Growing up, the most difficult part of
being Jewish was not the fact that I was the only Jew in my group of
friends, or that I had to tell my soccer coach I would not be making
our last game because it was on Yom Kippur. Instead, the most
challenging part of my Jewish childhood was staying completely silent
in my room until 1:00pm on Sundays so that my mother would lose track
of the time and forget that I should be in Hebrew School.
For me, Hebrew School doused the
flickering flames of my Jewish fervor. I felt more identification
with my heritage strolling down the kosher aisle of my nearest
grocery store. I had no interest in an activity that made me sit
indoors on sunny weekends and read a language backwards. These days,
as I fill out the papers to complete my upcoming Aliyah to Israel, I
realize those Hebrew classes could have come in handy.
So I know what you are thinking. How
did a Hebrew School drop-out end up saying this past year--and truly
mean it--B’Shana Haba’ah bi Yerushalem (Next Year in Jerusalem)
at the Passover Seder table? Or, even better, that after a stint in
Jerusalem, she is headed to live and raise her family in Sderot?
To be honest, I can’t believe it
myself. Sure, the Birthright spell took over once my body remained
magically afloat in the Dead Sea. Yet, my need to live in Israel
stems from a reason far greater than just getting a chance to stroll
through the outdoor markets again and feel the Mediterranean sand
between my toes. I needed to make a difference—for myself and for
Israel—until I was ready to call the land of milk and honey my
home.
In the winter of 2008, I travelled with
The Jewish National Fund’s Alternate Winter Break. The program
offered the opportunity to go to Israel instead of college spring
break hot spots like Cabo as well as do community service for the
Jewish country instead of taking full advantage of the all-inclusive
Mexican resort. It was a chance to see the “real” Israel, not
just through a tour bus, but through hands-on experiences.
In order to participate on the trip,
each participant is required to raise $900 for an indoor playground
in Sderot, a JNF initiative to provide the children of Sderot with
the "luxury" of playtime without the worry of rocket
attacks. The building was constructed to remain safe no matter what
was happening beyond the playground walls, providing these young
people the security I took for granted when I was growing up.
Though I used the fundraising site that
JNF provided, I noticed that my friends and family actually needed
little explanation on why they should donate to the Sderot Indoor
Playground. It was the first time that I understood the meaning of
the global Jewish community and the powerful connection linking us
together. Every push of a shovel and swipe of a paintbrush I made
while on this JNF program brought me closer to Israel and made me
feel that I was authentically part of the Jewish community.
JNF took us to Israeli locations passed
over by the typical tourist, enabling us to see a broad range of
towns and villages in the Negev such as Yerucham and Arad. We worked
together as true Zionists, tearing unwanted weeds from the soil in
order to make room for the delicate new roots of the tree we were
planting. We learned that our hours spent painting the bomb shelters
with decorative colors encouraged the local residents and made them
feel less isolated. We could see for ourselves the difference we
made by serving freshly prepared meals at the nearby soup kitchens.
Together, through our work, we became one with Israel and with each
other. As the mayor of Yerucham said when he spoke to us one night in
the desert, “You came here with Israel on your minds, you will get
Israel on your hands, and you will leave with Israel in your heart”.
He was right. I've saved the work
gloves I made muddy working during that winter break in Israel. They
remind me of how thrilling it was to make a difference and to be part
of building a great nation. With Israel in my heart, I was ready to
begin my path to make Israel my home and Sderot my neighborhood.
After working in Israel, being a Jew no longer meant pretending to be
asleep to escape Hebrew School. It meant exerting all my effort to be
part of something important, extending into the future-- our future.
Sarah Cahners Hindman
July, 2011
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