Back in the swing of things after Gadna—the army experience at Sde Boker base that gave off such a surreal impression—spending a full week back in Kibbutz Tzuba seemed taken for granted. Reflecting on the short but sweet trip, the long and harsh seeming days at the beginning, and the ironically melancholy ending, I came to appreciate the freedom in our everyday lives. I can still remember the rigidly timed mornings, standing at attention in perfect form, running in two lines for ten seconds, and the air of respect that was present around the commanders. While shooting a military-grade M16 automatic assault rifle, I was intrigued, but the real fun came the following day when we had a field training exercise: covering our faces with mud, learning different variations of army crawling, doing the knife-walk, and working together as a team—I was totally immersed. As the buses pulled up the next morning to take us back to reality, I was relieved to be rid of the rigorous lifestyle, but as I now sit here in nostalgia, the stagnant air that is devoid of training camp bustle emanates indifference and does not fill me with the same appreciation for life that was present at Gadna.

The tomb of Ezra the Prophet—turned shrine by religious Iraqis—is a tangible example of Muslim and Jewish harmony in the midst of the Middle East's warring ways. Islam and Judaism are both monotheistic religions, their vast differences being contrasted with their similar central focus: " There has been so much war and strife between the two, but are they truly that different? Both hail Ezra as a quintessential historical figure, and many Iraqi sources are open to Jews visiting Ezra's tomb. Various Muslim Iraqi citizens have recounted fond memories of their Jewish neighbors prior to their exodus from Iraq, and tell the press they would be open to their return.

On the other side of the spectrum, the former Iraqi Jews felt unsafe in their homes—and for good reasons too. When they fled Iraq, their homes were left in their names, and many Iraqis wait for their Jewish neighbors to come home. While Jews and Muslims alike regard Ezra as an important prophet from their past, most Jewish symbols or signs showing their connection to Ezra have been stripped away from his tomb, leaving only a few subtle reminders of Judaism. The tomb remains a Jewish and Muslim holy place, but because of its location, the Jewish side of those coming to pay Ezra their respects or pray has dwindled to a negligible percentage when compared to Muslims. And so Ezra lives on in our memory.

From the highest point of Masada, looking out at what remained of the Roman siege camps, I could almost taste the fear of what they thought themselves to be—the last true Jews. Running from their counterparts' greed and ambition, their only thought was to survive and to carry on the Jewish culture that the others had corrupted. The camps and siege ramp were the most prominent instigators of these feelings. They instilled in me such a sense of reality that the talk of war, rebellion, exile, and a Jewish state stemming from Jewish History class was true that it became almost overwhelming to think about, and the only thing that brought me back to reality was Aaron passing out dates to the class.

Following Jewish history class yesterday, where the issue of intermarriage and continuing the Jewish line arose, a fear settled over me that had to do with the end of the Jewish people. They are a line that had endured for so long and through so much that it just seemed inconceivable that now, in the midst of their prosperity, they would simply cease to exist. The facts were sobering as well. A mere 20% of children with intermarried parents will go on to start a Jewish life. Additionally, while the average reform Jewish family has 0-2 children, the average orthodox Jewish family has around 10. Soon, all that will be left are orthodox Jews, and after that, none at all. Though it won't happen in my lifetime or my children's or even grandchildren's, it is ironic to think on the fact that now, when Am Yisrael is not enduring a time of torment, a time of persecution or war against the Jews, a time of peace and comfort where Jews are leaders in society, the Jewish population is slowly becoming less diverse and plentiful. It does not scare me—"Oh no, what is the world going to do without Jews!" (No.)— it just shocks me that the oldest and longest surviving religion is nearing its final destination, and that my generation sees the end. I am scared that after we are gone, after there are no more Jews to carry on traditions and keep our ethical monotheism alive, the world will portray us in a bad light, spit on our names, stamp us into the dust. Why do I care? I guess the best answer would be "the future holds tentative surprises and apprehension—no one knows what it will look like", but that would still not fully explain this strange and irrational fear I have for the nearing of the end. Time always holds the answer, so time will tell.

Jews are not the same as Israelis. This basic statement at times is only understood by few, leading us to treat them as one and the same. This can be extremely embarrassing if called out on. For this reason alone, the talk of Israel in the US has become more sparse—merely because of the general public's fear of messing up. Jews and Israelis are generally grouped together, though a Jew is not necessarily Israeli and an Israeli is not necessarily Jewish: a vital point to understand. Only in a perfect utopia where the public is perfectly educated can totally factual debate happen or opinion be developed.

This is not the only reason causing diminished talk of Israelis, more specifically the silence ensues when the conversation shifts to Palestinians. In addition to the natural fear of embarrassing oneself, adhering to public opinion is not always the right thing to do... but it can be the easiest. Because of this, many Reform and Conservative (and some Orthodox) rabbis have completely stopped taking positions on the Israel-Palestinian conflict after outrageous and even violent actions followed sermons on the matter. Should rabbis stop trying to involve Israeli politics in their synagogues' Jewish settings, and be obligated to give sermons related to Judaism, or should they continue giving sermons on whatever they please (be it Palestinian-Israeli conflict to rising grape juice prices) because of their right to free speech? Which is more important—the aspect of them that is American, or that of being Jewish?

Walking through the old city of Jerusalem, streets I had seen many times before struck me this time as truly being old, historical, beautiful. I had visited Jerusalem before, but I had never experienced this level of realization until now. Either I was not mature enough then or did not appreciate the wholeness of it. As we toured side streets, alleys, and underground passageways, the ancient walls of the city rose up around me, and I became immersed in history that took place thousands of years ago. I was the onlooker, the outsider, the infiltrator of a holy sanctuary in which I shouldn't belong. To one side, a tourist shop selling shiny chamsas and kippot—the other—ruins of a massive wall that once kept King David safe from the Phillistines. I was walking on the stones of history, in the footsteps of old, Jerusalem's past merging with its present until they became one and the same, almost indistinguishable. After this, I don't think traditional classes will be very meaningful anymore...

When Israel's Iron Dome took effect and the Palestinian terrorists were dissuaded from their bombings, did terrorism in Israel stop? Of course not. They have just discovered new ways to instill pain into our society. The dissatisfaction has spread so far that Palestinians have gone to such desperate measures—to kill our innocent—in order to get their message across to Israel. And Bibi Netanyahu, quietly sitting in his office thinking on the day's events recognizes this, but does he spring to action and create some sort of plan, an agreement, guideline... something? No. Instead, Israel is made to live in fear day and night, never at ease, truly the country surrounded by enemies.

Dafna Meir and Shlomit Krigman, two wonderful Israelis, were added to this list of hate and frustration against their will. They simply happened to be in the wrong places at the wrong times. Israel does not have to sit idly by and watch this happen however. We can take action and force the Palestinians' hands. Perhaps all they want before they leave us alone is their two state solution. And if not this, at least someplace to start. Dafna Meir and Shlomit Krigman will not have died in vain.