Teaching in a bomb shelter: Life, learning, and belonging in Israel - opinion

One can use many words to describe living in Israel, but “boring” is certainly not one of them. The news here comes so fast and furious that if you miss a day, you miss history. Who could have believed that the tyrannical regime of archenemy Syria would topple in a matter of days and that our Israeli soldiers would be securing the entirety of Mount Hermon on the Golan? That was a real shot in the arm for our nation, in great need of good news! It seems our enemies are dominoes, dropping before our very eyes. Our hostages are still being held, and our soldiers are still in danger, but there is a sense that we are experiencing monumental, transformational events.

As the nation grapples with colossal changes in the Middle East, I find myself teaching a generation of Israeli students who are integrally a part of this larger story. In my own classroom, though, life continues – albeit in unexpected ways. It’s just about mid-term for my first semester English class at Reichman University, which meets one day on campus and one day on Zoom. For my on-campus class, I was originally assigned a large lecture hall for 100 with a class of only 15. I recently requested a change of classroom so I could have a smaller and more intimate space, befitting a language class.

Lo and behold, upon arrival at my new classroom, I learned that the space also doubles as the building’s bomb shelter. One wouldn’t know that but for the sign that announces it outside the room as well as the special reinforced door reminiscent of a bank vault. I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony: Normally I seek the shelter; now the shelter has found me. I told my students that unlike the last time, when sirens interrupted our Zoom class for 20 minutes, if sirens occur now, we just go on kadima with our lesson!

Only in Israel

I can say with certainty that teaching in the bomb shelter is something I never had the opportunity to experience back in Houston. Nevertheless, what a pleasure to know that while my class was meeting below ground, our courageous soldiers were keeping guard on top of the Hermon. One student, a reserve soldier, shared that he was headed to the Golan Heights right after class. Looking at him, I realized that he wasn’t just a student learning English – he was also a soldier on the front lines of a rapidly changing Middle East. He said he might have to have his camera off during our next Zoom session because he would be on base. I responded he could do anything he wanted so long as he came back safely to report on the slopes on the other side of the Hermon. Students in the class chuckled about us taking a class ski trip in the coming weeks.

As I prepare to celebrate my first Hanukkah in Israel, I feel a sense of connection in my classroom that I couldn’t truly experience in Houston. It’s not just about the holiday itself, it’s also the community I will now share it with – students who offer me kosher treats and colleagues who understand the meaning behind the festival with our modern-day Maccabees in action. On the food front – which is not insignificant when one keeps kosher – in Houston, where I taught students from around the globe, I was frequently offered non-kosher goodies, which I would politely decline. This week, when my student passed around cookies to share, I was doubly happy, not just for the kosher treat itself but even more so for the pleasure to partake. I’m looking forward to indulging in my first sufganiyot (donuts) as an Israeli.

This week, my students had to prepare a 60-second video discussing a transformational leader of their choosing. What a delight to hear Israeli students talking about David Ben-Gurion and Yitzhak Rabin and Theodor Herzl (among others). Back in Houston, the same assignment would have educated me about Simon Bolivar, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, and Ho Chi Minh. There was nothing wrong with learning about these important historical figures, but it didn’t induce the smile of recognition and the feeling of belonging that I’m able to feel here.

It’s been three months since we made aliyah, and while the challenges of living here during wartime are many, there is also a deep sense of peace and happiness in knowing that moving here was the right choice. In the midst of uncertainty, I am finding my place in Israel – not just as a teacher, but as a participant in a nation on the brink of transformation. As the world changes around us, I am more certain than ever that this is where I am meant to be.

The writer is a recent new immigrant from Houston, Texas. Formerly a professor of English as a second language to international students at Houston Community College, she now teaches English to Israelis at Reichman University.