Independence Day

Last night was the Kibbutz Party. And when I say party, I mean hundreds of lawn chairs in every direction, Israeli flags in clusters around the courtyard, children running around with cookies, buffet lines filled with barbeque foods, and to top it all off, a huge ceremony somewhat equivalent to that of a really awkward talent show. (but in a cute way) The first part was quite tasteful; they shared the stories of all the people who were war heroes from our Kibbutz. Their families came up with flaming torches and lit a part of the menorah (like the Olympic torch). Followed shortly by singing and dancing, the children of Kibbutz Na’an proudly performed their renditions of classic independence songs, interpretive dances, and solo’s in honor of their country. It was quite awful. The best way to describe is: when a parent knows their child worked really hard on something, say a dance show, gets on stage and the choreography is just atrocious. But you love it because it is your kid, and you know how hard they worked on it. And, it is even cuter because it is a bunch of kids who were all really awful, but also awfully adorable? That was what is was like. Lots of awws and giggles throughout the performances. The reception was full of more food (by now it should be no surprise that Israeli families put food in your stomach every possible chance they get), popcorn machines, cakes and coffees. Fireworks blasted into the sky, in blues, reds, purples and greens, exploding into the night. I walked to the edge of a hill to meet my friend, and looked over the valley surrounding my Kibbutz. For miles, I saw fireworks exploding in every direction. Tonight was a night of Celebration. 62 years strong, the State of Israel has proven its determination as a country.
Following the ceremony my friend picked me up to go to her sister’s fiancés friends house for a barbeque. Typically Israeli, there were tables overflowing with different salads, pita, hummus and immeasurable numbers of coke products. The men sat by the barbeque, grilling the meat for everyone throughout the night. Old Israeli music drifted through the windows and the air was crisp. The night was perfect for celebration. I spoke with everyone, practicing a little bit of my Hebrew. I always entertain Israeli’s when I speak Hebrew- I probably sound like a 7 year old, with my vocabulary. (Maybe 8) They love teaching me new words, and correcting my grammar mistakes.
We ended up getting into a discussion about Israeli politics. Never a good idea, by the way. I definitely did not bring it up. They asked me why I was here, asked me if I was Jewish- to which I answered no. Astounded, they looked to my friend, and back at me, as if to say, wait, hold on- she’s not Jewish? Of course, more questions poured out. What does America think of Israel? Are there a lot of people who think Israel is full of terrorists? What do you think? Why do you learn Arabic? We don’t like the Arabs over here, you know. Do you like the Arabs? Are you going to convert to Judaism? Do you support Israel? I was a little overwhelmed with 15 people asking me all these questions. I always want to portray America as full of diverse views, peoples and cultures. But the questions were so general, I found I had to break everything down- get them to specify their questions in order to give an accurate representation of typical American beliefs on the Middle East, and Israeli specifically.
This was the first party where I think I left feeling weird about not being Jewish. Embarrassed is the wrong word. I am proud of my background, but at times I feel instantly disregarded when I say I am not Jewish. As if my perspective isn’t credible because I am not Jewish. It is extremely frustrating. The American stereotype doesn’t help at all. I hate that when people find out I’m American, two assumptions are made. First, I am easy. Second, I love to party. Incorrect and a little offensive. Even last night, I had this discussion with Moran’s friends in the circle around the barbeque- about their perceptions of American’s, about how whenever I speak in Hebrew I am ‘normal’ and when people find out I’m American, perceptions immediately change. Maybe 30 minutes later, a friend of the host arrived. After we left, I was told me that when the host introduced me to his friend, he winked at him with a nudge and said, ‘she’s American.’ I can’t tell you how much that upsets me. I wish I would’ve known then. Guest or no guest, I would’ve stood up for myself. I know stereotypes generally exist for a reason. There is usually a bit of basis in truth, but when you don’t fit that stereotype, all you want to do it prove it wrong.