The first time we fell in love with Israel
Readers of The CJN share their initial interactions with the Holy Land
T o mark Israel’s 75th anniversary we asked readers to tell us their memories of the Jewish state. I was the one reading these emails and it was a joy. The stories start with the historic Partition vote (one of my favourites was from Philip Berger , about his father’s clandestine visit to the United Nations). I received emails about visits to Israel from the ‘60s, before and after the Six-Day War, right up until today ( Michael Brooke ’s story about teaching skateboarding is another memorable one). There were stories about falling in love and stories about visits to cemeteries. A few readers sent me wonderful pictures and we’ve tried to include some here. There were black-and-white photos of family reunions and photos of teen- agers hanging out with friends, celebrat- ing their first taste of independence on a group trip to Israel. While most of the submissions were nostalgic, a few readers looked at their fond early memories of Israel and asked where had the promise of Israel gone so far astray. The stories brought back many memories for me as well. Like so many readers, I first visited Israel with my family, where we met extended family for the first time. I spent a formative year at Hebrew University and then later a sabbatical year with two little children, where I learned more than I ever want to know about lice and kindergarten class- room politics. We didn’t have room to print all of these wonderful stories, but you can read more here, thecjn.ca/israelstories. - By Lila Sarick
Gary Kapelus, Thornhill, Ont. In the spring of 1974, I took a year off from University of Toronto to explore the idea of making aliyah. I landed in Israel with no luggage (thank you KLM), and no particular plan other than to visit some distant relatives and to volunteer on a kibbutz in the north. The Hashomer Hatzair office sent me to Kibbutz Shamir, on the Golan Heights. I met young folks from all over the world, some Jewish, many not. About two weeks after my arrival, on June 13, 1974, the kibbutz suffered a terrorist attack, and among those killed were several kibbutz mem- bers working in the bee house and a young New Zealand volunteer. I had been in the exact location (the pool) and time (around 8:30 a.m.) of the terrorists’ entry into the kibbutz the day before. Had they come that day instead, I would have been the first one killed. This event marked my introduction to the realities of life on the Israeli border: death and my first funerals, firing flare guns and learning how to assemble an Uzi. As a volunteer, I joined in the nightly patrol around the kibbutz perimeter and spent the following Yom Kippur helping to guard the front entrance to the shul on neighbouring Kibbutz Kfar Blum. On the other hand, I had the most Canadian of opportunities to dig tun- nels and throw snowballs on Mount Hermon. I went on to spend the rest of the year at an ulpan in the neigh- bouring kibbutz, Amir, where I was the assistant to the beekeeper and loved every minute of it.
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