Long-Distance Relationships
Studies show, “Recurrent dreams occur between 60 percent and 75 percent of adults.” Mine is about flying to Israel. But in these dreams, I never actually make it there. Something always goes wrong. I get separated from my group. I miss my flight. I lose my luggage. And for a while, I never thought anything of these dreams. That is until a few years ago.
I was living in Los Angeles, and my plan was to spend a week developing my Modern Hebrew skills in Ulpan. And just as usual, I get an Uber. Go through security—same ol’. And there I sat at my gate, ready to take my 9:35 PM flight. I stuck in my headphones. And drifted away. And then I heard my name. It was on the loudspeaker coming from the desk gate.
I scurry to the attendant. She asks if she can see my passport. I hand it over. She huddles together with another attendant. They turn around. "Mr. Sataloff, your passport expires within 6 months." "Yes, that's correct. My trip is only a week long." "Sir, the rule for traveling to Israel is that your passport cannot expire within 6 months. We cannot let you on this flight. Please return to the ticket desk." This can't be true. What is she talking about? I google it —it's true. I allow myself 5 minutes for a complete and total meltdown. And then I pull it together. I go down to the ticket area. There's not a soul around. I knock on a security door, and an attendant comes out. I tell him the situation. He nods and says, "What time do you want to leave tomorrow?" "What are you talking about? I don't have a passport." He says, "You'll get one. I'll book you for the 4:15."
He explains the whole ordeal of expediting. "The agency opens at 7:00 AM," he says. "Get there early!" I take a taxi back to my apartment. Get to a FedEx. Get a passport picture. It's now midnight. I don't sleep. I get to the agency at 4:30 AM. It's pitch black outside. There's a line of a hundred people that wraps around the building. I have another meltdown—a full-on panic attack. And As the sun starts to peaks out, I begin chatting. I realize everyone there has a story just like mine. This makes me feel less like an idiot. I go through the process. Pick up my passport. I walk through the gate at 3:51 PM. An airplane chair had never been so comfortable in my entire life. The plane lands in Israel. "I'm here," I say to myself quietly —Heneni. I walk off the plane and immediately find a corner to be alone. I say a prayer:
"God, thank you for sustaining me and allowing me to make it to this moment. I've never cherished another like it before. Thank you for allowing me to be here. To stand on holy ground. Also, thank you to the nice old man for telling me how to get a passport. Amen."
Now, I've been to Israel before, but that week was different. Because I realized how close I was to not being there. Every moment felt like a gift. And I quickly realized that my dreams about Israel were, in fact, caused by anxiety. But they arose not out of stress concerning current events or politics. Those are a given. Their intensity rises and falls like a rollercoaster.
But instead, I was afraid that one day I may never be able to return. That Israel wouldn't be open to me so freely like it's been throughout my lifetime. And when I search my soul, I can admit that, for me, THIS is the anxiety of being in a relationship with Israel. But not just any relationship —a long-distance relationship.
For those who live in America, we collectively share this anxiety. In the sense that Israel sometimes feels like a distant dream —so far away that if we forget about it for even a moment, it might slip out of our minds. That if we're not visiting regularly and closely following current events, our relationship might disappear. As the famous Medieval Spanish poet Judah Halevi writes:
“My heart is in the east, and I in the uttermost west –
How can I find savour in food? How shall it be sweet to me?”
But Halevi was not the first to express this sentiment about distance. As the Psalmists write:
“How can we sing a song of the LORD on alien soil? If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither; let my tongue stick to my palate if I cease to think of you, if I do not keep Jerusalem in memory even at my happiest hour.”
Ultimately, being in a long-distance relationship with Israel isn't new. But with it comes the fear of forgetting. Of losing connection. Of missing out. None of it is unique in our generation. Or in America.
Rather, it's a permanent emotion in diasporic Judaism. Meaning, my anxiety is very much shared from generation to generation. Yes, anxiety. The gift that keeps on giving. L'dor v'dor. In the past year, we've all come to know this type of anxiety quite well. COVID has separated us. Watching my nieces grow up over Facetime somehow just isn't the same. A year of Zoom has proved to all of us that a computer screen cannot replicate the feeling of being in-person. We need to embrace. To be embraced. To feel. To hold. And to be held.
Over the past few weeks, I've received the same question over and over. "What's your opinion on what's going on in Israel right now?" While this question is a good one. I'm hesitant to answer. Not because I don't have an opinion, but really what I want to answer is a different question altogether. "What's your relationship to Israel?" Because while the world can have an opinion about Israel, you and I, as Jews, have a relationship with her. As the author, Martha Bolton writes, "Opinions are like elbows. Everyone's got 'em, but they only bend one way." In my opinion, opinions can be fleeting from one moment to the next. And that's precisely why I can't tell you mine. They're not flexible enough, not durable enough to encapture something more significant than a well-calculated thought. Because love isn't an opinion. Love is a relationship —the good, the bad, and the ugly. It's riding the rollercoaster.
As Theordore Hertzel writes, “Im tirtzu ein zo agadah.” If you will it, it is no dream." But Israel has to be willed. This love has to be wanted. Desired. Sought after. A long-distance relationship with Israel cannot be conceived out of convenience. So, yes, I read the news. And I'm sure you do too. Yes, I have thoughts. And I'm sure do you as well. So does your neighbor and everyone on social media. But what I hope arises isn't more opinions. But the strengthening of relationships. Thus, may we be granted courage and understanding so that others can form their own relationships. So that they, too, may journey through every trial and tribulation as we reach for peace. And let the dream of our promised land forever reoccur in our thoughts, minds, and in our souls.