Here’s something that every Israeli can relate to, but people from other countries may rarely know about us: when we travel abroad, whether for a short trip or an extended stay, we are often hesitant to say where we’re from. It could be during the first taxi ride from the airport to the hotel, on the street when asking for directions, or at a local restaurant. We’re asked the innocent question, “So, where are you from?” and immediately our hearts sink to our stomachs as the wheels in our brains start turning. Should we be honest and tell the truth, risking a whole series of follow-up questions, or just lie and say we’re from Greece or Iceland, hoping that our new acquaintance isn’t coincidentally from there?
This seemingly simple question holds layers of complexity for Israelis. You can never be sure how the person in front of you will react when they hear you’re from Israel. They may be supportive or curious, given everything that’s shown in the media, or they may be very judgmental, even mildly aggressive. Within seconds, we become ambassadors for our country, defending it at all costs, even if our own political opinions are less one-dimensional and more nuanced and complex. When we decide to avoid saying where we’re from, or even outright lie about it, a rush of shame floods our bodies—why did we give in to this pressure, why are we hiding our true identity.
Taking the Risk
“As long as I didn’t feel threatened, I would always say I’m from Israel,” says Lidor, one of our teachers. “I was just traveling in the Philippines and India, and whenever someone asked me where I was from, I would proudly reply, ‘from Israel.’ But I’ve noticed something changing in me: in the past, I used to travel only with Europeans, but now I feel like it’s just too much. I didn’t want to talk about Israeli politics with everyone and explain the situation, but on the other hand, I didn’t want to say, ‘let’s not talk about the war; let’s talk about other things,’ when the war is actually very close to my heart. So, I suddenly found myself traveling with Israelis for the very first time for an extended period.”
Later, Lidor admits that she has felt more comfortable sharing her story with local people in India than in other places: “I always feel like people from India understand Israelis, and they also have a crazy Israeli radar—they’re able to recognize us from a kilometer away. I remember once in McLeod, a small village near Dharamshala, I went into a small shop, and the shop owner—a man from Kashmir—started speaking to me, and we had a lovely chat. I hadn’t mentioned once that I was from Israel, but at some point, he said to me: ‘Lately, not enough Israelis are traveling to Kashmir—it’s such a shame.’ We didn’t talk about the war at all, but I knew that he understood.”
Why Do We Say We’re From Malta
Rom, another one of our teachers, is studying for his Master’s degree in Germany. When asked about his personal experience, he shared: “Usually, locals assume that I’m German and start speaking to me in German. When they discover I don’t speak the language, they sometimes ask me where I’m from. After October 7th, a close friend suggested I say I’m from Malta. It’s a very small island with a small population, so I would reply again and again that I’m from Malta. Then one day, a guy asked me where I was from, and I automatically said ‘Malta,’ like I always do. Suddenly, he started speaking to me in fluent Maltese! I was so shocked that I started mumbling, ‘We just moved from Australia to Malta, actually. I can understand you, but I can’t speak the language.’ I could tell he didn’t believe me. From that day on, I switched to Estonia—it’s also a small country with only 1.3 million people.”
How do you explain to someone abroad that you are ‘from Israel’, but when someone asks you the same question in Israel you say that you’re ‘a quarter Polish, a quarter German, a quarter Persian and a quarter Moroccan’, because all four of your grandparents fled their countries after World War II. How do you explain to them that being from Israel doesn’t make you responsible for the horrible ongoing conflict, that you’re an individual who wants peace and safety just as anyone else. To wake up in the morning, go to work, come back home, spend time with your family—without being constantly scared. The gap is so big between you and a stranger from the United States, from France, from Canada, so you just end up lying you’re from Malta.
Navigating Identity: The Challenges of Relocation
“It’s a complicated issue,” says Yaniv, one of our teachers who is an actor in London. “There is so much ignorance about Israel and the history of the conflict. It’s not even about being pro or con—it’s just a Eurocentric standpoint that doesn’t quite apply to Israel. So most of the time, I try to distance myself from these discussions. When I meet people at a party, and I know I’ll never see them again, I say I’m from London (I’ve been living here for ten years). But if it’s a cast I’ll be working with, I always tell the truth and deal with the ramifications. Here’s an example: I was at a party and randomly ran into a friend from Israel I hadn’t seen in a while. When people asked where we were from, I naturally said London, while he said Israel. Let’s just say that from that moment on, I was treated much better—they were warmer and kinder to me until the end of the night.”
Luckily, not all Israelis abroad feel this way. “Actually, we feel very lucky,” says Lior, one of our teachers who lives with her husband on a small farm in Portugal, about an hour’s drive from Porto. “Politically, people in Portugal don’t protest as much. I’ve seen some graffiti against Israel but nothing more. At the beginning of the war, I was a bit wary about saying I’m from Israel—not because I was afraid for my safety, but because I didn’t want to get into long conversations or have to defend my opinions. From my personal experience, when I mentioned I was from Israel, people were actually very empathetic, wishing me well and expressing sympathy for what we had to go through. They weren’t judgmental, and I know that’s unique compared to other places around the world. We also live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, growing our own produce and hosting visitors for meals and farm tours. Our next-door neighbors haven’t even heard about Israel—can you imagine?”.
In the end, maybe it’s not about where we say we’re from, but about the quiet balancing act we perform every time the question arises. Each encounter abroad is different, and maybe that’s the challenge we’ll keep facing—a choice between honesty and ease, openness and self-protection. For now, “Where are you from?” will likely keep making us pause, navigating through different answers that stir an array of emotions.
