I had already had dinner with my aunt and visited some sites. In addition, I had contacted some friends to let them know that I had arrived. Some were in Israel, others were not. In this post, I will give some example of the Israelis I know.

After some meticulous planning, the first person I met was a Canadian friend of mine. We met during volunteering in January 2024, when we were based in Tel Aviv. Now, we decided to grab a bite to eat, swap stories, and revisit memories from the past.

We laughed quite a bit. In addition, we talked about work, family, dating woes, and life in the diaspora, while I was enjoying a very satisfactory asado atop mashed potatoes – yes, this needs to be shared.

We debated antisemitism, the hypocrisy of the far right and the far left, media bias, and our love for this small Mediterranean country. I asked him whether he would make aliyah. He told me that he was thinking about it, perhaps in the future. Of course, he asked me the same. I told him that I would certainly end up in Israel – something about returning to where it all started for me. And, considering my health, I was not sure if I would become an octogenarian. So, being a septuagenarian in Israel was the plan for now.

As outlandish as it might be to some people, we have dual nationality and thus two homes. It need not be an issue or mutually exclusive. I grew up in the Netherlands, I have Dutch relatives; I have my job and friends there. Furthermore, both of us are close to our parents and siblings; and mine live in the Netherlands. Wherever they are, I will be.

On Thursday, I made my way to Beer Sheva. Once again, I made use of Israel’s effective public transportation network.

While waiting for my train at HaHaganah station, a group of young Israelis walks by. That is not extraordinary, but they are Filipino. The irony does not escape me: here I am, an Israeli Jew, while there is a good chance that they are not Jewish at all. And yet, they grew up here, while I was raised abroad – and their Hebrew is much better than mine, that is certain. It is another aspect of Israel’s diverse society I appreciate.

As I board the train, I sit down, turn on my iPod – yes, you can laugh – and start reading Jonathan Clements’ interesting history of Taiwan called Rebel Island. I look around and suddenly feel quite old. Everyone is either wearing headphones or scrolling through their phones. They are all younger than I am, a comforting thought. But two stops later, my age is no longer an excuse. An elderly gentleman enters, at least thirty years my senior. He sits down, wearing headphones, while plugging his phone into a USB port, as he scrolls through it. I am not old, I am a relic.

I exit in Beer Sheva, the largest city of the Israeli south. My friend and I go to a shopping mall to have breakfast. We joke that we both have more hair this time.

My friend is a paramedic from Mexico, who made aliyah, after volunteering with Magen David Adom (MDA). He attended ulpan, has succeeded in picking up shifts with MDA, after completing a medic’s course – Israeli bureaucracy – and he has a job as well. What does he do? Based in Beer Sheva, he helps Latin Americans move to … Canada. Yes, that is what the globalized economy can produce.

Afterwards, he shows me his new apartment. I am amazed at his perseverance and am glad that it has worked out well. Moreover, he loves Beer Sheva. I do too, but I asked him why. The answer was simple: a city that is relaxed. He used to live in the stressful and densely populated Mexico City. This was a welcome change.

As we say goodbye, I walk to the station and board a train back to Tel Aviv. It is here that the train is quickly packed with Israel’s warriors, young men and women going home for the weekend.

Most are armed and I am sure that many people in the Netherlands would become nervous, frightened even. But they handle their weapons with care. Not for one second am I fearful.

A thought crosses my mind: how many of these men and women will have to fight in a future war? And how many are being followed by Western anti-Israel activists, who hunt Israeli soldiers on social media? It fills me with a sense of dread.

Then, I notice how similar they are to Dutch men and women their age. I see a young woman taking a selfie; another sending a photo to a soldier in the same car; a few young men laugh and crack jokes; others bought sandwiches at the station, which they are eating with gusto; and they are attached to their phones. They are, in this sense, exactly like their Dutch counterparts.

As I look around, I am ecstatic. One young soldier is reading a book – I am no longer a relic.

In the evening, I meet another volunteer from Beer Sheva and her fiancé. She is from the United States and made aliyah. Her future groom was our MDA instructor – when they talk, it seems as if they have known each other for decades. We have dinner, laugh about volunteering stories, and later meet another friend of her fiancé’s. After enjoying the restaurants and bars of Dizengoff Square and its surroundings, I give them a multitude of stroopwafels. Indeed, I seem to offload these Dutch treats in Israel, whenever I can. In addition, I ask them to give some to another friend, an Arab Israeli medic I could not meet this time.

The next day, I meet one of my father’s army buddies. He is a psychiatrist and great storyteller. We climb Emek HaEla, which has a wonderful view. We swap stories, share funny anecdotes, and discuss the many shades of Judaism over lunch in Jerusalem. Afterwards, he is kind enough to drive me to family for Shabbat dinner – not on his way home, which makes the gesture even more generous.

Shabbat dinner is typical. My aunt has cooked up a storm, all her children show up, including spouses and children. The children play and enjoy themselves, while the adults discuss their day and everything else. One cousin asks me about any marriage prospects – very Jewish. I grin and say that I have not found the woman yet, who is willing to put up with my impossible character – it puts a smile on her face.

These are just a few examples of who Israelis actually are. Olim like my American and Mexican friends, who are more observant than I am; my Canadian friend with dual nationality, who attends the occasional Canadian Chabad event and might move to Israel one day; my family and father’s army buddy who are secular, as I am. Israel is the country where you can choose which kind of Jew you wish to be.

In addition, Israel is home to several minorities, such as the Hebrew Israelites in Dimona and Arad; the small Lebanese community you can find in the north; the tight-knit Alawite community in Ghajar; the Druze you can find from Daliyat al-Karmel to the Golan; the small Vietnamese community, welcomed by Prime Minister Menachem Begin, after the Vietnam War; the Circassian community to be found in places such as Kfar Kama; Arab Israeli Christians and Muslims, Israel’s largest minority; the numerous Bedouin communities that dot the country; and, by now, Filipino, Eritrean, and Sudanese communities. This is the rich tapestry the Jewish state has to offer.

At the end of an evening with family, my aunt kindly drives me back to my hotel. On the way, I read Mike Huckabee’s warning to US embassy staff about leaving the country. I get a feeling that something will happen soon.

The next Saturday morning, my last day in Israel, I am awake when sirens start wailing. Considering the feeling I had, I am not surprised. But I expect a warning to go to the nearest shelter; yet none are received.

I ask my father on WhatsApp, who tells me that the sirens were not for incoming missiles, but to prepare Israelis. In any event, war with the Iranian theocracy has begun.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)