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Why Are You Still (T)here?

Writer's picture: Jacob WirtzerJacob Wirtzer


Arriving in Israel on my Aliyah flight (2020)
Arriving in Israel on my Aliyah flight (2020)

When Jewish immigrants began arriving on ships through the port of Jaffa in the late 19th century, there was a general consensus as to why they embarked on their journey: the growing anti-semitic sentiments in Eastern Europe and fulfilling the dream of returning to Eretz Yisrael. When waves of Mizrahi Jews flowed into Israel from neighboring Arab countries after Israel declared its independence in 1948, it was understood that their arrival was prompted by necessity as opposed to by choice. 


Fast forward to 2020, I had just finished my undergrad in the middle of the pandemic fiasco, and I was about to board a plane to Israel to complete my aliyah (immigration to Israel). I felt that the reasoning behind my decision was clear: I wanted to live in the heart of the Jewish people, serve in the Jewish army, and establish roots in the Jewish homeland. 


I wasn’t escaping anti-semitic pogroms or being forced out of my home as a refugee. I was coming from the United States, and to many people, both Israelis and Americans, my decision was a confusing one at best. 


To my Jewish-American friends, Israel held a special place in their lives, but to live there and start a life there from scratch? Most of them were okay with keeping Israel at an arm's length: visiting Israel in the summers, celebrating weddings in Israel when their cousin married an Israeli, or taking a gap year before returning to the American reality of college life. Though many of the comforts afforded by living in the US are taken for granted, most people don’t want to give up their western lifestyle, and therefore struggle imagining a life outside of its borders. More recently with the outbreak of the war, I saw many Olim (new immigrants in Israel) packing their bags and heading back to their birth countries. My family in the states were worried sick, constantly asking about the situation in real time. Having been drafted as a reservist to the frontlines, the most recurring question I got from my friends and family in the US was: why are you still there?


My newfound Israeli friends I met in the days after my army draft were even more shocked at my decision. “You’re how old? And you made aliyah from the US?? And drafted??? I guess they don’t teach you anything in university after all” (actual quote from a friend during our first weeks in the army). To many of the young Israelis that surrounded me, the US represented a picturesque life: good salaries, big cities, and no genocidal terrorists hellbent on your destruction as your neighbors. They talked about how excited they were to travel to the US after they finished their army service and maybe even live there temporarily and work selling dead sea salts in shopping malls. Others talked about moving to Australia or Europe, but regardless of the dream destination, many of them envisioned living in chul (outside of Israel). So when the 23-year old college graduate with decent Hebrew at best is suddenly standing in formation, the most recurring question I got and still get to this day is: why are you still here?


So what’s my answer? Why am I still (t)here?


Israel fulfills my life in ways that the US simply could not. There’s a feeling of purpose even in everyday routines that creates a shared sense of pride, and you can feel the difference you’re making in your community. It’s difficult to replicate those feelings in a place like the US where social fabrics have largely been eroded and shared cultural values are unclear. Israel has provided me the platform to unleash my full potential and uncovered a side of myself I didn’t know existed, having grown up in a non-Israeli family. In many ways, I feel more Israeli than I do American- speaking Hebrew on a daily basis, serving in miluim (reserve duty), and complaining about the 1% VAT increase next year. Although the country has had a dark cloud shadowing overhead for over a year now, brighter days will inevitably come. Even in the midst of an ongoing war and unhealed traumas, I am more optimistic for my future here and my country’s future. I’m here because I want to be part of the solution, to weather this turbulent ride through the storm and help bring a positive change to our nation and our people. It’s this uniquely resilient yet stubborn “Israeliness” that I’ve connected so deeply to- that no matter what hakol yehiye beseder (everything will be ok).


For me, the question is rhetorical. Why am I still (t)here? Where else am I supposed to be? 

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