The Road Not Taken  

Maybe I should have known better. I knew I’d have to deal with lots of feelings if I listened to a podcast episode entitled “Living in Israel vs. Living in America,” episode two of the new Meaningful Minute podcast titled “Two Cents with the Bensoussan Brothers.” But I listened anyway. (I mean, how could you not listen to a podcast hosted by the Bensoussan brothers?)

While my husband and I never lived in Israel, besides our time learning there before we met, so much of Rabbi Ari and Rabbi Yossi’s reflections resonated. From my time spent in Israel as a seminary student, and all the summers I had spent there visiting my cousins, Israel played a formative role in my emerging identity as a teenager and young adult. The learning that took place was experiential. I learned that Eretz Yisrael is a holy land, unlike any other country; our history, our beliefs and our Torah are part of the very land; children belong outdoors in the sun and fresh air; living a life with Yiddishkeit at its center is everything; values are more important than things. The Land of Israel is rich and beautiful with sights and smells, tiyulim and experiences. The Land becomes a part of you, and you become a part of the Land. When I would return after spending my summers with my family, and then later learning on the NCSY summer program Michlelet, my parents never failed to remark driving home from the airport that Israel had rubbed off on me. It had changed me, just being there. Maybe it was because I was coming back from the place I really belonged.

When I got engaged and my chassan brought up the question about starting off in Israel for a year or so, I immediately shot it down. My pragmatism beat my idealism. I countered that I would be supporting the family as a teacher, and I couldn’t possibly teach English in an Israeli school. And that was it. Long term, we had agreed that we felt we could contribute the most here in the States. Besides, I struggled with the idea of trying to find the right community that most accurately reflected our hashkafah and wondered about what system we would choose to educate our future children. So, America it was. Ultimately, we had both taken what we had gained from our Israel experiences and were ready to put it to use.

When Rabbis Ari and Yossi reflected on their decade-plus stay in the Holy Land, the things they missed most about everyday life, and the values that permeate the lifestyle there, I felt a dormant part of me being slowly nudged awake. I had put away similar experiences and feelings about Eretz Yisrael in a box somewhere in the basement that says, “Old Life, the One You’re Not Leading.” The conversation was difficult enough for the two of them — Rabbi Yossi said multiple times that he didn’t realize how hard bringing up these memories and feelings would be for him. On more than one occasion the brothers tripped up — broken voices, dewy eyes. While their experiences were not mine — the joy of shopping for your family Erev Shabbos at the shuk, giving eight excuses to anyone who sees you driving a car because over there, people are self-conscious about “going too fancy” — I understood exactly what they meant. I have a conscious reference point chiseled in my mind, and it will always be a part of who I am and what I value. “The country is living your life. You can never forget that Rosh Chodesh is coming. Everything — your religion — is infused with so much meaning… There’s a part of my heart that’s still out there,” Rabbi Yossi said. I get it.