There is a certain type of person who, upon moving to a new country, throws herself into learning its geography, its neighborhoods, its hidden corners. She buses somewhere new every weekend. She has a favorite hummus place in four different cities.
I am not that girl.
And it’s not because I don’t like to travel. If anything, the opposite is true. I may have traveled to more European countries in the past year than I have to Israeli cities.
I live less than two hours away from Mitzpe Ramon, Yam Hamelach, and a range of perfectly pleasant, long-weekendable Israeli spots. My issue with them is that Israel, and all its “hidden gems,” often feel small, claustrophobic, and worse, interchangeable.
Part of the problem is New York. Growing up there warps your sense of scale irreparably. Fifteen minutes on the subway and you’ve passed through four income brackets, overheard six languages, and passed countless adorable cafes, each with its own distinct aesthetic combination you won’t find anywhere else. The city is relentlessly sprawling and diverse, and you absorb without trying the idea that a place should feel inexhaustible.
Israel, through that lens, can feel stifling. You go to the mall in Herzliya and it has the same Castro, Renuar, and Golda as the mall in Haifa and Eilat. Every city’s streets hearken to the same roster of Zionist luminaries: Ben Gurion, Keren Kayemet LeYisrael, Herzl. The geography feels repetitive.
This week (through no virtue of my own), I was forced to see a bit more of Israel than usual. I have to admit it was instructive.
My aliyah paperwork dispatched me to Ashdod for fingerprinting (long story). I had never been. Ashdod has a very specific energy: unsentimental, Russian, sabra, and practical, with just a bit of beach. I found the whole thing unexpectedly fun.
(Maybe not so unexpected. I keep a running list of every bus line I’ve taken and feel genuine, slightly unhinged joy when I add a new one. In seminary, a friend and I once spent an afternoon getting off at random stops and boarding whatever bus came next. It was enlightening. Also, in retrospect, not our safest decision?) That instinct, to wander, to see, is something I don’t use enough here.
Later in the week, my husband and I went to Zichron Yaakov, which is essentially Israel’s attempt at being European, and a (fairly) successful one too. Clean streets, cute homes, curated charm. We checked into a boutique hotel with a full Israeli breakfast, a jacuzzi, and a beautiful view. It may really have been Greece if not for the (very polite) fourteen-year-old at the front desk and the many bugs in the hot tub (this is still Israel after all). Overall a very pleasant experience.
Then, we spent Shabbat in a little place called Kfar Tavor. My aunt lives there, and I’m pretty sure it’s because the town faintly resembles an American suburb: nice houses, lots of space, actual grass. But then you go to shul and the illusion breaks, because the overall vibe is somewhere between Edut Hamizrach and Polish shteeble, and the trending ladies high fashion resembles Little House on the Prairie meets Tzfat hippie.
Three places. Three totally different sides of this country. And it occurs to me that I do not explore Israel the way I should.
Anyone who knows me knows I travel. I am, at this moment, cautiously optimistic about getting to America this summer and have already, somewhat inevitably, identified a long-weekend stopover in Rome on the way (assuming Iran/ Hezbollah doesn’t interrupt my takeoff plans, please). I have strong opinions about my favorite airports, the best credit cards for airline points, and optimal layover lengths. And yet I live in Israel, a country I often complain is too small and too uniform.
But I have not seen most of it. I do not make much (any) effort to travel to places that are an hour and fifteen minutes away from my house, cheaper than any flight, and reliably kosher.
My world, if I’m being honest, is fairly small: Jerusalem, occasionally Tel Aviv, maybe Herzliya when I need a beach and can justify the commute. That’s largely it. I mostly stay in my bubble. That’s my fault.
This week reminded me that the diversity I complain is missing from this country is often just diversity I haven’t gone to find. There is real variety here. The communities are genuinely different, the landscapes shift, the people do not all look and sound and vote and dress the same way. I simply haven’t been paying attention to detail.
So I’m making a resolution, (for whatever that’s worth coming from someone who already booked the Rome stopover). The next time my impulse is to say “let’s go to Croatia,” I will at least briefly consider saying “let’s go to Mitzpe Ramon.”
This country is smaller than New York. That is true and unchangeable. But it may be less repetitive than I’ve given it credit for. I would have known that sooner had I been looking.
Gabriella Jacobs moved from New York to Israel in 2023. She is a multimedia journalist at The Times of Israel, a BA student at Tel Aviv University, double-majoring in Middle Eastern Studies and Philosophy, and also works as a teaching assistant for the Tikvah Fund’s gap-year program. She lives in Jerusalem with her husband.