To live as a Jew

When someone asks about or mentions Israel, I always feel a rush of emotions. There are triggers that make me giddy with excitement, triggers that give me goosebumps, triggers that make me sad. I have been fortunate enough to visit Israel 7 times. One of the first things I always mention is the energy of Israel. There’s just something in the air that is evident as soon as one steps off the plane, almost a spiritual caffeine. In some ways, my identification with Israel shapes my identity as an American. My father often tells stories of high holiday services where the rabbi would not continue with the service until enough money had been raised for Israel. He understood that without Israel, American Jewry, and more importantly all Jews could not survive.

Masada Sun

Since this is a Zionist blog, I thought I would make my first post about why I am a Zionist. Much of what I have to say, and will be saying on this blog, may seem on its face radical; out of context my points can be grievously misconstrued. For this reason I want to start out by emphasizing that I was not always a Zionist, that I understand from personal experience the logic of anti-Zionism, that my Zionism is a carefully considered conclusion. The following essay, which I wrote after returning from my first trip to Israel two summers ago, does not detail my logic and views – you’ll get plenty of that in the future – instead hoping to give an emotional glimpse of the moment I became a Zionist.

Two millennia ago, the Second Temple’s razing fresh, Jewish zealots, called by the Romans sicarii, daggers, silently scaled Masada’s shear cliffs.