To Zion, again

Tomorrow I return to my adopted home, Israel, and my favorite city, Tel Aviv, for the first time since the restructuring of my family. I'll travel with my new partner, Diane, and make all the requisite introductions. She will meet my friends, see my country, eat in my favorite restaurants and walk my favorite streets. I am full of excitement and trepidation.
The first time I traveled to Israel was 1967, right after the Six Day War. I might as well have been my parents' baggage because I was two at the time and have no recollection of the trip. I returned when I was ten, the summer after my parents divorce. I didn't like Israel because it meant being away from my father, but I do remember having a lot of fun. That summer, we lived with my mom's first boyfriend, Danny, and his wife and two kids, in a 2 bedroom apartment in Givataim. We spent our days at the beach and the nights eating falafel and hanging out with friends. Israel was still a product of its socialist roots, and it seemed like everyone had just about the same amount of stuff. There was only one TV channel and everyone listened to The Voice of Peace. This was the Israel that I fell in love with, despite the absence of my dad.
Five years later, after being influenced by my Labor Zionist youth movement, Habonim, I decided to try a year of high school in the Kfar Hayarok, an Israeli agricultural boarding school on the northern border of Tel Aviv. My fate was sealed.

After what became three years of high school, delivering hundreds of baby calves, falling in love for the first time, traveling all over the country and being adopted by all my classmates families, I decided to become Israeli. This wasn't an ideological move. I couldn't imagine myself living anywhere else. I didn't think about the ugly war the country was fighting in Lebanon or the occupation of our Palestinian neighbors in the West Bank and Gaza. I thought about milking cows and being close to friends.
OK maybe it was ideological. I carried a copy of the Israeli Declaration of Independence in my wallet, dreamed of being a hero like Trumpeldor, and building a new kibbutz that would double as an artist colony.

After the army, I went to school at UCLA. The Intifada helped me feel good about the fact that I wasn't in Israel. I studied art and film and gave up my dreams of living on a kibbutz with my girlfriend Estee. However, A few girlfriends later, I was back on my way to Tel Aviv for another stint in the land I call home. This time with Irit, I was a television editor and multimedia producer. I made new friends and strengthened old friendships. We started our family and I felt at home, at least until my dying grandfather asked me to come back to America and help him with his business.

Thirteen years later, I returned again, the father of three and a doctor of education. I studied to become a rabbi, but my school closed unexpectedly and I left after two years, this time with a family and lots of responsibilities. I didn't want to leave, but my kids were not thrilled with my chosen homeland and making ends meet was a challenge. Israel had changed. By 2011, we had exceeded 40 years of occupation, both blurred the green line and built a wall on or close to it, and the country had become ultra capitalist. As much as I hated to go, it was the right thing to do. Little did I know that within a year of my return to America, my marriage would start to crumble and the earth below me would start to shake. Everything came apart and I hit bottom. Then I met my traveling companion and life partner, and now here I go again, back across lakes and seas and oceans to my tiny little country with my wonderful group of friends and my huge bundle of memories. Excited and nervous, I can't wait to get back home.