There are a great many illusions about Israel.

Illusions I have held.

Illusions I still hold.

Illusions I have yet to discover I hold,

yet to admit to, yet to let go of.

One illusion I used to hold was that to live in Israel was to be

religious.

This is not so.

To live in Israel is to eat trefe

To drive up windy, gravel roads on Shabbat

To kiss my husband with tongue in the shadow of the Wailing Wall.

One illusion I used to hold was that to live in Israel was to be

secular.

This is not so.

To live in Israel is

To sing Lecha Dodi with your eyes closed

To dunk your hair, temporarily unrestrained, inside a mikveh.

To return to God after years of forsaking Him.

One illusion I still hold is that

Israel

is a place for Jews,

Confused Jews,

Devoted Jews,

Non-Jews.

There are days when I sigh

Almost ready to let this illusion go.

Sigh again.

But hold on…

There are a great many illusions about Israel.

Who may enter —

Who may leave –

Who may pray –

Who may grieve.

Who may say when I choose to give up my illusions about Israel.

And simply

live

Here.

There are a great many illusions about Israel.

Too many.

Too heavy for my heart sometimes.

Too much for my head.

But every now and again

the illusion is

Art

Enchanting

Divine

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