I’ve been in Israel for just under a week. And while the world has sat around condemning this country wanting to lynch her for the recent Gaza debacle I’ve been experiencing life as just another Israeli.

Yes, I’m now a citizen of this land of falafels and shrapnel. I’m now Israeli. Well, legally at least. But it feels more like a mantra. Like something I need to say over and over again and then repeat one more time just for good measure. Something I need to convince myself of.

“Nicole you are Israeli”

But like anything you need to practice or convince yourself of , I feel like a cheap imitation as a walk the streets of Israel. I never know when I’m being ripped off. Is 14 Shekels reasonable for some carrot juice? I don’t know. Is it normal for bus drivers to ignore you when you ask them in perfectly polite English if the bus is going to East Talpiot, where I now stay? Again, I don’t know.

The past few days have been a blur of I-don’t-knows. And boy, have they whizzed passed in flurry of Hebrew confusion. See I’ve opened a bank account. I’ve decided with no real research or understanding on what health insurance best suits me, a skill that you should really be taught at school. Such seemingly menial tasks but they feel more like feats. See when everything is in Hebrew it’s not as simple as signing on the dotted line. Of course you sign. Well I did and in a very uncharacteristically Israeli way, without any fuss. And all that most newcomers can do in such situations is sign and hope for the best.

I’m starting to think that that is how much of the Israeli population gets through the day to day stresses of life here. By taking that leap of faith and believing in the power of either God or the army. How else do you explain it?

I spent Saturday with a friend, visiting a family who live in Beit Shemesh, 46km from Gaza. I took a walk through the streets of this city. It was shabbos, the Jewish Sabbath, which means that for those who choose to observe, life gets put on hold. There’s no driving, using cell-phones or watching TV. Anything that creates or is considered work is a taboo on shabbos.

I don’t observe but I took a walk. Found a bench and watched life. There were children, laughing, having fun, and playing. I saw two women, the one heavily pregnant, modestly talking among themselves. But such normal, peaceful life and all I could think about was what was happening 46km away and how oblivious these people were. Sitting on this bench all that I’d read in the news over the past few weeks seemed to just disappear and disintegrate.

At least until twirls of white appeared in the perfectly blue sky. And no, these weren’t clouds. They were from aircrafts. Israeli aircrafts flying over the area I guess. I was standing in the garden with the children of the family we went to visit. And they noticed these white, figure of 8 twirls.

“What are they,” the one child asked

And the other replied: “It’s best not to know”

And for that explains how the average Israeli is dealing with this war in Gaza. Even those who have children fighting on the frontline. It seems the best mechanism of defence these people have is not to know. On the flight to Israel I sat next to a woman who has two sons fighting – I think the one is in Gaza. And maybe it’s just a front but she seemed resigned even nonchalant. The war, the army, the guns, the deaths. They are part of what it means to be Israeli. They’re normal. And I’m not too sure I’m ready to accept them.

Perhaps that lesson was a long overdue nudge in the right direction; to ensure the ancient, unspoken rules that govern social interaction remain untarnished. Heaven forbid Jews and Muslims ever cross paths and the idea that they could actually be friends, well that was improbable.

But there you have it. She was my best friend. She, the Muslim. Me, the Jew. And it worked, for a while. The two of us exploring childhood together. The two of us swopping stickers and playing dress up with our Barbie dolls. Once or twice we even took out the scissors and trimmed our Barbie’s hair. And sometimes at the end of it all our Barbies looked more like transvestites trying to grow out their Mohawks. But we had fun and I learnt to be quite creative with synthetic, blond hair.

And of course no childhood friendship would be complete without the magic of Disney, tartrazine and lots of sugar. And these were the things we never ran short of. And laughter. There was plenty of that too.

But we grew up and the laughter ran out. It was in primary school. Grade 4. There was a group of us and I was the only starry-eyed one. The only Jew. And boy they made that pretty clear. Not only was I starry-eyed but I was not welcome.

“Nicole, you can’t sit here anymore. You’re a Jew”.

And now, 13 years later I’ve decided to make Aliyah (to immigrate to the holy land). I’ve filled out the forms. And have started gathering the documents needed to prove I’m Jewish. Yes, you actually need to prove it. It’s not enough that ever since I can remember I’ve had strangers approach me as though they were doing some sort of census. So are you Greek? No, Italian? You must be Portuguese, they’d say to me feeling triumphant as though they’d solved some unfathomable mystery. As though finding out where I could be placed in the pecking order of life would make them feel fulfilled. Why else would they do it?

Poor me, huh? I got such a rough deal. And this is the part where I give you my bank account details so you can contribute to the fund I’ve set up. The I-am-Jewish-so-you-should-feel-sorry-for-me-fund. Ok, not really. But it’s also not the part where I tell you that me making Aliyah has to do with some innate Zionistic desire. To be honest, a part of me is disgusted by the state of Israel. But who am I to talk , I’m not Israeli. So it certainly isn’t Zionism that is driving me.

I can’t explain it, I think being singled out and told you can’t do something because you’re a Jew may have something to do with it. See now more than ever I am curious about what it means to be a Jew. And a part of me hopes that Israel will have some of those answers.

So for those of you that I’ve told about making Aliyah. And those of you that have given me the “Why Israel” response try and understand. It sounds crazy. But for the first time in my life I feel that this is something that I need to do not because someone is telling me to but because if I don’t my life will be empty and meaningless ; the worst type of life to lead.

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