This winter break, I boarded a plane to Israel with 36 strangers. Little did I know, these strangers would soon turn to amazing friends as we embarked on the journey ahead of us.
At the start of the trip, I think it’s safe to say that most of us saw Birthright as a way to escape the freezing weather and have an all-expenses-paid trip to a foreign country. About two days into the program, I realized that it would be much more than a vacation; it would be a chance to learn about the country of my ancestors, a chance to talk to soldiers living and experiencing modern day Israel and a chance to understand my identity.
While I walked away remembering the immense amount of untouched beauty in this country, the saltiness of the dead sea, singing “Sway like a palm tree,” laughing about the intensity of jungle speed, savoring the last cup of Aroma coffee and scrumptious marzipan and taking goofy photos with my friends atop of camels, I also remember the tears.
I remember tears rolling down my face as I slowly made my way through the Holocaust museum. I remember wishing that I could unsee a video of human bodies being rolled into a pit. I remember trembling at the pile of shoes of the deceased, especially when those shoes would have belonged to a child.
I remember being numb at the Mount Herzl military cemetery. The majority of the graves that we passed were of soldiers who had fallen between the ages of 18-22. They were my age. Standing next to me were seven soldiers who, just like me, loved dancing, hanging out with friends, playing cards and being goofy young adults. But unlike me, they’ve had to experience death first hand. Death and mourning were a part of their reality.
While we were at the cemetery, there was a terrorist attack about five miles from where we were and where our tour guide could have taken us the day before. Four 20-year-old soldiers died that day. I couldn’t help but think that could’ve been us. That could’ve been one our soldiers. That could’ve been one of their friends.
I remember our tour guide stopping our bus. We got off the bus mumbling about how cold we were and how we didn’t have wi-fi. Some of us were laughing. We crossed the street and found ourselves on the outskirts of the police station looking at a pile of rockets that had been shot from Gaza. It’s one thing when you turn on the TV for the headline to be “Another Rocket Launched: The War Continues.” But what you don’t see while sipping your freshly brewed coffee on your couch is the damage that the rocket caused mentally and emotionally. You don’t see that 40% of this town lives with anxiety nor do you see that children are forced to play in a bomb-proof playground.
The goal of Birthright, in the words of Kiera Feldman, is to “produce an emotionally overwhelming experience” that “helps participants open themselves to learning.”  They were successful. Not only did this trip leave me with a million questions about Israel and about myself, but it also left me with a sense of urgency to return.
Every day, I pray for the safety of my friends. Every day, I can’t wait to go back. Some think it’s crazy that I want to return to the Middle East. When you hear of the Middle East today, all you think of is war, death and terror. While those things do exist, you can’t let fear stop you from traveling, learning and experiencing the world.
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Feldman, K. (2015, June 29). The Romance of Birthright Israel. Retrieved from https://www.thenation.com/article/romance-birthright-israel/
All images courtesy of the author.