Irresistible Israel

“You’re insane.”

I have heard it countless times.

People tell me I am paid by CIDI. Others claim I am paid by Mossad. Every possible accusation has been thrown at me simply because I openly confess my love for Israel.

Many people cannot comprehend it. Most of them have never even been to Israel, let alone experienced the unique magic of the land.

If you look at it superficially, there is perhaps a grain of truth in what they say. After all, Israel is not always an easy country to love.

People can be rude in a very Middle Eastern way. Do not expect everyone to be on time. Do not be surprised if your appointment is hours late without the slightest apology. Do not expect people to patiently wait in line when it is busy. There is plenty of pushing, loud voices, and chaos.

The traffic is awful. Completely awful.

Perfectly normal Israelis can transform into traffic lunatics the moment they get behind the wheel. Shopkeepers are not always polite and smiling. Children are often treated like little kings and queens. Boundaries sometimes seem optional. Many are spoiled because, as people say, in a few years they will be in the army and life will become difficult enough.

At some level, I understand that reasoning, but is it wisdom? I honestly do not know.

And then there is the cost of living.

Israel is expensive.

Terribly expensive.

Horribly expensive.

Add to that the endless discussions about politics, and you could easily conclude that you would have to be crazy to love this country.

Maybe I am.

I was always a different child. I saw more of the world than most children around me. I had a broad general knowledge, was highly sensitive, and possessed an enormous sense of justice.

I was stubborn and strict. Yes meant yes and no meant no.

I was never really a group person. I preferred to be by myself.

As a result, I was bullied relentlessly at school. Not simply bullied. Terrorized.

When I was eleven years old, I was happy that we left for the Middle East.

The moment I set foot in Israel, something changed.

For the first time, I felt accepted.

Children talked to me. They played with me. Suddenly I belonged somewhere.

That feeling made me happy. It made me grateful to Israel.

And that gratitude has never disappeared.

One thing I learned very quickly is that when you are in need and an Israeli sees it, they help you.

Always.

Without hesitation.

Even in traffic, strange and beautiful things can happen that seem possible only in Israel.

Once I was driving in the middle of Tel Aviv. I had no idea which direction I needed to go. I switched on my indicator and tried to enter a traffic jam so I could move into the right lane.

A man noticed me struggling.

He stopped his own car behind me, stepped out, and started directing traffic himself so I could safely enter the correct lane.

Only in Israel.

You have to love the chaotic and difficult environment because there is never a dull moment.

I have countless stories.

Stories of people offering their homes for free because you need a place to stay.

Stories of hospitality that is normal in the Middle East but has become rare in much of the West.

There is also a joy on the streets that is difficult to describe.

There is always somebody talented enough to start singing or playing an instrument. Before you know it, complete strangers are dancing together in the street.

Then there is another side of Israel that has always touched me deeply.

The unity.

Especially after tragedy.

Especially after disaster.

I have seen people come together in ways I have never witnessed elsewhere. They sit together, sing together, comfort one another, and send a powerful message of resilience.

Israelis refuse to let darkness have the final word.

Even the way funerals are handled reflects this spirit.

In many Western countries, after the death of a loved one, people often find themselves alone with their grief.

In Israel, there is an entire tradition that wraps itself around the mourning family like a warm blanket.

The funeral usually takes place quickly, often within twenty four hours. The deceased is prepared with dignity and respect by the Chevra Kadisha. Family and friends actively participate in the burial itself.

Then comes Shiva, the first seven days of mourning.

The family stays at home while friends, neighbors, and community members visit, bring food, pray together, and provide support.

After that comes Shloshim, the first thirty days, during which mourning continues in a gentler form.

For those mourning a parent, certain traditions continue for up to eleven months, including the recitation of the Kaddish prayer.

No one is expected to carry grief alone.

And yet, there is so much more to love.

The beautiful weather.

The amazing nature.

The historical treasures.

The culture.

The fact that Israel is a highly developed country where you can drink water straight from the tap.

The excellent healthcare system where doctors and hospitals provide outstanding care.

The passion people have for their land.

And then there is Jerusalem.

Jerusalem is impossible to explain.

It is something you feel.

Once I asked a friend about this feeling.

“Dear Xxxx,

May I ask you something?

Whenever I am on the plane and see Tel Aviv from above, I become emotional. The moment my feet touch the ground in Israel, it feels as if a special energy enters me and I instantly feel happy.

Do you ever experience that feeling as well, or is it different when you are Israeli and it simply feels normal?”

His answer made me smile.

“Hey.

It is called the Holy Land Syndrome.

Two types of people have this unique disorder. Israelis and amazing human beings like you.

Did you ever hear about people clapping their hands and joyfully singing when landing back home into a war zone?

Only Israelis.”

That answer explained everything.

Maybe I really am crazy.

Maybe I really do suffer from Holy Land Syndrome.

Unfortunately, I am not paid by Mossad.

Not yet, at least.

And I am certainly not paid by CIDI.

What I do have is something far more valuable.

An everlasting and unconditional love for Israel.

A love that began the moment I felt accepted as a lonely child.

A love strengthened by countless acts of kindness.

A love nourished by the energy of Jerusalem, the spirit of Tel Aviv, the resilience of its people, and the feeling that somehow, every time I arrive, I am coming home.

Call me crazy if you want.

I can live with that.

Because some places enter your heart and never leave.

For me, that place is Israel.