A Jewish schoolgirl in Britain recently told her classmates she was Turkish because she was frightened of revealing her true identity. Situations like these, as we all know, have become far too common. Having just got married, my husband and I are beginning to give some real thought to one very important question: where do we want to raise our children?
For British Jews, this question has become far too inseparable from another:
To move, or not to move?
That is the question that most of us in the diaspora wrestle with in this glorious day and age of worsening Jew-hate and extremism. And if we haven’t asked it aloud, most of us are thinking about it. We can barely get through the first bite of challah on a Friday night without some gloomy uncle abruptly insisting the diaspora is finished and we will have to move to Israel. He, however, just gives voice to what everyone else is thinking. Is he wrong? I don’t know. Is he right? I don’t know. All I know is that soon we will have to make a decision.
When faced with such a question, my answer is, or was, one day. That was my way of getting out of giving an answer with immediate expectations. And there’s something else that’s satisfying about “one day”. It is a tacit recognition that one day, in the future, there will be no other way. The future looks all too bleak, and I want to leave before it is too late, those dreaded words.
Following our wedding in Israel by the beautiful Mediterranean, we are no longer thinking solipsistically, but indeed, selflessly. What we desire for ourselves is perhaps as irrelevant as Meghan Markle’s next Netflix show. It is our future children who stand as our guiding principles. And funnily enough, gated schools do not sound particularly appealing, and neither do threats of potential hate crimes. Granted, we wish our children to have safety, but most importantly, for their little souls to sing out that they are part of the most wondrous tribe there is. If I am afraid of my husband wearing his flashy Star of David in the streets, then what chance do we have? The solution, it seems, is rather obvious.
Of course, the other side of the picture brings the looming threat of war. From the north to the south, Israel is a country surrounded by entities that want it wiped off the face of the Earth. Yet with so much loss and suffering ingrained in its land, it is brimming with life, with aliveness.
Forget the recalcitrant youths on the tayelet, children (and cats) are the real stars of the show. They are national treasures and play active parts in a rich mosaic of public life. The whole concept of family is deeply rooted in our festivals and traditions. We celebrate life, and the holiness of life.
The return to school on September 1, ironically, receives as much attention as a public holiday: billboards on motorways wish children luck in their year ahead and news headlines are solely dedicated to this seemingly national event. In what other country would this be the case? Certainly not in the UK. And what’s even better is that Israeli children know how to enjoy life. At least one that puts us miserable Brits to shame.
On a rare occasion for introverts and teetotallers like us, we decided to venture out to the TLV port for a sweet festival, one definitely not designed for adults (yes, we have not grown up and we do not intend to). Upon arriving, we were met with stroller upon stroller, packs and packs of little children playing in huge sandpits, candyfloss in hand, little girls dancing to DJ sets, and little boys playing with their new inflatable candy canes. All this, at the ripe old time of 10.30pm. Back home, this would be way past our bedtime, never mind that of our future sons and daughters.
But is the UK really that bad? Sometimes I wonder if we have become blinded by the antisemitism and hostility against us. We are privileged. We live a life of comfort, of order, where things more or less work in our favour. Apart from the lugubrious grey that we are subjected to 80 per cent of the year, of course.
And Israel is no Western country. It disguises itself as a start-up nation, yet underneath this lies endless battles with supermarket queues, midnight drilling, screaming matches with other irate drivers… The list is endless. Life in Israel is fast-paced and not for the faint-hearted. I often wonder how long we would last. Doubtless, we would have to try. Maybe we’d surprise ourselves. But I’m just not convinced. At least not yet. But isn’t what we all crave staring right in front of us in this small land? We may have comfort and order where we live, but man is but a mere island. We are all, as Mr Markham says, dismembered parts walking apart from one another.
Many moments from this trip remained with me, but one in particular must be told. Walking up from Dizengoff Centre in the late hours of the evening, we noticed an elderly man sitting at a table outside a popular burger restaurant, with a chessboard in front of him, and a sign that read “Come play chess with me.” I smiled. What a lovely thing to see. It was rather endearing.
We walked a few metres ahead and paused. Our perception framed him as a lonely man seeking some company, which perhaps was true. And so, being the sensitive souls we are, we returned to talk to him. I asked him, in Hebrew, how often he sat there and he looked at me bewildered. With a thick Russian accent, he asked if we spoke English. He told us that he would play several matches a day, before a rather dashing young Israeli (sorry Mr Markham) came and sat down opposite him. It appeared this was one of their many encounters, and before we knew it, their game had started, and the old man was no longer alone.
We smiled and walked away. In those brief moments, we witnessed something we are truly unaccustomed to: the existence of society.
I am still none the wiser. Perhaps “one day” remains the only answer I can give, be it next year or in 20 years. London is our home, and however hostile it may be or become for us, it is still our home. But I suspect that if we never tried life in Israel, we would always be left wondering whether home is simply what we know best, or where our hearts and our souls can truly thrive.
Ella Markham is co-founder of The Markham Partnership, a literary studio specialising in ghostwriting and book development
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