Surreal Israel
Within my family we have several “coded” phrases (whose context only we understand, and which, when used outside that context, can be understood as politically incorrect). One of them is “this country is surreal” (“this” being Israel, of course). Surreal means “irrational or absurd.” While the irrational certainly applies in many cases, the absurd is much more striking. In any event, both apply and point to the singular nature of everyday life in Israel.
Let us begin with my personal and subjective point of view; my first-person narration. No further information other than what I myself know.
I start my day early with a cleaner about the apartment I am staying in (I had been warned, of course); for those obsessed with the “apartheid” in Israel, she is a perfectly respectable Arab lady from some nearby town who earns good shekels working in the homes of Jewish Israelis. She is unmistakably Arab, kind, quiet, and from a generation whose Hebrew is not very fluent. We greet each other, and, as planned, I leave her alone to do her work. I go out for breakfast with my childhood friend at a classic establishment in the area, along Route 4. It is Chol HaMoed Sukkot, so nothing is particularly crowded—a complete change from the usual Israeli frenzy. We spend two hours talking about life, friends, children, and this stage of life, retirement. We agree that I will visit him next week. From there I head to the gym where I signed up for these few weeks. I listen to a ‘For Heaven’s Sake’ podcast about the third anniversary of October 7 while doing my moderate workout. I return to the apartment; the smell of cleanliness permeates the air; I open the windows, adjust the blinds and awnings, and settle down to relax for a while on the sofa in front of the TV…
This morning, surrealism took the form of a FlyDubai plane to Tel Aviv, full of Israelis, whose journey and happy-ending everyone knows by the time this reaches you. The TV, across all five channels, has excluded every other subject. Everything is astonishment; correspondents seek out the anguish of relatives to boost their ratings (although in the end they all share everything), and all the aviation, security, and political analysts start to show-up in camera: some explain, others put the event into context, but no one speculates too much. The surreal part, from my point of view, is how I went from the domestic, the reunion over coffee, and my moderate exercise routine to a hijacking that was not merely foiled but heroic. Fifty years have passed since Entebbe. A month later, that year, I had made aliyah. The hijacking scenario has returned, but the country is a different one. In those days, there were not many places to have coffee and a relaxed conversation; today there are plenty. Everything has changed, but the threats are still there. It is quite surreal.
Through television, social media, and exchanges with my home in Montevideo, I move beyond my personal experience. It is a fairly quick and natural transition.
I realize that, in truth, it is always like this: a Jew very quickly abandons his “I” to become a “we.”
In the past, the metaphor was the eagle’s eye; today we have drones. Let us zoom out to a higher altitude and look at the matter in all its complexity, however limited by our own capabilities. What is clear, whatever it may have been, is that the incident is serious, many Israelis are afraid, and #Oct7 is not merely marking its third anniversary; it conditions Israeli reality. That fateful day back then was tragically surreal for a few hours; today it determines reality. If anyone wanted to leave it behind, there will always be some Omani to remind us of it. Like today.
Reality is more truthful than any political or electoral rhetoric during election season.
Yesterday PM Netanyahu went out to speak about an imminent threat to the country. He did so with an F-16 in the background. The impact was such that around midnight he met with the current Leader of the Opposition, Yair Lapid; no one takes statements like that lightly, even during an election campaign. The surreal part is that this morning several hundred Israelis came within feet of crashing in a plane in an event reminiscent of 9/11, and no one yet knows what its final destination was supposed to be.
Lapid claims that this kind of threat was not part of his conversation with Netanyahu, and one assumes that if Netanyahu suspected such a thing, he would have avoided it (well, that is what we all think about October 7, but we still do not know who knew what, especially Netanyahu). Personally, I do not believe the incident was accidental, but neither do I believe Netanyahu made his warning, so public and pompous, for any purpose other than a political one. It is in his nature.
Today’s attack was a boomerang because it was stopped by Israeli heroism. The same heroism as in October three years ago.
From home in Montevideo, they share a headline from the Times of Israel today concerning the fourth vandalism attack against the Reform synagogue in Jerusalem, Kol HaNeshama, which we regularly attend when in town. The complaint and accusation against the mayor of Jerusalem comes from the president of the Reform movement in the United States. Not only is such a story not “news” in Israel, except to the small Anglo-Saxon minority in Jerusalem’s German Colony, Baka, or Talbiyeh neighborhoods; even less so is it news on a day like today, when Israel was attacked in this new way (Dubai is the new hub for Israelis traveling to a large number of destinations, just as Turkey once was).
Once again, a surreal country: while we Jews accuse one another, discredit one another, and even attack one another, the enemy lurks and does not distinguish one Jew from another.
As I bring this text an end, evening is falling. I will now visit the one reason that brought me to Israel again. I will return to that personal point of view, deeper and more intimate than my morning routine. Meanwhile, other “hostages” (they were never actually such, but the association is inevitable) are flying to Tel Aviv. When I return to my lodging, the news broadcasts will still be reporting the event and its outcome while filling their hours with advertising; there is no shortage of news, and these are real news—events that determine both people’s lives and the history of peoples. I wonder whether Channel 11 will postpone the documentary about the writer Meir Shalev that I was planning to watch this evening as part of its series “Patriarchs and Matriarchs of Israeli Culture” (last night it was Naomi Shemer)…
Because that is how it is: a country at a permanent war since its founding, filled with heroism and trauma, celebrates its culture, will vote in a month, and continues to enjoy its life.
If it were not true, it would be surreal.