On two evenings in late May, the streets of Jerusalem were once again the scene of violent riots.
I remember the Shitrit family. Very devout new immigrants from Morocco, they lived in the building next to mine in Sanhedria Murchevet, the dusty Northern Jerusalem neighborhood designated for religious olim, or immigrants, by the Jewish Agency in the 1970s.
After 50-something years, and to the astonishment of our children and grandchildren, at the end of June my husband and I packed up our things and left Jerusalem, moving halfway across the country to settle in Zichron Yaakov, a quaint, hilltop village overlooking the sea.
When my daughter Bracha decided to sell her apartment in Modi’in, a small city between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, and move to a spacious corner house in Elkana, one of the first settlements over the so-called Green Line, no ideology or nefarious government scheme played any part in her decision.
This July, thousands of Ethiopian Jews participated in sit-ins, blocking main roads all over Israel with burning tires. More than 100 police officers were injured and more than 136 demonstrators arrested.
For Israelis, bringing teenage sons and daughters barely out of high school to the army induction center to begin their compulsory military service is one of the most fraught and difficult realities of life. Underlying the cheerful, almost celebratory sendoff is the terrifying possibility of one day being forced to join the crowds at Mt. Herzl Military Cemetery, part of the growing “family” who have paid the ultimate price for living in the world’s only Jewish country.