Despair seeps in, slowly and surely, a little more each time. I don't like to fail, neither in tasks nor in relationships, but I feel like we've reached a dead end in our relationship, the country and me.
I thought about other times when relationships with people I loved had reached a dead end, both with girlfriends and partners. In every relationship there is a stage when we are afraid to despair, when they say we will never give up. Of course, this is an irrational statement, because people give up relationships when suffering becomes unbearable.
I used to have a romantic relationship where I felt very hurt, but I believed with all my heart that if I just thought a little more, gave up a little more, I would restrain myself, it would be okay. In other words, the duty of correction is on me and on me alone. That relationship was over, because no matter how much I gave up and was considerate, there was always something that caused a dynamic of tension. It was great love and there were many common interests and attraction, but as couples therapists say, love and attraction are a good start to a relationship, but it's really not enough.
Maybe my love and ours for the country, the contribution, the consideration, the ability to contain discomfort for the sake of connection, for example to give up my personal rights and let clerics decide about my personal freedom, maybe no matter how much we give up - we just don't fit in anymore?
As difficult as it is to end a relationship, it is much harder to separate from a country and emigrate. It's never simple. When a relationship ends, it is customary to comfort the single person and say that there are many fish in the sea. There are also quite a few countries, but our attachment to this country goes far beyond the convenience of language and livelihood, even beyond friends and family.
In the case of the State of Israel, I have, and I believe many others, emotional, moral and moral baggage – everyone knows someone who was killed in a war or in battle for this place, and the ethos of the Holocaust is also internalized in us. The knowledge that this country is a refuge from Jew-hatred in the world.
Where will we go?
As with romantic relationships that are in a bad situation, there is a period when you decide not to decide if this relationship is hopeless, or if it will return to being good, friendly and trusting.
Elijah the prophet asked the people of Israel, "How long do you skip the two clauses?" The rebuke stemmed from the fact that the people chose to worship both the God of Israel and the idols - and in the chapter in the Book of Kings from which I quoted it is argued that the lack of decision is worse than idolatry.
Am I doing exactly the same thing? Refusing to decide what I prefer, the suffering and pain of watching my beloved country fall apart and diminish my rights, or the suffering and pain of deciding to leave it?
The Israelites asked themselves whether they believed in the God of Israel or in a husband – and I ask myself, can I choose to live in the State of Israel with a government that restricts the rights of women and other minorities, while denying the actions it commits? Can I bear this suffering? And it was just like I had to decide whether the love statements and apologies of the man I loved were enough for me to contain the suffering caused by his other behaviors.
Why do I hesitate?
There is a reason why I skip both counts. First of all, it's scary to change. This fear whispers warning stories to me and raises scenarios even worse than the dismantling of the Authority for the Advancement of the Status of Women and the expansion of rabbinical rights.
When I encounter moving stories about the good people who live here, such as Regev Harush's, I am filled with hope and remind myself how good it can be here, just like what happened to me with this smart and charming guy who loved me very much during times of shared laughter or an exciting outing, who forgot for a moment the distress I suffered in this relationship, a distress that was growing.
Fear can convince me that there are no better alternatives, because uncertainty and fear of the unknown, fear of loneliness and detachment from the familiar – convince me not to decide.
Politicians know we're afraid, and they take advantage of it. Our government consciously encourages practices that generate doubt, fear and disinformation. For example, this week, when the protest against curtailing women's rights reached its peak, the most convenient and banal thing is to label the women leading the struggle as hysterics who make a lot of noise about nothing.
Like many other women, I got these ricochets. That is why I do not blame those who prefer not to express an opinion, who are afraid of attracting negative attention. The fear of retribution or loss of livelihood for many keeps the status quo alive – and makes it impossible to decide the balance of terror.
As hard as it is to admit and decide, if we set aside for a moment our emotional attachment to the country and analyze the current situation coldly, I think we all deserve much more than a government that gives us flashes of incoherent promises. A government that has a complete gap between the so-called reassuring talk of "softening" and the promises "we will only change the Judicial Appointments Commission" and its actual activities.
Just as I deserve romantic love that includes friendship and consideration and not just passion and laughter, so we all deserve a government that does not constantly boast about its power and that it was elected, but knows how to treat all its citizens with respect and equality.
How do you get out of it?
I have no idea how to get out of this loop. What I'm trying to do right now is the opposite of the one the government is producing: it's trying to separate religious from secular people and convince us that we're enemies, so this week I decided to get closer to women who aren't my natural friends. I turned to Shifi Haritan, an ultra-Orthodox journalist, and asked her to go live on Instagram every Friday and talk about this week's Torah portion. Not because she's a moral ultra-Orthodox woman and I'm a secular woman who comes with an empty cart, but because we're both women who believe that the author's rabbi separates us.
On Friday we did it for the first time and found out that it was. She told me about the meaning of a vow, and I shared with her my insights into self-commitments and how they both advance and hold us back sometimes. It was really pleasant for us and we will continue with this week as well, which gives me comfort and reminds me that there is still a common denominator between the different groups here.
If in the end I decide that Israel and I are no longer suitable, I owe myself, my girls, my family, the knowledge that I have done everything, but everything I can, to get closer. Without giving up my rights in a way that hurts me too much.
I don't know when I'll stop hesitating. In the meantime, I continue to pass, with total awareness, understanding that periods of confusion are also important in the process. I very much hope to stay here, very much. And I hope that the Israeli government appreciates me and the other women enough to understand that just because they came to govern doesn't mean they can crush those they govern just to satisfy the lust of their partners for power and power. Because in the end, out of a desire to govern, there will be no one left.
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