By Paula R. Stern
August 17, 2006
A boy celebrates the completion of his 13th year of life with the knowledge that he has passed a major milestone. No longer a boy, he stands on the first day of his tomorrows with all the responsibilities and realities before him. Today, though neither boy nor man, I celebrate a milestone of my own. Thirteen years ago on this day, I boarded a plane to start my life as a citizen in Israel. My young sons slept on the plane, unaware of all that would come before them and, to some extent, oblivious to what they were leaving behind.
Thirteen years have come and gone from that moment and yet in many ways, the wonder and joy of living in this land remains as fresh and exciting as it was in those seconds when I realized that I'd left the country of my birth for the home I'd always wanted.
I awoke at dawn today to take part in the final leg of "Operation Northern Points," an ambitious plan to help supply much needed personal items to soldiers on the battlefields of Lebanon. Made possible by a generous donation of the Moskowitz family from the US, my synagogue has been organizing these trips for some time now.
Others drove north despite katyusha attacks, because the need was there. Until now, my efforts were limited to a few hours of volunteering here in Maaleh Adumim while close friends risked their lives. Today was a more sedate trip, courtesy of a ceasefire that I believe was ill-planned, ill-timed, and ill-advised. I wasn't worried about katyushas raining down on northern Israel, though the helmet on the floor reminded me that there had once been danger involved.
My friend and I drove early in the morning with what will likely be the last van for this project. Our goal was to deliver the supplies to a fresh group of reservists that were heading off to Lebanon to relieve others who have been there for some time now.
We took with us a huge supply of soaps, shampoos, underwear, socks, and snacks. We left behind the question of why the government had failed to provide these necessities. These are questions for tomorrow. Today, we simply decided to enjoy the quiet we believe precedes the next storm, the fact that we could drive up there without terrifying our spouses and friends, and with the renewed joy of seeing the beauty of northern Israel up close.
We stopped briefly at a store in the north to buy candies and more snacks. The manager of the store came over and helped us select merchandise after hearing the purpose of our trip. "Don't worry," he said, "I'll give you a discount." For a man who had lost close to a season's worth of tourism, his 20% discount was an amazing gesture of generosity, faith in the future, and love for our soldiers.
A woman stopped to ask what we were doing. We were clearly getting people's attention. How often do people buy 300+ chocolate bars and cases of snacks? We told her it was for the soldiers and she quickly pushed 50 shekels into my hands.
No, she insisted a few minutes later. "Give me back the 50 shekels," she said and turned to the cashier to insist that he bill her credit card directly for 200 shekels. "I don't have more cash," she explained to me, "or I'd give you all the money." What amazing people we have in this country, I thought to myself.
We greeted the soldiers, who thanked us for the supplies, for the candy, for the thoughts. They posed for pictures next to the van and smiled when they were handed some coke and some chocolates.
"How long have you been up here?" we asked them. "Since two days before the kidnappings," they answered. All things in the north are still connected to the war, and all things in the war still connected to the kidnappings. Gilad, Ehud and Eldad are not forgotten by the soldiers and people of Israel, even if the UN and the Israeli government would wish it so.
Having delivered our supplies, I drove over the winding roads to the northern most border, hovering on the mountain above Kiryat Shemona and thought of the missiles that had fallen only days ago. I saw the blackened forests, where katyushas destroyed trees planted generations ago.
We stopped in Tiberias and noticed how the city was slowly filling with people. Last time I'd been there, the roads were jammed with traffic; this time, I easily found a parking spot on the main thoroughfare. We sat in a still sparsely crowded restaurant and I felt the need to tip outrageously.
Further south, through the Jordan Valley, with my mind still on the soldiers, the packages, the operation, and the long road back to normal, my friend made a note of the date, August 17. when I said it was the anniversary of my arrival in Israel, my friend pointed out that I'd reached my bar mitzvah, the completion of my thirteenth year in Israel.
How appropriate that I had spent the day driving all over the land of Israel while delivering supplies to Israeli soldiers. How perfect that I had been appreciating the incredible, unique beauty of the land on such a day. I thought of that long and tiring flight, with two little boys who have grown tall and handsome and strong and proud in their homeland.
From the northern points to the golden beauty of Jerusalem, I am amazed by the land and the people. I stand in awe of the generosity of the grocer, the charity of the woman in the store. I am inspired by the brave and selfless acts of my friends who drove into a war zone when others were fleeing, in order to deliver supplies to our soldiers, and I am astounded at how quickly I have reached this moment.
Today, I have passed a milestone, ready to face the realities and responsibilities of the home I have chosen, knowing that in the next few months, one of those little boys I brought to Israel will join the army.
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