My First Week as an Israeli

“I’m an Israeli” does not roll off the tongue easily—in part because at most times, it doesn’t feel true. While technically, yes, since I landed at Ben-Gurion Airport last week, I have been a citizen of the State of Israel, officially fulfilling the Zionist dream and carrying the weight of our history as a nation on my shoulders, there are still insecurities that create a disconnect with those around me. My lack of sufficient Hebrew makes me feel foreign. My discomfort with cafe culture manifests as feeling anxious if I’ve been sitting outside enjoying myself for too long. And then there is my secularity, my lack of religious observance, which may not render me out of place in Tel Aviv, but it does leave me feeling a bit out of step with a huge part of the country.

And yet at other times, being Israeli feels like the most monumental thing in the world, and I become hyper-aware of being Israeli, with all the sentiment and melodrama that comes with it. Growing up, both my Israeli counselors at summer camp and those from my own community who made aliyah were glorified instinctively. Even those who were just studying abroad or living in Jerusalem for a short while for whatever reason were regarded as triumphant, transcending the bounds of American Judaism and making all of us proud. Being in Israel was being on another level of being, and several times a day I am reminded of that especially when I think of the life I left behind.

The question is: Can these feelings exist at the same time? Can I feel not Israeli yet accomplished as a citizen of the Jewish state at the same time? If I still must translate words on my phone under the restaurant table, if I have no I.D.F service to show for, can I still feel appropriately part of this great civilization that none of my ancestors helped to build?

A question I received on social media earlier this week helped me arrive at an answer. On Instagram, I was asked if I was looking forward to acclimating to Israeli culture now that I am settled. This benign question made me realize that in just one week of living here, I have learned that Israeli culture does not in fact exist. That is, of course, if by “culture” we are talking about one thing, like German beer and lederhosen, like Japanese sushi and kabuki theater. To Jews who have been to Israel many times, this may come as an unsurprising or even cliche revelation. Of course, Israeli culture is an amalgamation of Jewish Diaspora experiences from all over the world. Israel is really the one place where one can find kebab and shakshuka, but also attend a Friday night dinner with gefilte fish all in the same neighborhood. But it’s hard to understate the significance of this atmosphere to an adjusting oleh, or immigrant, like me.

Israel would certainly not exist without immigrants.

Israel would certainly not exist without immigrants. That is not a hyperbole: There literally would be no Jewish state if not for millions of storm-tossed souls leaving Europe, the Middle East, North America and Africa. One can say the same thing about the United States, but in my short time here, I have learned that if the U.S. is the melting pot, where all cultures blend under one stars and stripes flag, Israel is the salad bowl, the mosaic, where various waves of immigrants are more distinct and defined. I have noticed that in Israel it is not rude to refer to people by their nationality. For example, it is quite common to say: “My friend is an Argentinian or my roommate is Iraqi,” whereas in the U.S., making a point to note someone’s ethnic origin, especially in liberal spaces, is more awkward if not flat-out rude. But in Israel, this categorization is a part of getting to know someone, and reasonable people do not intend anything malicious by doing so. This habit is a testament to the very fabric of the state, a celebration of differences, as opposed to the American habit of steering clear.

It is from this analysis that I crafted my answer to the question of whether I will be “acclimating to Israeli culture.” Sure, perhaps in a couple of months I will like Mizrahi techno music more and maybe I will start riding a bike to more places, but make no mistake: My freshness in this country already renders me one-hundred percent Israeli. The most Israeli thing one can ever do is move to Israel. Moving to Israel is the past, present and future of the country, and indeed, Jews making the decision to pack up and go predicts whether Israel survives. My culture, as it is today, at this moment, is already Israeli if we define singular Israeli culture as the solution to an impossibly long equation: a salad that would not taste the same without that specific ingredient. That ingredient might be cliche, an Ashkenazi left-wing Jew from New York, but it is essential all the same.

I trust that my minor feelings of discomfort will not wane anytime soon. There will certainly be more challenges up the road that put my foreignness front and center. But in these moments, I hope, I will remember that if not for these growing pains, there would hardly be any Jewish state at all.

Blake Flayton is the New Media Director and columnist for the Jewish Journal.