Jay McCarl

Today I’m in Israel watching history unfold. I’ve been following the situation since it began two years ago and, though it has a long way to go, today we rejoice. In the face of the heinous, twisted propaganda that cursed Israel for existing, for being Jewish, for hating the fact that it’s the only functional democracy in the Middle east—Israel still stands. God’s people, God’s Land, God said so. I believe it and I stand with them today—on their Land today. 

I’m an American—and until last Thursday—I’d never felt more grieved for my homeland that now reeks of a decaying Judeo-Christian foundation—a nation maligned by will-to-power mongers who envision a new French Revolution unseating historic American virtues. 

Last Thursday afternoon, as news of the U.S.-brokered deal to release the last of the hostages electrified every conversation in Israel, I was in Jerusalem riding a bus. It was packed, so I stood in the aisle next to a seated girl of perhaps nine years. Didn’t think anything of it. There was a tap on my right shoulder, and an orthodox Jewish man—the girl’s father—told her daughter to move and give her seat to me. I told him that I was perfectly happy standing, but he escorted his daughter from the seat and insisted I sit. I felt guilty taking away a seat from a little girl—but the orthodox dad smiled with delight and insisted I sit. So I sat, perplexed and embarrassed, until I arose to get off at my stop. I turned to the orthodox dad, smiled and politely thanked him in Hebrew. He answered me in perfect English with shining eyes and another delighted smile, ‘You’re welcome!’ I got off the bus, puzzled. What just happened? 

And it occurred to me—the dad’s act wasn’t mere hospitality or a good deed—I was an American. 

As an American I came to Israel during a war—when Americans weren’t coming anymore. 

As an American I came to Israel at a time when America was polarized about Israel’s existential battle—and in the face of radical opposition. 

As an American I came despite heinous media propaganda, antisemitism and the jingoisms of the academically incontinent.

As an American in Israel, I became part of the solution, part of the peace, a visitor from those who desire peace for God’s people, God’s Land—and even for those who disagree.

I am an American—and thinking back over my life, I never felt more proud to be an American than when that orthodox Jewish dad insisted I take his daughter’s seat on a Jerusalem transit bus—and so kindly thanked me. Because I was an American in Israel.

I am an American. Thank you, Israel, for reminding me.

Am Yisrael Chai.

—j