Spring Break
She (and Israel) will never be the same
A writer's account of her 10-day trip to Israel
by Joanna Schorr
Features | 7/12/07
Posted online at 4:30 AM EST on 7/12/07
"Sheila's grandson just never came back! Don't let that program brainwash you," preached my grandmother affectionately upon hearing that I planned to travel to Israel on a Taglit birthright trip. Reactions to my impulse decision to go to Israel among friends and family ranged from the dramatic cries of my grandmother to excitement for an adventure to encouragment to use the opportunity to find my faith.
The nagging did not cease until I left my nervous mother at the airport to begin my all-expense paid trip to Israel, exhilirated by the chance to finally be visiting a place of such global attention and controversy.
I stepped off the plane in Israel feeling no more Jewish than I had when I was playing hooky from Hebrew school with my friends in seventh grade. But then a friendly voice said, "Welcome home." The voice belonged to Momo, the President of Oranim, the group I would be traveling with. Despite the greeting, I didn't know what Momo was talking about. He should surely know that America is my home, not Israel.
In only 10 days my group flew halfway across the world and traveled from the Golan Heights in Israel's North to Eilat at the southern tip. In between, we hiked the most magnificent trails in the Middle East. We rode camels, much to the camels' dismay, slept in a Bedouin tent, tanned on the beach, received a Kabbala lesson in the mystical city of Tzvat, and, on my birthday, climbed Mt. Masada to watch the sun-rise, followed by a dip (a float) in the Dead Sea.
I stood on the border of Lebanon, knowing that in the all too recent past that very army base had been in the throws of battle. All this, of course was tied together by our hilarious and incredibly knowledgably tour guide, Ron, unintentionally making us laugh with his comments about Japanese grandma's with walkers and his experience majoring in molecular biology, "which is totally useless because now [he is] chasing butterflies."
Our outdoorsy tour guide's ideas about the difference between a walk versus a hike greatly differed from those of the group, leading to inevitable complaints among the whiney American college students. Still, Ron easily changed our preconceptions about Israel, shifting our focus away from the images we have grown accustomed to on CNN, and toward images of a truly unique country with citizens with whom we share a great deal. Getting to know the eight Israeli soldiers who are around my age, made me realize that Israel is not just a war zone, but also a home to many. I had experienced more of this foreign country in 10 days that I had of my own country.
The nagging did not cease until I left my nervous mother at the airport to begin my all-expense paid trip to Israel, exhilirated by the chance to finally be visiting a place of such global attention and controversy.
I stepped off the plane in Israel feeling no more Jewish than I had when I was playing hooky from Hebrew school with my friends in seventh grade. But then a friendly voice said, "Welcome home." The voice belonged to Momo, the President of Oranim, the group I would be traveling with. Despite the greeting, I didn't know what Momo was talking about. He should surely know that America is my home, not Israel.
In only 10 days my group flew halfway across the world and traveled from the Golan Heights in Israel's North to Eilat at the southern tip. In between, we hiked the most magnificent trails in the Middle East. We rode camels, much to the camels' dismay, slept in a Bedouin tent, tanned on the beach, received a Kabbala lesson in the mystical city of Tzvat, and, on my birthday, climbed Mt. Masada to watch the sun-rise, followed by a dip (a float) in the Dead Sea.
I stood on the border of Lebanon, knowing that in the all too recent past that very army base had been in the throws of battle. All this, of course was tied together by our hilarious and incredibly knowledgably tour guide, Ron, unintentionally making us laugh with his comments about Japanese grandma's with walkers and his experience majoring in molecular biology, "which is totally useless because now [he is] chasing butterflies."
Our outdoorsy tour guide's ideas about the difference between a walk versus a hike greatly differed from those of the group, leading to inevitable complaints among the whiney American college students. Still, Ron easily changed our preconceptions about Israel, shifting our focus away from the images we have grown accustomed to on CNN, and toward images of a truly unique country with citizens with whom we share a great deal. Getting to know the eight Israeli soldiers who are around my age, made me realize that Israel is not just a war zone, but also a home to many. I had experienced more of this foreign country in 10 days that I had of my own country.
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