I was sitting in front of my computer yesterday, waiting for an email, when all of a sudden I heard the heavy bass of traditional chassidic music shaking my house. I looked at my watch and remembered that at 6:00 pm the local religious elementary school was holding a Hachnasas Sefer Torah ceremony, moving a brand new set of Torah scrolls into a synagogue -- or in this case, their school. Since the scrolls were donated by the mother of a fifth grade teacher, there were kids everywhere. The ceremony included street dancing from a nearby synagogue where the scrolls were completed, to the school. Fortunately for me, my house is located along the route. So, I ran outside to be an active bystander.
There were a few police officers on motorcycles -- one at the front and one at the back -- clearing the way for the happy students, their parents, siblings, their teachers and the odd grandparent. All the kids were waving large Israeli flags and in the middle of the crowd was a van sporting gigantic speakers that were pumping out that addictive music. It's impossible to ignore chassidic music because it just begs you to get up and dance.
As I was standing there waving to the kids I knew, saying a few words to their parents, it dawned on me -- not for the first time, but for the first time in a while -- why I live here. And then it also occurred to me that I can't for the life of me figure out how a real religious Zionist could bear to live outside of Israel.
So now you are wondering who died and left me in charge of making that call? Fair question.
The answer is that if you are asking the question you are obviously feeling uncomfortable with your present circumstances. No one left me in charge. No one needed to. Every parent who walked past me said pretty much the same thing. Maybe a little tamer, but that's not my style.
What it came down to is: it's moments like this that confirm the soundness of our decision to live here, and it's moments like this that justify every misgiving or moment of angst we have experienced since we arrived. Did we make the right choice? Absolutely. Are we always clear about that? Not so much.
I didn't say it was easy. I said it was right.
And what I am saying now is that there is no way you can have the Israel experience outside of Israel. You can visit. You can visit a lot. You can walk in the depressing Yom Ha'Atzmaut parades in your own city. You can go to the Israel rallies. You can wave your mini-Israeli flags. You can throw around hebrew words and phrases here and there. You can attend the events for every Israeli speaker who visits your city.
But you will never really get "it" until your children go to school here; until the first time you have to buy a "klasser" for your child and you have no idea what it is; until you realize that everyone goes to synagogue in sandals; until you let your young-ish kids walk to and from neighbourhood friends alone even after the sun sets; until you understand that Mo-ed Alef is just the first kick at the cat; until your sixth grade son is proud to wear his father's army greens on Yom HaZikaron and can't wait until he gets his own; until you hear the morning radio hosts on every channel saying Chag Sameach because it is Yom Yershalayim; until you feel safer when you see an 18-year-old in or out of uniform carrying an M16; and until you dance down the street as part of a Hachnasas Sefer Torah ceremony and your insides are just bursting with pride and happiness because you are doing it in Israel.
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