It began as a lark, a few years after the Six-Day War, when Israel had suddenly become a hot tourist destination even for secular types with weak Jewish identities like me. I had tacked it on to a trip preceding my taking up a position at the American School of Madrid. I was very proud of myself for having gotten a master’s degree in ESL so soon out of college and landing such a plum job (I thought). The fact that Spain was a Catholic, fascist country didn’t seem relevant to a twentysomething.
By happenstance, while there I was offered a summer teaching job at the University of Tel Aviv. Fine, I thought. I’ll fly to Spain directly from Israel. But at the end of the session, the chairman asked me what plans I had next.
“Oh,” I replied blithely, “I have a job in Madrid.” “Oy. A Jewish girl in Madrid?!” He was livid. “Tell me, how can I keep you in Israel?”
“Well, maybe if I could teach at the Hebrew University,” I said, considering it the Israeli Harvard.
“I’ll make a call.”
The next day I was summoned for an interview with the chairman of the English language program at the Hebrew University (who remains a close friend). Thus began my love affair with Jerusalem. I stayed for two sublime years and have returned many times since. It got into my blood, as they say. Zionism and Judaism became the center of meaning in my life. I never did get to Madrid.
All due to one phone call.