2020 was the year I became an Israeli citizen, but it took a war to make me ask: “Am I actually Israeli?”
As an oleh hadasha (new immigrant to Israel) from the UK who has worked in multiple companies, started a business, had a baby, and survived a war, I often ask myself: “Am I Israeli yet? What is it that actually makes someone Israeli? And when, if ever, will I feel like a genuine part of Israeli society?”
Like many British teenagers in my community, I spent my gap year at a seminary in Jerusalem before heading back to the UK for university. Not once did the idea of joining the army cross my mind.
Looking back, it almost feels like a missed opportunity, a way I could have integrated more deeply into Israeli society from the beginning. But I know there are many like me who, for their own reasons, didn’t enlist and instead arrived later in life, trying to find their place in a country built out of a beautiful, chaotic mash-up of stories, backgrounds, and identities.
The first time I really confronted the question of “Am I Israeli?” was after Oct. 7. My husband had been called up to miluim and was fighting in Gaza. I went 10 days without hearing from him, and the only sign of life I had was a brief daily update on the Units WhatsApp group saying everyone was okay.
One morning, after managing to get to the office between sirens, I sat with my Israeli colleagues. As I looked around, it suddenly struck me that I was the only person in the room whose partner was actively fighting in Gaza.
Everyone else went home to their partners every night, maybe experienced a siren or two, and watched the war unfold from their screens. And there I was, the English girl who speaks Hebrew with a bit of an accent and the occasional wrong word, somehow more entangled in this war than most of the Sabras sitting beside me. In that moment, I felt more Israeli than anyone else around me.
So what actually makes someone Israeli?
Is it the passport? The moment you realize you can skip the long line at passport control in Ben-Gurion?
Maybe it’s walking into a shop, confidently asking for something in Hebrew, and the person answering you back in Hebrew, without switching to English out of pity.
Maybe it’s when you find yourself walking to the bomb shelter instead of running.
Perhaps it’s starting a family here. I found out I was pregnant during the war. For the first five days, the only people in the world who knew I was pregnant were me and my dog Dubi, who is also, ironically, a product of the war, rescued from Gaza by my husband during his first round of miluim.
When I found out I was pregnant, my husband was up north on his second round of miluim, and I wanted to tell him the news in person. So for those five days, Dubi was my only confidant.
THEN CAME navigating pregnancy inside the Israeli healthcare system, trying to decode technical Hebrew, learning how to advocate for myself, learning when not to be “too English” and politely accept whatever I was told. Did that make me Israeli?
Or maybe it was starting a business. After working in various Israeli companies, both hi-tech and not, I decided during my maternity leave to open my own business designing and selling non-slip, pre-tied headbands.
I learned which fabric shops might rip you off, which suppliers give the best prices, the exact Hebrew words for every material and sewing technique, what to order from abroad, what to source locally, and how to survive Bituach Leumi and taxes.
In that process, something shifted. I realized I wasn’t just living here, I was contributing here. Twice, I organized and ran miluim pop-ups where I brought together businesses owned by military personnel and their wives. These pop-ups helped small businesses gain visibility and make sales. It remains one of my proudest achievements.
When I look back at the past five years, I barely recognize the person I was before. Yes, I’m more cynical (maybe that is part of being Israeli), but I’m also more hopeful, more myself, and more alive.
It doesn’t happen all at once
I still don’t know the exact moment someone “becomes” Israeli. What I do know is that it doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a collection of small moments, some painful, some proud, some completely ordinary, that eventually form a sense of belonging.
Some days I feel woven tightly into the fabric of this country. Other days, I feel like an outsider, acutely aware of my different background and upbringing.
But that’s okay. Maybe that’s part of the Israeli story, too.
As long as I’m here, living, growing, giving back in my own small way, I’m on that journey. And what is more Israeli than that?
The writer is the founder of brand Eleanor Von Weisl (www.eleanorvonweisl.com).