President Donald Trump’s recent acknowledgement of Israeli sovereignty in the Golan Heights thrust this otherwise sleepy part of the country into the international limelight. Next week, a handful of officials and local residents will celebrate the American recognition by laying the cornerstone of a new Golan town, which will be named after POTUS 45. Many have praised Trump’s decision, believing that it will secure Israel’s hold on this strategic 700-square-mile stretch of land, which buffers the country from Syria, provides a third of Israel’s water supply, and offers some of the most pristine nature sites in the region.
To be honest, I haven’t noticed anything different here since the big news.
Despite protests by the local Druze population (many of whom remain loyal to Syria, despite enjoying civil rights and benefits from Israel), the announcement has made hardly a ripple in the placid day-to-day life of the Golan’s 50,000 residents. But it has piqued the curiosity of the world. Why does the Golan matter? Aside from cows, who lives up there, anyway?
Well, I do. And every day, I thank G-d – and the brave men and women who fought for and built up this part of Israel – that I found my purpose and paradise here.
When I landed in Israel more than two decades ago, a 20-something ba’alat teshuva environmentalist from the South, my vague romantic plan went something like this: Wander the beautiful landscape of my ancestors, mark the seasons in harmony with the Jewish calendar, and put my roots down in a quiet farming community somewhere.
Practical necessity – work, studies, social life – sidelined this plan and kept me based in Yerushalayim for many years. There I met my husband, a displaced New Yorker who was less bothered than I by the concrete and chaos of the city. We rented a 400-square-foot apartment in Nachlaot, and I made do tending a tiny garden, working on various “urban nature” projects, and hiking the outlying Jerusalem hills.
When our oldest child began to crawl, I couldn’t even put him down at the park for fear of broken glass, diseased cats, and a host of other toxic dangers. I was officially done with city living. The Golan was already calling.
First we moved to a small moshav about an hour away from Yerushalayim, where we rented a veritable palace with fruit trees and turtles in the yard. We kept our jobs in the city, just in case. But land was expensive, and though our neighbors were nice enough, it was not the down-to-earth intentional community we were seeking.
We would visit our Golan friends, always toying with the possibility of following in their footsteps. This idea was usually abandoned somewhere near the Sea of Galilee. How could we do it? What about our careers? Our friends? Wouldn’t we feel far away from all the action?
Eventually we realized that we had nothing to lose by trying. What action? We didn’t have the time or spare cash to do much anyway. Careers? The internet gave us a measure of flexibility. Friends? We would make new ones. Our kids were young, and the one good thing about being without immediate family in Israel is that you can choose to live wherever you want without feeling like you are offending or abandoning anyone.
In 2010, we took the plunge and moved to Moshav Yonatan, a semi-agricultural, dati-leumi (national-religious) community in the central Golan Heights. Yonatan was established just after the Yom Kippur War as a cooperative agricultural moshav, and is home to around 120 families. Although it became a privatized yeshuv kehilati (community settlement) 15 years ago, a strong shitufi (cooperative) spirit persists, with communal decision-making processes and moshav-wide celebrations.
Yonatan was one of only a few choices, as we were looking for a religious community. Roughly half of the Golan’s 50,000 residents are Jewish (the rest are Druze of Syrian origin), but only eight of the communities are Torah-observant. There is also one mixed secular-religious community.
Like most of the religious Golan communities, Yonatan has all the basics: daily minyanim, talmud Torah and parsha classes for kids, adult classes ranging from Daf Yomi to chasidut, and an active Bnei Akiva youth group. For the more progressive-minded, there are Golan-wide religious-secular study groups that address contemporary issues in Jewish life.
Yonatan is also a community built on chesed, with gamachim (for clothing, events, and more) and social services that address the needs of the entire region. A sense of mutual responsibility is conveyed to Golan kids from a very young age. This includes even our neighbors in Syria. At the height of their ongoing civil war, for example, Golan residents couldn’t ignore the sounds of fighting and cries for help, so we came together to collect toys, clothing, and supplies for the refugees gathering at the border.
And that crawling baby I was afraid to set down in the park? He now spends days at a time exploring the canyons, hilltops, and ruins of ancient Jewish settlements as part of his studies at the residential yeshiva high school down the road. His younger brother goes to the middle school that feeds into the yeshiva. For the two youngest boys, we opted for a different approach; they attend the local, co-ed anthroposophical school (kind of a Jewish Waldorf). Other choices for religious families in the Golan include a mixed religious-secular elementary school, separate Torani schools for boys and girls, and a girls’ ulpana (religious high school).
When they are not busy getting an excellent formal education, Golan kids have a range of informal educational opportunities from which to choose: competitive sports, dance, music, martial arts, hiking, orienteering, and more. In our moshav, there is a strong informal education program that includes everything from holiday-related workshops for younger kids to roundtable discussions about ethical dilemmas for the youth. And when they are not doing any of these things, they simply head out the door to the migrash (soccer field) or to the local ma’ayan (freshwater spring).
But it’s not all about the kids!
That romantic environmentalist who made aliyah looking for a quiet piece of the Holy Land? I finally found what I was looking for. While I’m not actually farming myself – a decent vegetable garden notwithstanding – I count myself lucky to live in a community of farmers, shepherds, vintners, and ranchers. In our local convenience store, for example, it is not uncommon for one of the growers to carry in a crate of whatever is in season, say the blessing for terumah and ma’aser, tell the cashier how much to charge (dirt cheap), and return to work in the orchards. When it is time to pray for rain or dew in their respective seasons, I pray alongside men and women who literally depend on the rain for their livelihood. And when the harvest is bountiful, everyone in the Golan – all ages, all denominations – gets together to celebrate with music, locally-grown food, and freely-flowing wine.
Immediate access to nature is also a key feature of living in the Golan, and central to the well-being of many Golan residents. Open spaces, big sky, and quiet. Water and more water – springs and rivers and the Sea of Galilee. On my morning walk, I encounter hawks, foxes, wild boar, porcupines, and once, further north, a wolf. Even though the Golan is growing fast, with population expected to double in the next 10 years, there is plenty of space to go around.
This might be why people are more relaxed up here. There is less jostling, more genuine contact – less rushing around, more action in the present moment. Like most rural environments, people are friendly and resourceful. You don’t move up to the middle of nowhere without a reason, and everyone respects that.
Despite the pastoral scenery and slow pace, life in the Golan is not one big vacation. One of the primary concerns when considering a move to the Golan is the very real challenge of gainful employment. Farming is hard work, and not for everyone. High-tech and Marcom (marketing and communication) hubs are at least an hour drive away, as are some of the most interesting and lucrative positions in the non-profit or educational sectors. Yet despite the limited options, the 100-plus families in my community seem to have found a way to make a living.
The most common professions are education and social work. On my street alone, other careers include: chiropractor, winemaker, software developer, chef, police officer, nurse, cattle rancher, videographer, lawyer, pet store owner, and psychologist. Many people learn how to think out of the box, trying new career paths or initiating creative projects. Some work from home, some drive weekly to places as far away as Tel Aviv (2.5 hours). Everyone does what it takes to manifest the dream.
And no doubt about it, the Golan dream is quite real. While Syria continues to wage war on itself and Trump tweets political proclamations to the world, life goes on as usual here in our peaceful, top-right corner of Israel. Work, school, harvest, hike, Shabbat, repeat (not necessarily in that order).
Come visit!
