Discovering a ‘Birthright’

Dec. 28, 2000: Arriving in Israel.

An hour after arriving in Jaffa, 33 UC Berkeley faces looked up expectantly at our tour guide, Tal, as he explained that a bomb had just exploded in Tel Aviv. Stunned, questions and sharp comments flew after a brief silence. “Can we use the phone to call our parents?” “How many people were injured?” “Do they know who planted it?” I sat there silently, trying to digest the startling news. All that kept running through my head was the question: Was it near where we had just deplaned earlier that afternoon?

Reflecting on the incident now, it seems it was a natural start to our particular pilgrimage in Israel. We were but a small part of the 10,000 Birthright Israel participants, eager to explore our ancestral homeland. This was the second adventure of this annual program that takes unaffiliated American Jewish college students on an all-expenses-paid, 10-day trip to Israel, if they have never been. The trip occurred quietly and successfully in the winter of 1999-2000, but this year’s program--conducted in this time of violence and political upheaval--carried with it special circumstances.

Traveling at a time when even the U.S. State Department had an advisory against travel to Israel made our journey worrisome. We seemed overly welcomed: The announcement of our arrival made the news in Jerusalem, the tourist-empty hotels greeted us exuberantly, and even Prime Minister Ehud Barak expressed his personal gratitude that we had decided to make our trip during a time of turmoil. The depth of our welcome seemed to reflect Israel’s fear of being abandoned.

In the mornings, Tal would request silence on the bus to listen to the news in Hebrew, which he would then translate for us. He would go over the traumatic news from the day before, whether it was the assassination of a right-wing leader or a car bomb exploding on a busy street. As the days went on, it became no less painful to hear the daily devastation report, but it became more expected. By the sixth day of our trip, when a sonic boom occurred, we paused, looked at each other, wondering if it had been a bomb. Then, just as the Israelis must do, we moved on without a second thought.

Five soldiers from the Israeli army stayed with us. On the last day that these 20-year-olds were with us, we visited Mt. Hertzl, the cemetery where Israeli soldiers are buried. As we said our goodbyes to our soldier-companions, a young American in our group, who had been quiet all day, spoke up. He said that he had just a few words to say and then, before breaking down into sobs, managed to cry out to the soldiers, “Thank you for defending our homeland.” Our group stood, silenced by his words.