According to family lore, I arrived at Ben Gurion Airport at the age of four, spotted the Jerusalem stone and overexcitedly exclaimed we were at the Kotel. True or otherwise, it is a snapshot of my relationship with Israel. One featuring Shabbat with my grandparents in Netanya, sandy days on the beach, traipsing around the Old City on Yom Kippur to find somewhere — anywhere — to break the fast. Simchat Torah in Tsafed, Yom Ha’atzmaut dawning at an all-night music festival outside Tel Aviv, Succot trekking in the Negev, sultry nights camping beside the Kinneret.

Throughout my childhood and beyond, Israel colours my memories. It was the first place I visited after getting married. I have spent joyous times there and sombre ones, too, mourning loved ones. My shortest trip (accompanying Norwood on a tour for disabled youths) lasted under 36 hours; my longest involved 10 months of study, volunteering and fun as a school-leaver. And still, at the end, I wasn’t ready to come home.

I’m hardly alone. While plenty of Diaspora Jews will never visit, nor experience any compulsion to do so, many feel that visceral connection. Not necessarily a pull to relocate but a spiritual, emotional affiliation, built and bolstered by physically spending time there. And even through years of political turmoil, it’s one we’ve assumed we can easily maintain.
But life gets in the way. In March 2020, I was expecting to pass through Ben Gurion at least twice in the next six months; instead, it’s now been almost half-a-decade. Today, all being well, I’ll return, and I’m wondering, will I pick up where I left off? Will I speedily rebuild my connection?

Obviously, the relationship has not been totally dormant. It’s just been long-distance – facilitated through video calls – or vicarious, maintaining the illusion of being in Tel Aviv by dining at London’s Israeli-infused restaurants.

In any case, the country is never far from my mind, thanks to the relentless news coverage and social media chatter. Some is positive (Israel’s vaccine programme) but much is either tragic or troubling, from last year’s war to the recent, shocking death of journalist Shireen Abu Aqla.

But it’s not the same. In this period, Israel has become a dream, not a reality. And like looking at a print of the Mona Lisa versus the real deal, you can’t just replicate the feeling of being somewhere. Particularly Israel, theoretically so alike many places, yet so specifically itself, from the cadence of conversation to the potent history contained in this tiny patch of land.

The diaspora connection to Israel is one of yearning, of apartness. Zionism grew as a philosophy among those who’d never set foot there (many early Zionists never would). Jews brought up in their homeland don’t need to dream, whereas Herzl and many of his contemporaries fantasised from afar. Indeed, it goes back farther, to the biblical Promised Land, flowing with Milk and Honey, just out of Moses’ reach.

For some pioneers, there was a mismatch between the vision and reality. I don’t expect to experience quite that gulf but I will be appraising Israel with new eyes, going as someone altered by my experiences over recent years, including becoming a parent.

Many – among them tour groups happily back in action again – will be doing similar this summer, recalibrating our bonds with a country that looms large in the Jewish imagination. Like reinstating an old friendship, hopeful that we still have something in common.

So will I still feel it? That shiver as I first encounter the sweltering heat? The taste of the first iced coffee — because there’s nothing like it — or the buzz of Rothschild boulevard as the sun sets? The rush of Jerusalem, famed for having so much dynamism in a place that should be a museum but is a modern, vibrant city? The frenzy of a shuk, an assault on the senses? The raw beauty of the Negev and ripe greenness of the Judaean Hills? Or simply the reality of being somewhere where my Jewishness is entirely unspecial, the least defining thing about me?

Almost certainly, yes. It’s only been a few years. The world hasn’t changed that much, and nor have I.

But I’m excited to go back, to rebuild and reconnect. I think Jewish life is richer for having Israeli culture alongside it, stronger for having it as a safety net, enhanced by Israel’s many contradictions. I think it matters that Diaspora Jews (who want to) continue to connect with Israel as a real place, warts and all, rather than simply engaging with it through news coverage, fundraising dinners, Facetime, or social media.

So, here’s to next week in Jerusalem and to taking my son to the real Kotel. Here’s to resuming that physical connection — and to it feeling just as it always did.