19 years ago I came to Israel for the first time with 30 of my classmates from the Colegio Colombo Hebrew, the Jewish day school in Bogota, where I grew up. It was a tradition for 10th graders to spend 3 months in Israel traveling around the country, getting to know the culture, studying (and I use the term losely, very very losely) and partying. It is an extraordinary experience that accompanies you for the rest of your life. Back then, the base for our trip was a place called Givat Washington. A student campus near Ashdod.
A few weeks ago, the director of the campus, the same guy who organized our trip 19 years ago and who still organizes the trip for the kids from the Colombo Hebreo, called my friend Ethel (who I know from Colombia and also lives in Modiin and who made aliyah right after high school) and asked her if she would be willing to spend a weekend on campus and give a peula (organized activity) to the kids attending this year's trip in order to promote aliyah. Ethel said yes, as long as she would be able to bring her dearest friends, the Warmans. To my husband, anything free is worth taking, so he said yes right away, before I even had a chance to remember the modest accommodations of the place. Anyways, we were committed to the plan and just a few days before going, I learn the additional detail that I as well was in charge of an activity for the kids. I pulled out and dusted off old tochniot (activity planners) from my days as a madricha of the tnuat noar (counselor for the youth movement) and started planning. I was horribly nervous. If this 15 year olds were anything like we were, it was going to be a huge challenge keeping them engaged.
The day came to leave for our weekend at Givat Washington. We arrived on Friday right before shabat and as we drove through the gate, memories of my stay there 19 years ago started to hit me. Things looked vaguely familiar. Some of the buildings and pathways were the same, among a lot of new construction. We settled in our rooms and headed straight for shabat services and then dinner where we met for the first time the group of 13 kids from Colombia, now visiting Israel for 3 months, just as we did so many years ago. "13 kids, boy the school has shrunken" was my first thought. The security situation in Colombia hit rock bottom in the late 90's and a big part of the Jewish community fled, so now the school is about half the size of what it was when I studied there. Right after dinner, we went outside for our first peula. I was in charge of doing some ice breakers, and to my surprise, this kids were totally engaged. We spent about 45 minutes in activities and then sat down for some informal chit chat where the kids introduced themselves, this time not by name, but by the name of their parents or uncles, who we were more likely to know.
The next day we met for more peulot. Aliza, the Colombia's Ashkenazi community rabbi's daughter, who also attended the weekend had a peula organized for the morning and Ethel had one planned for the afternoon. During Ethel's activity, we got to talking about identity. What makes up our identity, who we are. How is our identity related to our nationality as living in Colombia or elsewhere and living in Israel.
It got me thinking and I got the chance to share with these 13 kids, who are about to graduate high school and make decisions that may affect the rest of their lives, how my identity
has been forged since the time I graduated high school, to my years in Miami, to now living in Israel. My identity per se, the way I am has been forged by my circumstances, but my identity as it relates to my nationality has been tremendously impacted by my move to Israel.
I was born and raised in Colombia. Growing up, I was Colombian at heart. I owned the jersey and my heart beat for Colombia. When I was 20 I moved to Miami, and despite having spent 14 years there, I never felt American. I did lose my Colombia identity though. I wasn't from here nor there. A citizen of the world as they say. It wasn't until 10 months ago, when we moved to Israel that my Zionism flourished. I feel here what I never felt in the US and what in retrospect I think I never felt in Colombia. This is my country, my land. This is where I belong. It's an inexplicable feeling having only been here 10 months, but I feel like my identity as a person and as a Jew in the State of Israel can be truly shown. I am Colombian, I will always be. When it is time to root for a soccer team, I will root "Si Si Colombia", but the land I love, my land and the land where I want my children to grow in is the State of Israel.
We left that weekend hoping some of these 13 kids decide to continue their future after high school in Israel and like Ethel, Aliza and me, realize that as a Jew and as a person, we belong here.
