Confessions of a Baby Boomer Zionist

The author’s daughters, Faye and Rebecca, at Ein Avdat, a canyon in the Negev Desert. Photo courtesy of the author.

The author and her husband Stephen at a Gertner Family Reunion. Photo courtesy of the author.

The author and her husband Stephen in Israel. Photo courtesy of the author.

Though I attended New Jersey’s Yeshiva of Hudson County through eighth grade, I didn’t fall in love with Israel until I joined the Young Judaea youth movement while in high school.

When I danced the Israeli folk dances and sang the Hebrews songs of Israel’s pioneers, I felt a part of something bigger than myself. But what was I really doing for Israel in those moments? One could say, “Not really anything concrete.” But, in reality, I was cultivating a Zionist soul — one that would bond ever stronger with Israel as my connection to our homeland evolved.

I didn’t put feet on the ground in our Jewish homeland until my junior year of college when I went on the American Friends of the Hebrew University year-abroad program. It was 1969.

As I prepared to leave for Israel, I remember worrying that it would never live up to my expectations — that the reality could never measure up to the picture I carried in my mind. And yet Israel surpassed my expectations. I think that’s because I chose to see only Israel’s positive aspects — the Jerusalem stone glistening in the sunlight, the ancient architecture bringing Jewish history to life, the vitality of its modern cities like Tel Aviv, the warmth of the people who embraced us, the freedom of riding through the country on a Vespa motorcycle and spending the night in a sleeping bag on one of Israel’s beautiful beaches. All of these things were enhanced under a canopy of optimism, brought about by Israel’s victory in the 1967 Six Day War.

It also didn’t hurt that I met Stephen, the love of my life — the man I married in 1972.

When we first returned to America, Stephen and I were sure we would make aliyah as soon as we finished our senior year of college. But it did not happen. Why? Being an only child, I didn’t feel right moving so far away from my parents. It didn’t seem fair to them. And Stephen doubted whether he could “make it” in the Israeli business world, with Hebrew as his second language and not having served in the Israeli military, where Israelis forge important lifelong connections. Whatever our rationalizations, the truth is, we slipped back into being American.

Through the years, I kept asking myself, “How could we just go back for a few weeks like tourists after having lived there for a year, promising to return on aliyah? It would be too painful.

Over a decade went by. We were engaged in our respective careers, me a journalist and Stephen, an attorney, managing his international tax practice. We had two daughters, Faye and Rebecca. We remained staunch supporters of Israel — volunteering with Hadassah and the Jewish Federation of Greater MetroWest NJ, and consistently donating money to enhance Israel’s well-being. It was a more mature Zionism that didn’t require rose-colored glasses to endure.

When our daughters were ages 2 and 5, it finally dawned on us that it was truly absurd that we had not been back to Israel in 12 years! So, we planned a trip. Miraculously, Stephen managed to arrange for a month away from the office. This was before remote work was even a concept, let alone a reality. But countless FedEx packages back and forth made it possible. As for me, I was a freelance writer and professional volunteer at the time, so it was easier to be away.

We were elated to be back in Israel. It still felt like home. We chose child-oriented activities, with the help of a book called Kids Love Israel; Israel Loves Kids: A Travel Guide for Families by Barbara Sofer. (Ironically, years later, I met the author, when she became a cherished colleague of mine in her role as the Israel Public Relations Director of the Hadassah Office in Israel. We were riding in a cab together to Tel Aviv and I was telling her about my trip to Israel many years before when my daughters were very little, and I had come across this great book that helped us plan kid-centered outings. That’s when she said, “I wrote that book!”)

Our daughters are now both in their 40s with little children of their own. We have been back to Israel more times than I can count. In the near future, we look forward to bringing our grandchildren to Israel.

Flashbacks to joyful times spent in Israel through the decades continue to surface. Like the time Yosef, Stephen’s cousin (actually a cousin-once-removed), took us to the ancient port of Caesarea to see its famous amphitheater. My daughter Rebecca, ever the climber since she was little, ran over to the imposing structure and, before we could catch up to her, was off the ground. Stunned, I was momentarily frozen in place. In the meantime, Yosef, then probably in his 50s, ran after her, climbed up the rocky “stairs” and brought her down. I knew Yosef had a heart condition and, quite startled, asked him how he was able to do that. “Lokchim kadoor v’holchim halah,” he replied with a broad smile. “You take a pill and go forward!”

The courage, fortitude and perseverance of my Israeli family, friends and acquaintances — despite the trauma of the never-ending threat from neighboring countries — always leaves me in awe. I know that maintaining that resilience isn’t easy. It’s a choice they must make to switch gears to enjoy the good, even as they struggle through the extra hardships and heartaches that are intrinsic to Israeli life.

Our cousins’ kids have visited us in the US many times. We’ve had some fun times around the kitchen table in my Short Hills, NJ “sanctuary.” And my cousins love New York. There — and in New Jersey — they walk and shop “’til they drop.” But Israel is their homeland, and they will never abandon it.

A memory of the handsome Israeli soldier I dated when I first came to Israel in 1969 just popped into my mind. Yitzchak was about 20 years old at the time and very boyish. I remember him visiting me once and recounting a skirmish in Egypt where he and his convoy of tanks emerged victorious. “What a heavy responsibility for such a kid to shoulder,” I thought at the time.

The sad thing is that history has repeated itself in the next generation and the one after that — Israeli youth forced to spend their late teenage and young adult years fighting one enemy or another.

I can’t imagine Stephen or I would ever lose our love and empathy for the Israelis who must continue to fight for their right to exist. I can’t fathom ceasing to admire what they accomplish and contribute to global health research and scientific advancement, despite the ever-present threats to their survival.

When I reimagine the teenage Zionist I was, it feels similar to being a little kid who idolizes his parents and thinks they can do no wrong, that there is nothing they cannot do. The kid feels safe in this world because the parents exist.

Today, as an older adult, with the rose-colored glasses torn off my eyes many times, I realize I love Israel all the more. How is that possible? Probably because I have a deeper appreciation for how Israel cares so much to be a moral, helpful and significant contributor to the world and how, despite military attacks and verbal condemnations, her resilient and resourceful people continue to devote themselves to this goal.