Dear Birthright,
The first time I wrote about Birthright I was hopeful. I was inspired by friends and family supporting me in my quest to finally have this inclusive Israel experience that so many of my peers have had. I thought that my application would be looked at holistically and it would be taken into consideration what I experienced in Israel beyond how many days I'd spent there. I have been completely honest in my application because I believe in what Birthright can be, an opportunity for Jewish young adults to experience Israel with their peers and build a relationship with the land.
I am no longer hopeful. Nor inspired. I'm disappointed.
And it doesn't have to do with whether I will actually get to go on Birthright or not. I'm disappointed because I don't believe you're living up to your potential. As I work toward my Masters degree and plan to work in higher education (i.e. with the same age group you cater to) I understand better the opportunities for growth and development in students. Something I believe Birthright should be taking advantage of rather than neglecting.
Shortly before Pesach I was interviewed for Birthright and subsequently received an e-mail offering me a spot on an Israel Free Spirit trip. I paid the $260 that was asked of me with trepidation. Don't get me wrong, I was thrilled. But I'd gone through this process once before and then been denied. I didn't want to get my hopes up. As the weeks passed I became more excited at the idea of getting to see parts of Israel I've only heard stories about. I feel a deep relationship with Judaism but I do not believe Israel is my home. This is ironic now that the ADL has come out with a report claiming that the most stereotypical belief about Jews is that we care more about Israel than about our home country. And at least for this Jew, that is not the case. Sure the country matters to me in the sense that my religion has a strong history there and I have many friends living there. But I do not prioritize it over my actual, physical home.
A few weeks ago I received a phone call telling me that my eligibility was still being determined and at the end of the conversation when I pressed for more information, they said I should hear back in 1-2 weeks. I continue to receive e-mails asking me to complete my secondary application and last week when I tried to log in, my password would not work. This is exactly how I was "denied" the first time I applied when I had only been on March of the Living. The trip I applied for a few months after another "March" alum had participated. I needed to be the one to call Birthright to find out why my application was locked.
I'm not going to call this time. I know what this passive-aggressive statement means. And this time, I'm older and maybe a bit wiser. I'm not angry or upset like that first time. My Jewish identity has not taken a turn for the worse. And I harbor no ill feeling toward Israel.
But I am disappointed in you, Birthright. According to the new eligibility requirements (from what I can understand), people who went on Ramah Seminar can go on Birthright. People who have an Israeli passport and/or visit every summer can go on Birthright. People who have a Jewish parent can go on Birthright because they know to answer the question "Do you identify as Jewish" with the answer you're looking for. It is for this reason that so many people view Birthright as just a "free trip to Israel" as opposed to being an educational trip about identity, history, and a special country. It is for this reason that I've heard stories about how on certain provider trips everyone drinks all night and sleeps on the bus as they drive past historic and beautiful landscapes.
"We believe that the experience of a trip to Israel is a building block of Jewish identity, and that by providing that gift to young Jews, we can strengthen bonds with the land and people of Israel and solidarity with Jewish communities worldwide." This is a quote from Birthright's website. I believe that this is the vision of Birthright but I do not think that, in its current form, you are living up to this goal. My Jewish identity is rooted in my family and local community. My Jewish identity has grown due to my love of traditions and culture. My Jewish identity has but a vague connection to Israel.
You may have noticed that this time I did not address you as Taglit unlike in my first message (you probably didn't notice). According to your website, Taglit means "discovery". And I discovered quite a bit in the process of trying to further discover Israel. But the best discovery is that while Israel may not be the place I'm destined to visit again, I have so many other valuable connections to Judaism. My religion has shaped who I am and who I hope to be, both professionally and personally.
I don't expect to hear from Birthright again for a while. It will be a frustrating process getting my deposit back, which doesn't seem right considering that I don't understand why I was offered a spot if my eligibility had not been determined. And since I won't be voluntarily giving up my spot, I believe I'm entitled to all $260 of my deposit.
We'll see what happens but I've actually reached a point where I'm just not as interested in going at all. If whether I can go hinges on if I was on JNF for 7 days instead of 6, that's just not the kind of organization I want to support.
