J-Term Journal: On Common Ground

It is our 10th and final day in Israel and we are on the bus again, ready to be shown another historical site, like the Dead Sea or Western Wall. But today we are seeing a different kind of site. Led by our tour guide, Shahar, and the seven Israeli soldiers who have been traveling with us, we are on our way to Har Herzl, Israel’s military cemetery in Jerusalem. Walking through the cemetery, I can understand only two things from the Hebrew that was written on the tombstones: the date each soldier died and their age at death. Most of them were close to my age. I had known that every 18-year-old in Israel must serve in the army, but it isn’t until now that I realize how many have died.

Later, as our soldiers tell us stories about their buried counterparts, I think about how lucky we are to have befriended them. A few nights earlier, at dinner in a Bedouin tent, one of the Israelis, Yaara, teaches a group of friends and me how to say “yes” in Hebrew. She demonstrates how to say “yes,” which sounds like “can,” by saying “I can.” Without thinking I blurt a line from “Friends,” in which Phoebe sings, “Ross can ....” I stop, awkward and embarrassed, assuming that no one knows what I am talking about. Without missing a beat, Yaara finishes the line—“Get me the tickets!”—and we both burst out laughing, realizing that we share a love of the popular telecision show.

I then remember clearing customs just 10 days earlier with the other 40 Birthright participants, bleary-eyed and jet lagged, and being greeted by the soldiers—imposing in their uniforms and seemingly unlike those who normally meet me at the airport. I had naively assumed that all we had in common was our age. However, after spending hours on the bus, sleeping in tents and hotels, going clubbing with them, and just talking, I realize that we are really all essentially the same.

Back at the cemetery, Shahar reads a poem about the experiences these dead soldiers would never have and the books they would never finish, and I start to cry for the dead soldiers and for those who killed them. But mainly, I cry because we return to America that night and will leave these seven soldiers behind.