Visiting My Homeland

I'm walking on the Carmel, Haifa. Israel. It's good to be back here, the land of my ancestors, the land where my parents spent their childhoods.

I used to come here as a kid during the summers, sort of like the way those Taiwanese ABCs come back to Taiwan every summer (and my Hebrew is like their Mandarin). I went to the beach with my cousins, ate a lot of good middle eastern food, slept in my grandmother's house, not too far from the famous Bahai temple.

Walking along the streets I once walked as a teenager brings back a lot of memories. Who would have guessed that I would be living in China?

Drinking tea with family I haven't seen in twenty years, I tell them that in China, I have magically "become" Israeli. This is because I used to tell the cab drivers of China that I'm American, but they all would take so long to respond, trying to figure out a polite way to cover up their dislike of the States. I saw right through their hesitation, and so decided to tell them I'm Israeli and now they are always so friendly, complimenting me and my homeland.

I get on an elevator at the hotel where I am staying and say hello to a middle-aged Israeli man. He looks like he likes sports and the outdoors. He suddenly says to me, "You look Israeli, but then when you said hi, I realized that you aren't."

"Thanks for the compliment," I tell him, after explaining to him that my parents are from Israel.

Talking to my Israeli family, it saddens me to realize how difficult the situation is for them here. They just want to live in peace in their land. Others don't see it that way. And of course, there are fanatics to blame on both sides.

As I walk around Haifa, especially because I live in China now, a waiguoren (foreigner), I look at these people and I realize that I am home.