It’s complicated by Sue Robin

It’s complicated is usually a comment about one’s relationship status and I suppose it fits here, too. Israel and I came into being around the same time and it has always held a sacrosanct spot in my heart.

As a child born just after World War II, I idolized the notion of a Jewish State. I was comforted by the thought that there was a safe place for Jews to go. In my child’s mind, it was a place where no one could commit the horrors of the Holocaust ever again.

I wanted my safe place to be the epitome of all that I loved about Judaism. It probably never was and as we have both aged, it has become, in some ways, the antithesis of that. It is this mixture of love and disappointment that makes for a complicated relationship.

My parents had been raised in Orthodox homes in New York City, but in starting a life together in California, they abandoned the Orthodox way. This new family constellation in a new city created a new version of a Jewish home. It was filled with Jewish food, Jewish love, and big Jewish holiday celebrations, all sprinkled with Yiddish.

 In the mid-50s the family joined a Conservative Shul. My older brother took Hebrew lessons to prepare for his Bar Mitzvah and I joyfully started Sunday School. I loved the stories and the talk of Israel. We would save money to plant trees in Israel and there was a blue and white charity box, called a Pushke, for each of us to take home and one that sat in the classroom.

Recently, I found a quote about the Pushke by a Lubavitcher Rebbe that says, “A charity box redefines the entire space and anywhere a charity box is, is no longer just a home or office, but a center of kindness and caring.” That sums up my most precious memories of my Jewishness and was a strong counterpoint to my repetitive nightmares of Nazis marching down Costello Avenue in Van Nuys, California. Caring, kindness, and a safe place became synonymous with Judaism and Israel.

When antisemitic acts of violence were committed here in the States, I held onto the thought that I could go to Israel, naively thinking that somehow Israel was surrounded by a protective light. That fantasy faded over time and died a painful brutal death with the Hamas terrorist attack.

I want Israel to thrive, but I also want the Palestinians to have the opportunity to do the same. It has become nearly impossible to seek peace between these two tribes. Each wants to punish the other for the sins that have been wrought. My heart says it is not impossible, but my brain knows that the complications have complications.

The child who idealized peace in the State of Israel knows, seventy-six years later, that she will die never having seen it manifested.