From Vegas to Jerusalem

Welcome to fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada, where hot desert sunsets fade into neon-lit twilights, cat-calling, the temptation of excess and desire to be awakened by the bright lights of the Las Vegas Strip. See that $1.2 billion hotel over there called the Venetian? Heard of its developer, Sheldon Adelson? Well, he’s kind of a “big deal.” He’s the self-proclaimed “richest Jew in the world,” as he told President Bush in 2004, and he’s one of the reasons for the Jewish community in Las Vegas.

Amidst the glitz and glamour, about 600 Jews relocate to the Las Vegas metropolitan area every month, as regularly as the cocktail waitresses’ flows of free drinks to eager gamblers. Coined a “Jewish boomtown,” the city now boasts a population of over 70,000 Jews, who frequent 19 synagogues, a variety of day schools, and a Jewish Community Center.

The ongoing growth of the Las Vegas Jewish community has been heavily supported by private donors such as Sheldon Adelson. Such commitment might be puzzling, but is relatively typical in Jewish communities. Privileged individuals often take it as a life mission to provide a framework for Jewish life in order to sustain Judaism. After all, the Jewish people have suffered devastating losses in the past century. This same incentive explains why Taglit-Birthright is free.

Taglit-Birthright sends thousands of Jewish 18- to 25-year-olds who have never been to Israel on organized trips to the Holy Land at absolutely no cost. They do the “Best of Israel” tour in under two weeks, visiting the most famous and poignant places in ancient and modern Jewish history. In addition to the Israeli government, the Jewish Agency, and United Jewish Communities, Birthright relies on a few affluent donors for 60 percent of its funding. In 2008, Adeslon supplied a third of Birthright’s operating budget, and has given the program more than $67 million over the years. This amount is staggering, yet why Adelson has made such significant contributions to Taglit-Birthright is no mystery. Despite the economic crisis, Adelson continues to donate generously, stating that his donations represent his long-standing dedication to boosting Jewish awareness among youth.

I was born and raised in Las Vegas—this sleepless desert (and apparently Jewish) oasis—but living in a secular household, I did not come into contact with the fruits of Adelson’s philanthropy until I went on Birthright this past winter break. It took some convincing for me to sign up for the trip, simply because I didn’t think that I was Jewish enough. Although I loved matzo-ball soup and the occasional latke, I didn’t speak a word of Hebrew. Challah, shalom, and Hanukkah were the only Hebrew words I knew before Birthright.

So why did I do it? Well, it’s free. But I now understand the priceless value of befriending Israeli soldiers, asking countless questions, exploring modern and ancient cities, engaging in debate about the Arab-Israeli conflict, justifying the formation of the state of Israel, and so much more. But concerning more religious, spiritual sentiments? Take it, leave it, pick it apart, and choose what you like, but most importantly, create your own version.

Adelson and the other donors might have a vision of how they want participants to come out, but since coming home from Birthright, I have become my own kind of Jew—a Jew that may see a disconnect between religion and Judaism, that may not believe in God, that may not follow (or even be familiar with) Jewish law, and that may be appalled by the human-rights violations occurring at the hands of both Israeli and Palestinian forces. In college, we are uniquely situated at a crossroad where we can choose to depart from what is comfortable and known, to leap into the new and daunting unknown. Columbia’s history of campus activism is a colorful one—this tradition still continues, as evidenced by the recent open-forum event sponsored by Hillel and other multicultural groups on campus. As Columbia students, we are such incredible resources for each other—to talk, to argue, to be challenged, to hold a conversation over a (Birthright-sponsored) Shabbat meal, to attend services for the first time, to boycott services, to stand at a Gaza rally, and to protest at one.

Birthright is an incredible opportunity that should be taken advantage of before the financial crisis drains our ardent Jewish supporters dry—with current trends in the state of the economy, there’s no guarantee that the program can continue at its current capacity.

Birthright wants to save Jewish youth, but allows room for participants to get out of it what they can. The program gets young people to think and become interested, to talk and learn from one another, and to be active in seeking out educated answers to questions about current events. It pushes participants to find their own ways of making this ongoing conflict mean something to them. And it allows them to back up a stance with more than just hearsay, blind patriotism, or simplistic collective memory—to discover more than a dichotomous perspective. Birthright can mean a lot of things to different people, but there is a gap between its intention and its execution that we all must do our part in this life to fill.

The author is a Columbia College sophomore.