“It’s a bit crazy what you’re doing!”was the response of a friend when I told him that I was emigrating to Israel.

Some people told me it was brave. I could have collected plenty of statements like that and many others. At the time, for me it was first and foremost “determination” and the logical consequence for a future together with Alex.

Certainly, I needed courage. It took courage to sell my house, car and furniture, to give up my possessions and only keep a few boxes. It was brave to leave my beloved home, my family, friends and acquaintances and move in with Alex and her children.

Courage doesn’t mean that I wasn’t worried or afraid. I had a lot of concerns. I knew that the wind was blowing differently in Israel than in Germany. Apart from Alex and the kids, no one was waiting for me. I was deeply rooted in Rotenburg, my home town. I loved small-town life, my work, being part of the town and the community. I felt at home in my community and enjoyed getting involved. All that would be gone from one day to the next.

Alex and I even realized what an arduous and long road to a permanent residence permit lay ahead of us. Our families and friends also know how difficult it was for me to settle in here. Before that, my life was quite extroverted, whether with friends or at work. I remember the lectures and training courses that I was passionate about.

All this and much more was no longer part of my everyday life. Suddenly I was no longer the Beni Funk that many people knew. No, I was simply the unknown “German” in our town of 2,800 inhabitants.

I have tried

How I burned my hands with my background, behavior and efforts. It was memorable that I rarely got a “Boker Tov ” (good morning) back from the local grocery store. No, it wasn’t my German origin. I was simply the foreigner. Many Israelis are hospitable, but there are contemporaries, especially in our region, who are taciturn and unfriendly.

When I shared these experiences with my Hebrew teacher at the time, she said dryly: “Be glad that you’re being served. When I came to Israel 35 years ago and asked a question in the store, the shopkeeper simply turned around and waited for me to leave.”

The first few months were exciting and full of new things

In the first year, I didn’t realize the impact of the “uprooting” from my old life. Alex and I enjoyed the company, I loved being a father from zero to 100. But I also realized that something was out of balance with me. I slept worse and worse and became increasingly listless. Alex did her best to counteract my “blues”, for which I am still grateful to this day.

I missed so much from my old life. It would be a long list to enumerate all the changes that my emigration brought with it. I missed extensive conversations in my mother tongue. I spoke Hebrew like a two-year-old. Here’s an anecdote from our everyday life. Alex was verbally attacked by a man (Middle Eastern matcho mentality) during an outing. My protective instinct kicked in. With my limited options, I wanted to confront him with a: “Hey, what are you doing?”instead I blurted out: “Hey, how are you?”, came out of me.

Although this caused confusion and helped to de-escalate the situation, I quickly stopped laughing at the comedy of the situation. I’d had too many of these experiences, and they were chipping away at my self-esteem.

At first I found it amusing that Alex arranged everything for me. Because in Israel, nothing works without a social identification number (ID). I didn’t have one. But you need it for almost everything: ordering movie tickets, shopping, contracts, bank transactions or doctor’s appointments …. How does that make you feel as a doer and creator? Like a little kid that mom has to call or take home!

Alex wasn’t amused by this, nor did she make me feel like I was dependent on her.

My lost self

But after two years with too few successes and seemingly never-ending challenges, I woke up at night, stared at the ceiling and asked myself: “Who am I?” And above all: “Who was I before? Am I who I used to be or am I who I am now?” All the changes had called my existence into question.

You might be thinking: “Well, Benjamin, maybe you were a bit naive.” No, I didn’t make a reckless decision to go to Israel. I made a courageous decision, despite many concerns, worries and fears, to take this step and start a future together with Alex. We both knew that it entailed considerable risks.

A “fit of courage”, as I like to call it, only comes with the decision we make, with the step we take, even though we are afraid and worried.

We too often allow ourselves to be dominated by the fear of failure and overlook the fact that we could just as easily be successful. What’s more, our courage is rarely rewarded with success in a timely manner. For many, this is reason enough to question decisions made too early.

I used to have a difficult relationship with failure. Today I know that I got the best life tools from failures and failures.

My faith, not a chill pill

My main source of courage also comes from my deep relationship with God. With him, I have already overcome several life crises.

Every crisis was different, but God was always the same. His intervention in hopeless situations still gives me the confidence to make courageous decisions today.

I have enough reasons to question one or two things in my life. But there is no reason for me to doubt that he intervened in my life and gave me hope in difficult times. I still experience that to this day.

I come back to life in Israel: the decision and emigration to Israel may have been courageous. But I had the most courage to face up to myself and my identity. Honestly, there was almost nothing that was the same as before and that’s exactly how I felt.

Ruthless honesty

I confronted myself openly, honestly and relentlessly with the changes and their effects. I admitted to myself that it was tearing me apart inside and that I missed my old life. It took strength to admit and acknowledge this hardship, this loss.

The great danger now was not to immediately fill the hole in my life and soul with something else. Enduring this tension was hard.

In the next step, Alex and I decided to go on a journey of discovery together. What are the good things about Israel? What opportunities are there for me/us? What are we currently blind to? How do we shape our lives so that they are good, so that they are worth living? But also: Who am I? What makes me who I am?

There were and still are setbacks, but we realized how many good opportunities God gives us to lead a unique life. If I had withdrawn in my frustration or self-pity, mourning the old days day after day, my eyes would never have fallen on the good.

On a voyage of discovery

Step by step and over a long period of time, we discovered small and large treasures that brought color into our lives. Alex and I are not Israeli, yes, we are German. And we have the chance to combine good things from both cultures and lives. We have realized that we have much more creative freedom than we thought.

We experience freedom in our actions and the security we have in our faith and in our relationship with God. At the same time, we admit to ourselves that we still miss home, relatives and friends

The big opportunity

When nothing in life is the way it used to be. That’s bad, of course. Letting go is a mammoth process. But it can also be the “zero hour” for a new beginning. A chapter or even a book may have come to an end. Now the space has been created to start a new chapter, in which the life story takes on a new, exciting direction.

A story that is worth living. And when the foundation is based on God, what could be better? There is so much more to say. I end this article with this sentence: “In courage lies a key to creating a colorful life.”