Cry my beloved country – Questions asked to expatriates

 

On my frequent visits to Los Angeles in the past to visit my parents, I used to grab a coffee at the nearby Peet’s Coffee shop. As a bonus to the rocket fuel disguised in the form of expresso, I enjoyed watching and listening to a group of Israeli men, who apparently met every morning and had done so for decades. They also discussed their families and their work, local prices, but mainly Israel. Their conversation was just like any “parliament” (as we call a group of people meeting and chatting every morning) in Israel except that it was a recurring event in Tarzana, California, rather far from the holy land.

This memory came up as we watched an episode of an Israeli program, סליחה על השאלה [slicha al ha shayala], which means “Excuse the question”. The format of the series is to interview several individuals from a given sensitive group, e.g., blind, mixed marriages and unmarried, posing identical questions regarding matters about which the general public is interested in knowing about but often too embarrassed to ask. This specific episode was filmed before October 7, 2023, i.e., before the recent war. The participants were Israelis that had lived abroad for more than 2 years. All had flown to Israel to take part in the program. The questions related to the circumstances for them leaving Israel, their feelings about living in another country and their future plans. Most of the responses would apply to the millions of expatriates worldwide. Yet, some of their answers were typically Israeli, in my view. Interestingly, if I were to answer those same questions on my experience, my response would be similar but not identical.

All of those interviewed fundamentally had the same reason for leaving, albeit under different circumstances. The reason why the idea of living abroad was attractive (and remains so) was their discomfort with the rough-edged fishbowl that is Israeli society. They sought privacy, politeness and convenience. Interestingly, none of them stated that making money was their prime motivation, which probably was the truth when they left. The initial exit was either for studies or travel. As in “A funny thing happened on the way to the Forum”, a two-year study program or two-week trip kept and keeps on getting extended, with a spouse and children added to the package. I personally know many Israeli students that never came home. The junction of a fundamental desire for change with the circumstances that allow its realization is a powerful force.

Even more interesting was their rather mixed feelings toward their country of birth. On the one hand, they could no longer (or still) deal with the Israeli style of life, emotionally or financially. They enjoyed their relatively tranquil lifestyle abroad. On the other hand, they were still deeply connected to events in Israel and their family that lived there. One of the most painful questions was in regard to their guilt towards their aging parents. Many had experienced rather traumatic partings, including last-minute flights and arriving at the last breath. They also still identified themselves as Israelis and, quite interestingly, had few non-Israeli friends, despite their many years in their new homes. They expressed a serious internal conflict in their relationship with their country of birth.

As for the future, they all expressed some vague feeling that they would ultimately like to age or die in Israel. One couple said that they would return when their children reached first grade. To be fair, the wife was not very fond of where she lived, Greece, and had no clear picture of her future. In any case, it did not sound very probable that any would be returning in the foreseeable future.

To be fair, Israel has some unique features that shaded the answers of the respondents. First, it is a small country, not even eight million people. Every person that leaves is a perceptible loss. For that reason, the term in the past used for a person that leaves Israel wasיורד  [yured], someone that goes down, instead of עולה [oleh], a person that “goes up” to Israel. It is an emotional term that these people rejected. Another issue was army service. Most of the female participants feared that their children would feel so Israeli that they would want to serve in the IDF, which many actually did. This dread colors their identity and its transference to their children. Finally, all of them viewed Israel as their true home because Israel is the only country with a Jewish majority. Everywhere else, Jews are a minority and often live in fear. These factors are probably unique to Israeli expatriates.

My answers to these questions are similar. I left the United States to live in Israel. I spent one year as a volunteer in Ashkelon and felt at home for the first time in my life, at the age of 26. I immigrated at the age of 28 because the fishbowl lifestyle rather strangely suited me. Also, apparently, the fact that I could be Jewish without “exaggerating” my lifestyle certainly played a part. As I worked a teacher, it was clear that I would be equally non-rich both in the US and Israel. I made a living, which was all I cared about at the time. My father and mother lived to the ages of 94 and 96, respectively, which meant many long telephone conversations and flights to Los Angeles, a city I cannot stand, as well as not a little guilt about not being there to help them and a difficult parting. I did make it to the hospital before my mother died but had to “participate” in my father’s funeral via Zoom because there were no flights due to Corona. As for my identity, I am American and a bit French (my mother) in my attitude but have become Israeli in identity after some 37 years of living in Israel. The America I grew up in no longer exists. I have changed too. It is now a foreign country to me, albeit one that I understand the spoken and physical language. As Edith Piaf sang and I put on my mother’s gravestone, “Je ne regrette rien”.

In summary, the program about expatriates, despite its brevity, explored many issues that we who have left behind our countries of birth have struggled with. The participants’ answers express the experience of many people from many countries and certainly those from Israel and mine. To mix the thoughts of Thomas Wolfe and Alan Paton, you cannot come home again even if you cry over your beloved country.