Thank you, Birthright, for your attentiveness to detail.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Diagnoses
I realized just before Passover that it had been about 5 years since my Dad was declared cancer free. And maybe it was because of the type of cancer he had but I realized that we had never really acknowledged his fight.
I remember when my parents told me and my sister about his diagnosis. It was at breakfast. My entire immediate family was at the table and my parents said they had something to tell us. And my first reaction was "well have you looked at what the ACS says about it?" Can you blame me? I was interning for them at the time. I defaulted to that. Rather than let my emotions do anything. They told us when the surgery was scheduled. Told us about how early it had been caught. How it was in the early stages and the chance of successful recovery was essentially 100%.
And when I realized it had been 5 years, I realized that the 100% chance recovery rate had allowed us to diminish what we experienced. Sure, it wasn't what many others have suffered through but it was by no means easy.
After we left that breakfast table, I locked myself in the bathroom and called my best friend. I remember sitting on the floor crying. Choking out the words. The hushed silence on the other end as she listened. The immediate "I'm on my way". My reassurance that it wasn't necessary and yet the overwhelming love I felt for someone unrelated to me who was about to drop everything. And for something that had an almost 100% chance of success.
I remember the long hours spent in the hospital waiting room. As we drove there we could see the moon above the city. We watched the sun move to the other side of the building through the wall of windows. I remember when we first saw him after the surgery. The days immediately after. The months that passed when he was still recovering and I was half way around the world.
Even now, 5 years later there are remnants of what changed since his surgery. But I am so thankful that I still have my dad. And no matter how his cancer was compared to others' I wanted to take time to acknowledge the time that has passed. And our family Passover seder was such a wonderful opportunity. On a holiday (my favorite) when we celebrate freedom and survival against the odds, a holiday that we spend with family to recall past stories, this was the ideal chance to reflect on 5 years being cancer free.
I could not be more blessed.
I remember when my parents told me and my sister about his diagnosis. It was at breakfast. My entire immediate family was at the table and my parents said they had something to tell us. And my first reaction was "well have you looked at what the ACS says about it?" Can you blame me? I was interning for them at the time. I defaulted to that. Rather than let my emotions do anything. They told us when the surgery was scheduled. Told us about how early it had been caught. How it was in the early stages and the chance of successful recovery was essentially 100%.
And when I realized it had been 5 years, I realized that the 100% chance recovery rate had allowed us to diminish what we experienced. Sure, it wasn't what many others have suffered through but it was by no means easy.
After we left that breakfast table, I locked myself in the bathroom and called my best friend. I remember sitting on the floor crying. Choking out the words. The hushed silence on the other end as she listened. The immediate "I'm on my way". My reassurance that it wasn't necessary and yet the overwhelming love I felt for someone unrelated to me who was about to drop everything. And for something that had an almost 100% chance of success.
I remember the long hours spent in the hospital waiting room. As we drove there we could see the moon above the city. We watched the sun move to the other side of the building through the wall of windows. I remember when we first saw him after the surgery. The days immediately after. The months that passed when he was still recovering and I was half way around the world.
Even now, 5 years later there are remnants of what changed since his surgery. But I am so thankful that I still have my dad. And no matter how his cancer was compared to others' I wanted to take time to acknowledge the time that has passed. And our family Passover seder was such a wonderful opportunity. On a holiday (my favorite) when we celebrate freedom and survival against the odds, a holiday that we spend with family to recall past stories, this was the ideal chance to reflect on 5 years being cancer free.
I could not be more blessed.
Sunday, March 2, 2014
Returned to Facebook. Leaving again.
I spent the last 5 weeks of 2013 off of Facebook. I didn't deactivate it, I didn't unfriend everyone, I just logged out. And in the two months that I've been back on, I have a new appreciation for how much better off I was without it. Sure it was great to have Facebook Message as a way of keeping in touch with people although I prefer gchat or (I know I'm a dinosaur) hand written letters. There are many conversations with friends both near and far that are sustained through this medium. And I also find myself more often getting news about the world from Facebook. Plus I'm able to keep up with what's going on with friends and even just for wishing people a happy birthday. So yes, Facebook has its perks but not being on it was unremarkable. If anything I was used to having to explain my ongoing battle with technology since I am regularly questioned about not having a smartphone.
