How military experience changes perception of Israel

• Published date: 27 September 2021
• Author: NOAH MICHAELI
• Publication title: Jerusalem Post, The: Web Edition Articles (Israel)

The Israel I first encountered didn't look much like the Jewish homeland I had imagined. Everything was hot, bright, loud and strange. This was supposed to be the center of my Jewish culture, but I didn't speak the language, I didn't understand the customs and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why every meal was served in a pita.

The scariest thing was that somewhere between the shop owners shouting their tour group discounts at me in the shuk, and the well-meaning Israelis correcting my pronunciation of the few Hebrew words I'd grown up with like mazel tov or menorah, I began to feel that I was a tourist in my own land. If this was my Jewish homeland, the object of my family's 2,000 years of longing, why did I feel so foreign here?

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This question bothered me throughout high school, throughout college, until finally I simply had to do something about it. I'm a Jew, that's who I am, but in the land of Jews, the home my ancestors have been talking and dreaming about for millennia, I'm a foreigner? That can't be right! Finally, in 2019 at age 21, all alone but determined to make my homeland into my home, I made aliyah.

The first time I went to set up a bank account as a new immigrant in Israel was terrifying. I was almost confident at first, armed with the tiny pamphlet they gave me when I got off the plane and a rapidly failing belief in beginner's luck. Finally, after a four-hour wait, the mean-looking bank teller called me up to the booth, took all my financial information, handed me a pen and a contract, and said something completely nonsensical in a language I didn't understand.

There's a certain existential dread you feel when you realize that some combination of the 20 Hebrew words you know, mostly from watching Netflix's Israeli best-hit show Shtisel, is your only shot at ever seeing your credit card or accessing your bank account. Ultimately, however, I did manage to get my card, just as I managed to rent an apartment, make friends and even navigate the Israeli medical system to get a cavity filled (although I didn't know how to say "more anesthetic please" in Hebrew, which was a bit problematic).

GRADUALLY, I began to establish myself in my ancestral homeland. I learned how to manage day to day, how to deal with Israeli bureaucracy (it involves a lot of yelling at random people on the phone) and how to...