My Anticlimactic Arrival

I wanted for a while to sit down and write out the story of my arrival in Israel as an oleh chadash because I think it comically embodies the philosophy and motivations behind my aliyah as opposed to the standard narrative.


The standard narrative would have been taking one of those Nefesh B’Nefesh charter flights, which I chose not to do. The pshat of the matter is that the flight was two weeks before my ulpan program started and they weren’t allowing me to move into the absorption center early. I didn’t have anyone close enough that I would feel comfortable asking them to crash on their couch for two weeks and I was not interested in living out of a hostel with my entire life packed into three enormous suitcases.

But the deeper reason that I didn’t want to participate on the charter flight is because I’m not really so into the whole flag-waving, ground-kissing, soldier-hugging, two-thousand-years-yearning, “this was the most important decision of your life” crying-while-singing-hatikvah thing. No disrespect for it – I mean it sounds like it was an amazing experience for those that subscribe to it (and full disclosure: I have choked up once during hatikvah), I just couldn’t see myself running down the steps of the airplane with an Israeli flag/cape waving behind me to get a bracha from the Sharansky rebbe.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Israel. I made aliyah for gosh darn sake, and not just for the benefits (although the free flight, money, and grad school don’t hurt), I’m just not a very openly patriotic guy. I’ll put it this way – I don’t own anything with a Wisconsin emblem on it, I never went to a Badgers game, and my high school American history class was supplemented with a sprinkling of Howard Zinn. But I still love my alma mater and the country I grew up in.

I made aliyah because I love what Israel is and I love the potential that it has, but I try not to have any outdated romanticized ideas about it. I didn’t come here to live on a kibbutz, pick oranges, and dance around an olive grove while singing Hafinjan. I came to participate in modern Israeli society – to eat at kosher vegan restaurants, to fight for minority rights, to celebrate Hanukkah at my Capoeira class, to go crazy in Goa after my army service (okay that last one is tentative considering I’m only doing six months and not combat). All in all – I’m not a post-Zionist but I’m definitely not a traditional Zionist. Which is why I feel that my anticlimactic arrival in Ben Gurion airport is much more representative of modern day Israel that the ra-ra-ra arrival of almost everyone else.


I didn’t know anyone on my flight. I was supposed to fly with Tammy a day earlier but my connecting flight was cancelled and there is only one United flight a day from JFK. And because I was rebooked, I didn’t get the revered window seat so I didn’t get a nice view of Tel Aviv.
When the plane landed, I walked through the normal flight gate to get to the terminal since in modern day airports people don’t get let off onto the tarmac. But oh did I strut through that plastic tunnel. No one else knew but me but I was about to be crowned an Israeli citizen, with a temporary Israeli passport as my scepter and 800 shekels in cash as my royal treasury.
When I arrived at customs, I stood there for a bit, a little confused. I couldn’t go in the foreign passport aisle because I was expecting to get an Israeli passport, but I couldn’t go into the Israeli passport aisle because I hadn’t received it yet. I was expecting that at least somebody would be there to greet me, shake my hand, congratulate me, and help me through the process, but I looked around and no one was there (probably related to missing my original flight). I finally found a dusty old phone on a wall near the bathrooms with a sign above it that read “Direct to Misrad Hapnim” and a woman with a thick Russian accent picked up.

“Chello?”

“Um… My name is Eric… I just made aliyah?”

“What you do?”

“Oleh Chadash?”

“OK I come down.”

I waited a couple minutes and then a big fat barely Jewish looking lady waddled over to me from the elevator down the hall. She was wearing a blue uniform and nametag and an expression of irritability and ennui.

“You make aliyah?”

“Yes that’s me.”

“You come with me.”

We walked back over to the elevator that she came from and she hit the button for two floors up. I remember that elevator ride taking forever as I awkwardly stood there listening to this chubby bureaucrat’s heavy breathing. When we finally reached the office she gave me no more instructions other than to sit down in the waiting room as she disappeared into her tiny office to push more papers.

I sat in an uncomfortable couch facing a coffee table with no “Welcome to Israel” pamphlets or “Aerial Views of Israel” coffee table books on it. Beside me was a similar couch with another Russian woman sitting in it watching Russian television on the flatscreen across from me. I don’t think she was actually in that office for any other reason than to watch her teledramas about Svatya Shtolkyasmolenskysomething’s turbulent ballet career and immanent drug problem, because I didn’t see her move from that spot the whole time I was there, and I was there for a long time. And then there were some fake plastic houseplants and a little Nescafe station in the corner.

After waiting about an hour and watching a cute old Venezuelan couple get greeted by their orthodox daughter and her husband, a portly Sephardi man came out of door number two and sat me down at his desk. We worked through some paperwork and finally there were some moments where I got the Herzl butterflies in my belly. I got to choose the Hebrew spelling of my name, he took my pictures and handed me my official aliyah documentation, and I was escorted to get my free ride to Jerusalem which I shared with other members from my ulpan.


I can’t say it was a bad experience because while there were moments of boredom and confusion, I was ultimately amused by the whole situation. Dealing with Israeli bureaucracy has become somewhat of a staple of my aliyah experience, and furthermore, I got what I asked for by choosing not to take the charter flight. It didn’t have all the hype and excitement that it could have had, but at least I can say that it was genuine.