Braveheart

When I tell people here in Israel that I moved here from Canada, the second most frequent response I get is how brave it was of me to do so.

(The most frequent response, which I encounter with far greater frequency than the second most frequent response, is one of dumbfounded wonderment: whatever could have possessed me to leave a wonderful country like Canada to come here? I'm not sure whose surprise is greater: that of Israelis, that I willingly chose to move here, or my own surprise that Israelis should be so shocked that someone should find their country a desirable place to live.)

Whenever I am praised for this so-called bravery, I feel morally compelled to protest. My definition of bravery, I say, is when you are truly afraid of taking a certain course of action, but you perform it nevertheless. And this does not apply in the least to my act of moving to Israel.

For I was never, not even for a split-second, scared of moving here:

1. I had been a teacher for several years, and was looking for a career change, and so, was eager to begin a new chapter in my life.
2. I felt confident that Israel's extensive networking system would assist me in making the necessary connections to find gainful employment.
3. I was a single man, and so, I would not have the considerable pressure of supporting a family.
4. Finally, I had absolutely nothing to lose. Living in Israel had been a dream of mine for years. If things worked out, then I would be fulfilling my dream. If they did not, there would be absolutely nothing to prevent me from returning to my native country, and I would have the inner satisfaction of knowing that I had at least tried to live out my dream.

In contrast, take a person who has worked hard to build up a good business, is doing well, comfortable but not fabulously wealthy, supporting a family -- if such a person moves to Israel, he risks losing the lifestyle of security he has established in his country of origin: will he be able to re-create his business? will he find appropriate schooling for his children? and so on. Such a person is indeed a stouthearted man...

One day, about five years ago, the porch light of the house I was living in at the time burned out and I had to fix it. The ceiling of this porch was about 10 feet off the ground, so I had to use a small ladder to reach it.

Now I have had an intense fear of heights for as long as I can remember. See those men on the left? If you study the photo carefully, you will notice that I am conspicuously absent. Indeed, I get a greater sense of vertigo from merely looking at that photo than those men had from actually sitting on that ledge several hundred feet above the splat.

How vastly different are we from one another! Standing on the 3rd or 4th rung of that small ladder to change a light-bulb induced an infinitely more palpable sense of fear in me than lunching way up in the heavens did for these men. And yes, these men would absolutely not fit my definition of bravery. For the part of the brain which tells me to be petrified when looking down from a great height is quite obviously completely absent in theirs.

So if you wish to call me brave for moving to Israel, I will demur. But if you think me brave for changing a lightbulb on a 10-foot-high porch ceiling, I will graciously accept your compliment.