My first trip to Israel was, I think, when I was about 12 years old. It was a simple family trip -- just me and my parents. We visited some old friends, went to some interesting sites. I honestly don't even have that clear of a memory of the trip.
When I came home, one of the elders in my community asked me what I thought. How was it? I knew instinctively that beneath his question was some kind of expectation. As a Jewish youth I was supposed to feel something particular, was supposed have found connection. I suppose he wanted me to say I couldn't wait to go back or that it felt like home.
I have a stubborn streak.
What I told him was that it was aesthetically displeasing.
He was utterly confused.
"It was dusty," I told him. "It was dirty. I don't like all that stone."
*****
I made almost the exact same complaint last Sunday. A friend and I spent the day sunning ourselves and splashing on a glorious Tel Aviv beach. On the train ride back to Jerusalem, we talked about whether I wanted to live here or not.
"It's dusty," I said. "Everywhere. The streets never look clean."
"Well," she said, "we are in a desert and it hasn't rained in months."
"I hate the acoustics in the stone houses."
"Well," she said, "if you want to invest, there are niche builders who can build with wood."
Those weren't the only complaints I made, but as soon as I made each one, they seemed entirely manageable.
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