the United States this is not. Israelis and Diaspora Jews alike tend to view this not as immigration so much as a homecoming.

When I told my friends I was making aliyah, I got a wide spectrum of reactions. I heard such varied responses as “congrats! That’s awesome, good luck!”, which was probably my favorite. I inevitably heard “are you going there to help Palestinians?” (I love all people, including Palestinians, but this is a bit like asking someone moving to China if they’re going to help Tibetans- probably a worthy cause, but a kind of strange initial reaction to someone moving to another country). I got asked whether I was concerned about Israeli politics (indeed, a veritable mess, but hardly worse than the batshit bonanza going on in the United States right now). I was asked about the “demographic threat” (their words, not mine- and asked by a left-wing non-Jew), what I would do for a living, would I feel safe, where would I live, do I have family there, etc. etc. People were stunned, excited, thrilled, anxious, sad, happy- you name it.

One thing I wanted to make sure to do was to make the process my own. Everyone had their own reaction to my moving, and in the end, my friends, even with their sometimes frustrating questions, stood behind me and supported me. But I wanted to make sure the process was mine first and foremost.

One of the reasons I made aliyah was to be with my people. This is probably first and foremost why I came to Israel. Having experienced a lifetime of antisemitism and being a minority, I wanted a place where I could be my true authentic self. A place where I didn’t have to constantly explain or justify my culture, my holidays, my tradition, my mannerisms. It’s not that all Americans are bigots- as Donald Trump would say “and some, I assume, are good people“. There’s a lot to like about America- its diversity, its fluidity, its grassroots activism, and of course its delicious ethnic food. In the end, I will always be American. But my people have been Jewish a lot longer than being American. The roots of my culture go back literally thousands of years. My ancestors have been in the U.S. for about 100-130 years maximum. It has clearly had an influence, but first and foremost, I’m a Jew. Why is that? Because the holidays I enjoy the most are the Jewish ones. Because I’ll always choose kugel over a hamburger. Because I feel more at home in a synagogue than a boy scouts den, a church, or a Rotary Club. Because I talk with my hands and because “mazel tov” slips off the tongue more easily than “congratulations”.

It’s not that I dislike all things American, it’s just that I never really fully felt at home. When I had to take unpaid leave from a progressive Latino non-profit to observe Rosh Hashanah. When I was thrown out of a Lyft for being a gay Jew. When I was berated by a classmate in high school for being a “rich Jew” because I wore a Fossil watch. When I was told by another high school classmate that she couldn’t believe I was Jewish because I wasn’t a “loudmouth” like the other ones. When a guy broke up with me because I wouldn’t eat pork. When a woman I met at a happy hour in DC sent me David Duke videos on Facebook.

Thank God my friends aren’t like that, but this has also been my reality as an American Jew- I could literally write blog upon blog of similar experiences. When you’re 2% of the population, it can be really hard to feel safe, appreciated, and respected. Which is why perhaps I’ve always felt close to other minorities.

Hence why I’m here now. I also came to Israel to find a Jewish partner (very hard to do so in the U.S.- 5% of 2%!), to travel Europe and the Mediterranean, to speak a bunch of languages, to never deal with Winter again, and so much more.

So back to the point- I wanted to make this process my own. Many people when they make aliyah take a Hebrew name. Mine is Matah מטע, which means “orchard” or “plantation” (without the creepy American slave connotation). I could’ve taken a more typical Israeli name like Matan, Mati, Matityahu- all of which come from the same root as Matt (which is in itself a Hebrew name). But I wanted something more special. Matah sounds like Matt but comes from a different root. It is a biblical word but is an extremely modern sounding name. It is truly unique, just like me 🙂

When talking to an Israeli friend about my name, I explained that I liked the idea of trees bearing fruit, just like I hope to do when I’m here- to bloom and grow. She said that was interesting because her first impression was that I was using the name to indicate I was setting down roots. I loved it. The truth is, I’m doing both. I hope to set down my roots so I can bear fruit- to feel a sense of belonging and stability so I can contribute to society and flourish.

That is what this blog is about- it is about the journey of an American Jew to his ancestral homeland to build a new life. It’s also about maintaining connections with the life he left behind- because I’m not just an Israeli, I’m an American-Israeli. It’s about exploring the myriad benefits that life in Israel has to offer- and the challenges.

Join me on my journey as I plant my roots to bear new fruit.

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