History

July 4th we visited my savta, who is roughly 93 years old. A survivor of the Holocaust, thanks to Oscar Schindler and the miracle of escaping Auschwitz twice, she saw the worst cruelty of man kind. When my father was young, and they couldn't leave Poland, the options were Israel or the United States. There were restrictions to leave after the war and permission to leave took years. One set of grandparents chose Israel and the other the USA (my parents were first cousins).

Since my father passed away, my savta's memory declined rapidly. Sitting with her, she mostly spoke Polish, as my Uncle translated for us. She immediately recognized me and said my name, only to a few minutes later not know who I was, but that very first moment, I won't forget.

We told her we are moving to Israel. She asked why. I told her it's the land of the Jews. She seemed unimpressed and told me there's enough people there already, they don't need me. A few minutes later she asked the question again, received same answer, same reply.

Why do I share this. Obviously I'm not upset at my savta and wouldn't enter an argument as to why every person in Israel matters. What struck me is her recognition of Israel and what our moving meant. She asked my uncle if he's leaving too and he assured her he's staying. My savta won't remember our visit, but I know that our children will.

Aliyah is not an easy process. There are people who say they want to go and the step never happens, for various reasons. I do not know how for us everything fell into  place. The discussions go 11 years back of who, what, when and where.

But the green light came up. What appeared immediate to some really wasn't a surprise to others.

Nefesh be Nefesh earlier in the week posted a photo of a car on a highway, asking when aliyah really became not just a dream but your next step. The ladies aliyah group I am on was excited by it, until I told them to look at the comments. "People love to hate on aliyah" one WhatsApp member said.

There's a love-hate relationship and confusion when it comes to being in the diaspora (like the saying goes for  Teaneck: we know you want to be in Israel, but you know, parnasah). And we get it. There's a comfort to the familiar and leaving to Israel to be in a refugee camp wasn't the best transition in the 1940's. Our rental in Israel has beds and appliances waiting for us. It is like a life in waiting. Very bizarre. And our items somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

I took the children this afternoon to buy soft taffy candies to throw in shul Shabbat day - - so that the moment and memory be sweet.

All of us have a place and relationship with Israel. There's a way to find yours. For now, it'll be felt physically by candy and perhaps  inspire whatever thoughts or motives (or just, enjoy the candy!)

Two days to go. 

Shabbat shalom.