Since most of us religious kids knew Hebrew, we were placed in the highest classes with the best teachers. We upgraded our Hebrew and tried to uproot our American accents, studied the geography of Eretz Yisrael, plowed through Jewish History, and learned Tanach where it took place. Torah in Eretz Yisrael takes on new dimensions.
We spent six months in Jerusalem, three months on kibbutzim belonging to our respective organizations, a month traveling and then a final month back in Jerusalem summing up (I don’t remember how or what).
Before the Six-Day War, Israel was still only a mini-country. The border was everywhere. But we traveled the length and breadth of the country during four week-long tiyulim (on trucks, no tourist buses then!). We went from Metulla to Eilat, which at the time was still a tiny, virgin spot on the Red Sea. There were no hotels, just breathtaking scenery. We climbed mountains, shuffled through sand, scurried down valleys, sloshed through wadis and waterholes. We looked out over vast horizons and climbed roofs in Jerusalem to catch a glimpse into the Old City. We gazed at the Old City walls and wondered when and if we’d ever be privileged to enter its gates.
In the north we stood in awe, scanning the green, glowing fields – the work of earlier pioneers who moved stones with their hands, drained swamps, sustained Arab attacks. What mesiras nefesh they had! And with Hashem’s help, they brought new life to an old country.
Lots of sardines were served that year. (I didn’t eat them. I loathe sardines.) Since meat was rarely available and chicken was for Shabbos, sardines were Israel’s protein. There were oranges galore and, on special occasions, plates were passed around containing single squares of chocolate. Chocolate was still a luxury, served in individual squares. Devouring an entire bar was unthinkable! My husband-to-be was learning at Ponovetz Yeshiva in Bnei Brak that year and he said not to complain. They were on near-starvation! Whenever he and his chavrusa came to Jerusalem, the first thing they did was eat!
Our evenings were spent in highly emotional conversations with our fellow machonikim from all over the world. Often until the wee hours of the night. We argued ideology, religion, politics. Interestingly enough, despite the many differences in our outlook and countries of origin, the religious kids and the anti-religious ones got along very well. We were the “ideologues.” They worried about our religious requirements and kept the hora dancing separate so that we could dance too. They went out of their way to make sure everything was “kosher” for us. And all the while we continued our heated arguments and discussions. (I think we thought they would change the world.)
Last, we met people – all kinds and sizes and shapes. Survivors who no longer believed in Hashem; people who believed in a G-d but not His Torah; pioneers who saved their reverence for working the Land. Yerushalmim who embraced and revered Torah but not the Zionists or the secular Israelis outside their gates. Religious Zionists who were willing to embrace everyone. And lots of wonderful people in between. And everyone was surprised to meet us – banot Americaiyot datiot!
We were all of seventeen or eighteen but our parents and communities and schools must have done something right, because we were confident and proud and staunch in our observance. Perhaps because the world was a different place then, our emunah, our sense of who we were, was not lessened or threatened in any way. For almost an entire year, we brought Shabbos and a taste of Torah to one hundred other Jewish kids who might never have experienced it but for us. And they learned that while we might look, dress, act and even speak differently than they did, we were brothers and sisters nonetheless. I think we did a fairly good job of kiddush shem shamayim for 18-year-old kids in a new and very heterogeneous setting.
