The word “Diaspora” has as its root “dispersion” or spreading out from our initial homeland.
The word triggers thoughts about Diaspora Jewry, Jews who reside outside our homeland Israel.
I was recently at a baseball game where a U.S. serviceman was acknowledged. We stood from our seats to give respect for sacrificing on behalf of the country. That is the tricky part, because I genuinely feel this country in the Diaspora is my country. I’m culturally acclimated, and I’m not the only one.
I’ve been blessed to have been invited to the White House on two occasions, opportunities that I found humbling and deeply honored by. I care about the politics of this great nation and the tenor of discourse and how it may or may not be in concert with my values.
At the same time, I yearn for the homeland. Israel is such a unique place. As comfortable as I am in the Diaspora, there is an inner call to return home. Ironically, aspects of my homeland are more foreign than those in my Diaspora and yet it is still home. At times the feeling is latent and at other times more transparent.
The word Diaspora is an oxymoron. It contains a feeling of pride in Jewish accomplishments of tikkun olam and kiddush Hashem, and still feeling something substantial is missing. Albeit confusing, this is exactly what the word should evoke. Holding a vision of return while trusting we each have our process to traverse until that time.
