Orientalism in Israel

It was a sweltering day in the peak hours of sunlight, glimmering off of the waters of Caesarea on the Mediterranean coast of Israel. I had arrived for the first time a few days ago, without any expectations of discovering some arbitrary connection to God, but undoubtedly with more than a few fears and preconceptions concerning my own safety. It was Israel in 2018, after all.

I was admiring the beauty of the ocean, soaking in the history from the ruins, and all the while wondering what it must have been like for those before me who lived and breathed right where I was standing. I wasn't thinking about what I already knew about Israel, or Judaism, or my own family's history. I was simply existing. For a fleeting moment, the news opinions on Israel and Jews and the presidentially-endorsed antisemitism in my own country dissipated. But it truly was for just one simple moment, and then reality came crashing down.

We walked away from the water, the trance broken but our spirits still high. As the guide led us away from the shoreline, we came upon a group of children who appeared to be on a school trip. They looked like they were in elementary school, and in the moment I thought they were probably Jewish due to where we were. The kids looked at us, the American tourists, with faces that quickly turned from confused to amused. I did not understand their amusement to be anything other than childhood wonder and excitement, but I was about to find out how wrong I was. Feeling their gaze, I smiled and said "Shalom," the Hebrew word for "Hello." They smiled back at me, but their smiles held weight. Patronizingly, these young children collectively began saying "Hello" in the best, mock-American accents they could manage, giggling amongst themselves. The kids on my trip thought they were just messing with us, but I took it very, very differently. 

In that moment, I witnessed first-hand the effects of Orientalism like I'd never known it before. I felt the guilt of being a Westerner as I noticed how these young Middle-Eastern kids felt the responsibility to know English for any given tourist from the West, or at least they had been taught to be ready for us from youth. I felt like I was invading their space simply by being there, and I felt confused and hurt that as a Jew in the Jewish part of Israel that I was rejected for my Westernness, when all I had been told about my trip was that Israel was supposed to be my homeland. 

Since my trip, I've learned that Israel is home to many, and to those who live there, it's quite possible that not every part of their identity and history is completely welcome. I didn't quite feel Jewish enough, and I didn't quite want to feel completely Western, so I was stuck in a limbo that I can only imagine is being felt across the entire country, too. The controversy of Western Jews' "allegiance" to Israel finally made sense in my mind, having felt the pull of both sides in a simple 30 second interaction with some of the country's youngest, most innocent natives. Putting a name to the phenomenon after reading Edward Said's work on Orientalism brings clarity to the situation, but it only makes me realize just how pervasive it is. I'm left with a hunger for more knowledge on the subject so that one day, I may travel back to Israel with a political fluency and a personal pride in all parts of my identity, without preconceptions or prejudices.