Ode to My Caravan

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Note: In Israel, a “caravan” refers to a small trailer, without wheels, shaped like a tiny house.

I live in a caravan. I have old couches and carpets outside my door. I do not have any running hot water. I wash my clothes in a metal pot and hang them on a clothesline outside to dry. My next-door neighbor is a horse ranch.

Were I to live this way in America, I would most likely be dubbed “white trash”. But in Israel, I consider myself a pioneer. I live in one of the most beautiful places in Israel, the gorgeous Golan Heights. During the day, I see the sun glimmer off the scenic Sea of Galilee; at night, the lights twinkle from shoreside cities. When I look at the infinite amount of stars that blanket the sky, I think of the promise G-d made Abraham, “Look now towards the heavens and count the stars. If you can count them…so shall be your offspring (Genesis 15:5).” I watch the majestic Griffon vulture soar overhead with its nine-foot wingspan, the “nesher” described in the Torah (commonly mistranslated as an eagle). In a day’s work he may fly to Syria, Lebanon, and back, crossing hostile borders with ease. So call me a redneck, but no amount of money in the world could bribe me to leave this paradise.

Caravans like mine have long played a significant role in Israel’s history. Their predecessors were the massive tent cities built to house nearly one million Jewish refugees from Arab countries in the 1950’s. Then, when the call went out for Jewish pioneers to move back to Judea, Samaria, Gaza and the Golan, their first dwelling was the caravan. And when those courageous trailblazers were subsequently expelled from their beautiful stone homes in Gaza that they had built with sweat, blood and tears, the caravan was there to house them again. The caravan that I live in actually came from Sderot.

In the Golan I see myself living not in a trailer, but in a piece of Israel’s history. Here I watch the future of the Israeli Army developing. I see thirty-five young men push off their life plans for a year, despite the fact that they have three years of army service awaiting them, to refine themselves into the best soldiers humanly possible. And beyond. I listen to the heartwrenching song written during the last Lebanon War by a boy who was shelled in Safed. I feel the pain that one of the young rabbis bears, after losing eight of his officers in the war. I listen to the ancient texts of the Torah being analyzed in the light of modern warfare, by rabbis who are not only brilliant scholars but war heroes as well. Here I see the future of the Jewish people, and never have I been so proud to be part of something so much greater than myself.

Elisha is currently attending a Mechina, a pre-army preparation program, until his draft in March.

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