50 Years Later, a Bet on Israel Pays Off

This week marks a personal milestone: the 50th anniversary of my arrival in Israel. I was a junior year abroad student from the University of Michigan, in search of college credits and a look at Jews in their natural habitat. It didn’t occur to me that I would wind up going native.

It was not love at first sight. Israel lacked things that a boy from Pontiac, Michigan, regarded as essential elements of civilization. There was no Coke, for example. TV was banned on the grounds that it would keep the workers up too late. Rock 'n' roll was regarded as a vulgar corrupter of youth. Air conditioning, since it was unaffordable, was pronounced unhealthy. People told me things I already knew (“Here we have a saying that the grass is more greener in the yard of your friend”) or assuming my knowledge of things I didn’t (stores were closed on Saturdays). Everyone asked if I was planning to stay. When I said no, I got a lecture on my Zionist obligations; if I said yes, they told me I must be crazy.