Out There

In most visitors, Alaska inspires wonder at its beauty, awe at its wildlife and admiration for the hardiness of those who make their lives in its vast backcountry, enduring some of the harshest conditions on earth. For Israelis, it can also inspire humility. Not because the Jewish state is smaller than Denali National Park, but because in Alaska one is reminded that the world neither revolves around Israel nor is obsessed with it.

The holidays we celebrate remain constant; what changes is how we experience them as life rolls on. Children, full of awe and excitement, do not experience the seder the same way their parents do. Nor do their parents, tired and focused on the children, experience it the way their own parents do, content to sit at their children’s table, watching it all unfold with quiet satisfaction.

Where you came from, what you believe, how you vote — none of it matters. We are all huddled together, once again in the same proverbial boat under attack. Yet, if we’re being honest, we are not all experiencing this war equally. In a country of 10 million people, some are more in the line of fire than others.

For nearly 20 years as The Jerusalem Post’s diplomatic correspondent — a position I gave up six years ago, when the grueling demands of that beat took their toll — I traveled extensively with the prime minister.

In the ease-of-living category, Israel has progressed light years since I made aliyah some 40 years ago. Light years. When I first arrived, everything seemed difficult. Getting a landline for a phone took two years.

I’m[/dropcap] not, and this is an understatement, the handiest fellow around the house. Many are the reasons for this, foremost among them that my father didn’t involve me much in the domestic fix-it chores when I was a lad. He would do the fixing, and I would do the holding. I’d hold the ladder, I’d hold the tools, I’d hold the trash bag. But I wouldn’t actually do the nail-pounding or the wood-cutting. He would do that.

A cousin of my daughter-in-law, whom my son sees at family events now and then, had no idea that my son was the child of Americans, that he speaks English, and that his parents are immigrants. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered. Why insulted? Because her reaction carried a certain “you’re cool, and you came from greener parents” tone to it — “greener” being that slightly pejorative Yiddish term for a newcomer. 

Israel is a complicated country: its politics, its geopolitical situation, its people. To understand the country is to understand a myriad of nuances and subtleties. Nothing is simple or black and white except for one thing: the weather. The weather here is about as straightforward as it gets. In the summer it’s hot; in the winter it’s cold. The weather reports — especially those on the radio — reflect that simplicity.

I’ll be marking my father’s fourth yahrzeit in a couple of weeks, and wish I could tell him I’m sorry. I apologize for being annoyed when he showed signs of impatience while spending an entire Shabbat in our apartment with The Wife and me and our children — his grandchildren — when they were all under 10.

When war breaks out, so do messages from friends of years past. Everyone knows that when Israel faces a crisis, the country unites — the deep divisions evaporate and the toxic rhetoric disappears. All of a sudden, we come together — at least for a few days or weeks. At least until the next crisis.