The most interesting question you can ask Israelis who have been living in the United States for over 30 years will come later. However, the term "in a divided world," coined by Yaffa Turgeman to describe Israelis who migrated to the land of endless possibilities, perfectly captures what many of them feel: lives built on two anchors, one in Israel and one in the U.S., or divided.
In a new book titled "In a World of Divided Hearts” (self-published, available via Israeli print-on-demand platform Bookpod), Turgeman describes situations from the lives of Israelis in the U.S., shedding light not only on their daily dilemmas but also on the emotions, longings and the prices they pay for living thousands of miles away from Israel.
Turgeman herself arrived in Denver with her husband, Rafi, 35 years ago. "When we got here, we were just starting our careers. I wanted to shake things up a bit, and traveling suited us at the time. In the most naïve way, I told him: 'If we want to travel to the other side of the world, let’s go to Colorado — I have family there.' I had relatives here. We came to visit, and we fell in love with the place," she recounts. Over the years, the two experienced several successful business ventures together, which ultimately led them to settle in the area and raise their children there.
Most Israelis living in the U.S. are concentrated in New York and Los Angeles, and the community to which Turgeman belongs consists of only about 3,500 Israelis. "There aren’t many Israelis in this area, and those who did come here would tell you they simply ended up here, got used to it and stayed. Compared to the time I arrived, the numbers have grown, but there’s no doubt that the majority are far from here, on the East or West coasts," she says.
The purpose of Turgeman’s book is singular: to expose Israelis, especially those contemplating emigration, to the "truthful picture" of life in the divided world through short stories based on real-life accounts. "I thought it was wrong not to tell people in Israel that anyone who chooses to leave Israel enters the divided world — the heart will never leave the homeland, but our lives will also be here," she explains. "All the stories in the book tell of the consequences we face from our fateful decision to leave Israel."
One of the stories, "Saluting the Flag," describes a graduation ceremony at the West Point Military Academy, where Uriel, the son of an Israeli named Daniel, a former IDF officer, completes the program and salutes the U.S. flag.
"Daniel and Lilach stood there in the hot sun with all the other parents, excited, happy and smiling. They looked with admiration at their eldest son, the fresh officer, as he saluted the massive Stars and Stripes flag waving before them in blue, white and red. He had mixed feelings. On the one hand, he wanted to look at the picture of his son saluting, but on the other hand he also somewhat wanted to deny what his eyes were seeing and told himself that he wished the picture were a little different—for example, that Uriel was seen saluting the blue-and-white flag."
"This is a consequence not many consider, but it happens on the ground and is quite painful," Turgeman explains. "We have to salute a different flag. You go to your child’s school event, and it’s expected of you to sing the American anthem, and if you don’t do these things, people look at you sideways. It’s considered outright rude not to do so, and this creates enormous frustration for Israelis who don’t feel comfortable with it."
In another story titled "Curtis Ran Away," one of the characters describes her struggle with the Hebrew language: "I’m glad we have a wonderful product like Google Translate these days, which translates and shows me how to write correctly in Hebrew. But there’s only one thing it can’t help me with. Google Translate can’t help me overcome the disappointment I feel about forgetting my Hebrew and the sense of failure in trying to preserve it — feelings I could have avoided had I made different choices. But by choosing to live in the divided world, I caused myself to forget how to spell correctly in Hebrew, my mother tongue, the first language I was born into and grew up with."
"It’s an enormous frustration," says Turgeman. "You lose part of your language. I look at my speech and expression and it’s far less fluent than it was back in Israel. You start forgetting because you don’t use it. When you work in English, write in English, teach in English, talk to neighbors in English, shop in English, and read books in English, you start to lose your Hebrew, and you don’t realize it until you try to use the language."
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During one of her trips to Florida, she met an Israeli Uber driver who had been living in the U.S. for 42 years. He confessed to her that his sense of belonging to Israel was fading, and when he visits the country he no longer recognizes many things, doesn’t identify with the language, and finds many terms he once knew are no longer used — creating a sense of detachment from his homeland.
"In phone calls, everyone tells you how much they miss you, that they want you to know you’re missed, that they love you, and wish you were part of their lives. But the reality that smacks you in the face is that it’s not like that anymore. You’re no longer part of their lives; you’re just a beloved visitor who comes once a year, two years, or four years, to remind yourself and them that, yes, once you were part of them. But now, all you have left is to try to make up for it with hugs, gifts and late-night conversations. And after the vacation, you return to your second world, the one you created yourself."
If you knew everything you know today, would the Yaffa of 35 years ago have moved to the US?
"I don’t think I would have moved to the U.S. We’re currently even considering splitting our lives between Colorado and Israel. Of course, there’s the matter of the grandchildren — you always want to be close to them. My daughters live here, and they’re fully American. I always insisted on speaking Hebrew with them, but they’re here, and I don’t want to be a grandmother raising grandchildren over the phone, as happens in such situations. So, we can’t return fully to Israel, but we certainly want to spend more time there."
Are these dilemmas and consequences you describe unique to Israelis, or do they apply to all immigrants?
"The book specifically targets Israelis. I don’t think that if we translated these dilemmas for immigrants from Argentina, Greece or other places they would fully understand the nuances. There’s something unique about Israelis, maybe tied to our soul and unique background. The common thread between all the real or fictional characters in the book is one thing — an unending longing for Israel and the yearning for something that connects every Jew, shared deep roots, and a soul split between two worlds. It’s a book with an Israeli soul. Once you’re Israeli, you can’t deny it, and I can’t forget it."
After speaking with so many people and dealing with these dilemmas yourself, do most people, in hindsight, regret their decision to emigrate?
"Many people come to terms with the situation. They give answers like ‘It is what it is,’ and the decision to leave was made years ago, so this is now their reality. I think, over time, you can tell those considering emigration: the grass here may seem greener, and maybe you’ll succeed, but maybe you won’t. It’s even harder to deal with the consequences if you don’t succeed financially. And even if you succeed, you might still struggle deeply with the emotional and cultural challenges. I think this is a realization that could shake up people who only look at the U.S. with starry eyes and don’t consider everything that will happen to them and their family as a result of the move."