The issue is that so many people do use it as a forum for contact and so to disappear from Facebook meant that some of the less stable relationships I have with people are now just fringe relationships. Granted, if I need to be on Facebook to maintain any relationship, well that's actually not a relationship I consider worth working on. But at the same time I have always been the person who tries to keep in touch, if a person has touched my life in some way then he/she is forever of significance to me.
I doubt I'll ever go off of Facebook for such a long stretch of time in the near future. But I'm going to occasionally do purges because I found it to be a grounding experience despite having to explain it to everyone. Honestly, part of why I won't do it for weeks at a time again is because it was really annoying when I suddenly started receiving e-mails from Facebook every third day telling me what I was "missing" such as messages, notifications, and status updates. I remarked to one friend that it was like having a needy ex, I was taken for granted while I was just there but then a few days later once Facebook realized I was serious about taking a break it was all "...but I love you. Come back to me."
For now I'm going to take my smartphone-less self off Facebook again, only for a week this time. I'm lacking almost all technological devices so I'll still - unfortunately - be logged on everywhere but oh well, I'll just ignore it. See y'all in a week!
The issue is that so many people do use it as a forum for contact and so to disappear from Facebook meant that some of the less stable relationships I have with people are now just fringe relationships. Granted, if I need to be on Facebook to maintain any relationship, well that's actually not a relationship I consider worth working on. But at the same time I have always been the person who tries to keep in touch, if a person has touched my life in some way then he/she is forever of significance to me.
I doubt I'll ever go off of Facebook for such a long stretch of time in the near future. But I'm going to occasionally do purges because I found it to be a grounding experience despite having to explain it to everyone. Honestly, part of why I won't do it for weeks at a time again is because it was really annoying when I suddenly started receiving e-mails from Facebook every third day telling me what I was "missing" such as messages, notifications, and status updates. I remarked to one friend that it was like having a needy ex, I was taken for granted while I was just there but then a few days later once Facebook realized I was serious about taking a break it was all "...but I love you. Come back to me."
For now I'm going to take my smartphone-less self off Facebook again, only for a week this time. I'm lacking almost all technological devices so I'll still - unfortunately - be logged on everywhere but oh well, I'll just ignore it. See y'all in a week!
Sunday, February 2, 2014
An Open Letter to Taglit-Birthright Israel
Shalom Taglit,
A few weeks ago I was told by a few people that according to the new rules, I'm eligible to go on Birthright. Only days before my 26th birthday the changes allow a new set of Jewish young adults to experience Israel in a very special way. And yet amidst all the text messages and conversations that followed I continued to ask "but am I really?" Because I'm still not sure, I can only hope.
In 2007 I applied for the winter Birthright trip through my undergraduate institution. I was completely honest on my application and a few days after first starting my application, my account was locked. A quick call to Birthright informed me that my participation on March of the Living a year and a half prior made me ineligible, a new rule they had just implemented for this coming series of trips but hadn't publicized. On March I had spent a week in Israel primarily focused on discussing how the Shoah had resulted in a homeland for the Jewish diaspora. We had just spent a week in Poland and at 18 years young I was overwhelmed and still reeling from the emotional journey. My first memories of Israel are tinged with memories of "Never Again".
In the years since learning that I could not go on Birthright, I watched my friends explore and experience Israel like I've never seen. They told me stories of climbing Masada at dawn and looking out over Syria from the Golan Heights. They told me about waking up in a Bedouin tent and spending the trip getting to know Israelis who had just completed their time in the army. They told me about riding camels and watching their new friends finally become a b'nai mitzvah.
I have been to Israel a few times in my life now since March of the Living, however each trip was geared toward a specific purpose, one which could have been served in any country. And so, since learning about the new rules, I've been thinking about what the purpose of Birthright truly is. It cannot simply be about a free trip to Israel, there is surely more to it. Yet it seems that Jewish young adults who have spent a significant amount of time in Israel prior to college and even Israeli dual-citizens can participate if they have not been on a trip that follows certain parameters. I don't know if the trips I've been on fall into those parameters but I do believe that the original and key purpose of Birthright is to create a particular connection with Israel, one that I do not believe I have.
