From the grottoes of Rosh Hanikra to the reefs of Eilat, from the Tel Aviv beaches to the canyons of Judea, I have known the sands of Israel. I am no son of this nation and I do not intend to become one, but I’ve watched the sands of Israel fall onto my grandfather’s coffin—seen them shimmer auburn against the dun Florida dust—and I know, should I desire it, I have a place here.
Though this trip is far from over, my time in Israel is done. I set off to explore Judaism, a religion with which I have a complicated relationship. My father is a Jew, my mother a Christian, so were it not for my bar mitzvah, I would not be Jewish at all. And by a strict interpretation of halakhic law, my bar mitzvah is insufficient qualification for conversion, so I am not Jewish at all.
And religiously, no, I am not.
I refuse to believe the Earth is 6,000 years old, I accept the overwhelming evidence for evolution, and I loathe the petty place to which this religion relegates its women. I reject the veracity of the Bible, I reject the application of Stone Age morals to modern dilemmas, and I reject the rabbi-sanctioned violence of the militant faithful. But I do not reject Judaism.
I do not, because what I feel when I pray at the Kotel is real. I do not, because the tears that streamed down my face at Yad Vashem have left their tracks upon my cheeks. I do not, because for reasons I still don’t understand, I wish for a Third Temple to be built. There remains for me hope in prayer, peace in meditation, edification in study.
I have known the sands of Israel, and it is a beautiful country. Not a flawless country, not a country that unwaveringly follows the righteous path, but a beautiful country. And the only country, of all its neighbors, which I would call free—the only one where homophobia, pedophilia, female genital mutilation, and martyrdom are not commonplace.
I leave Israel, if a less religious man, a wiser one—a man more informed about the intricacies of politics and conflict in the Middle East, and a man who accepts his place in relation to the Divine, though he be neither atheist nor Jew. I leave footprints here, I leave friends, and I leave memories. I leave Israel glad that it exists, and glad that its sands still cling to the soles of my shoes.
I leave Israel, and some day, perhaps, I’ll come back.
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