Those experiences I mentioned earlier that my friends told me about, I have experienced none of them. I read articles occasionally that my friends post on social media about Israel but I analyze them the same way as articles about the political situation in the United States, with a certain amount of disillusionment. I continuously hear twice a year about this connection with Israel that is inherently tied with going on Birthright, a connection that I cannot relate to. As a Jewish young adult I feel more disconnected from Israel in part because I have not been able to join my peers in these conversations about a land that I'm told is my home.
Growing up in an interracial household, I constantly have to explain my Jewish identity. And while I am extremely proud of who I am and where I come from, it makes me wonder where I belong among my fellow Jews. Combined with having never had this experience of Birthright that so many others have had, I continuously struggle with my connection, or lack thereof, to Israel. Is it just another country where many of my friends visit/live or would it be my home should I choose for it to be?
Opening the eligibility requirements to more Jewish young adults provides a beautiful opportunity for many more to connect to Israel in a way that is unique to the Birthright experience. And I hope, humbly, that I might be among them so that I may finally view this country through a new pair of eyes.
Lehitra'ot,
Sarah
A few weeks ago I was told by a few people that according to the new rules, I'm eligible to go on Birthright. Only days before my 26th birthday the changes allow a new set of Jewish young adults to experience Israel in a very special way. And yet amidst all the text messages and conversations that followed I continued to ask "but am I really?" Because I'm still not sure, I can only hope.
In 2007 I applied for the winter Birthright trip through my undergraduate institution. I was completely honest on my application and a few days after first starting my application, my account was locked. A quick call to Birthright informed me that my participation on March of the Living a year and a half prior made me ineligible, a new rule they had just implemented for this coming series of trips but hadn't publicized. On March I had spent a week in Israel primarily focused on discussing how the Shoah had resulted in a homeland for the Jewish diaspora. We had just spent a week in Poland and at 18 years young I was overwhelmed and still reeling from the emotional journey. My first memories of Israel are tinged with memories of "Never Again".
In the years since learning that I could not go on Birthright, I watched my friends explore and experience Israel like I've never seen. They told me stories of climbing Masada at dawn and looking out over Syria from the Golan Heights. They told me about waking up in a Bedouin tent and spending the trip getting to know Israelis who had just completed their time in the army. They told me about riding camels and watching their new friends finally become a b'nai mitzvah.
I have been to Israel a few times in my life now since March of the Living, however each trip was geared toward a specific purpose, one which could have been served in any country. And so, since learning about the new rules, I've been thinking about what the purpose of Birthright truly is. It cannot simply be about a free trip to Israel, there is surely more to it. Yet it seems that Jewish young adults who have spent a significant amount of time in Israel prior to college and even Israeli dual-citizens can participate if they have not been on a trip that follows certain parameters. I don't know if the trips I've been on fall into those parameters but I do believe that the original and key purpose of Birthright is to create a particular connection with Israel, one that I do not believe I have.
Those experiences I mentioned earlier that my friends told me about, I have experienced none of them. I read articles occasionally that my friends post on social media about Israel but I analyze them the same way as articles about the political situation in the United States, with a certain amount of disillusionment. I continuously hear twice a year about this connection with Israel that is inherently tied with going on Birthright, a connection that I cannot relate to. As a Jewish young adult I feel more disconnected from Israel in part because I have not been able to join my peers in these conversations about a land that I'm told is my home.
Growing up in an interracial household, I constantly have to explain my Jewish identity. And while I am extremely proud of who I am and where I come from, it makes me wonder where I belong among my fellow Jews. Combined with having never had this experience of Birthright that so many others have had, I continuously struggle with my connection, or lack thereof, to Israel. Is it just another country where many of my friends visit/live or would it be my home should I choose for it to be?
Opening the eligibility requirements to more Jewish young adults provides a beautiful opportunity for many more to connect to Israel in a way that is unique to the Birthright experience. And I hope, humbly, that I might be among them so that I may finally view this country through a new pair of eyes.
Lehitra'ot,
Sarah
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