Welcome to Israel, Mr. President. Better late than never. You’re coming at the start of your second term and Benjamin Netantyahu’s third term (provided he succeeds in cobbling together a government). This is the term that will define what you did, what you achieved, what you left behind — for both of you. I took a glimpse at your anticipated schedule, Mr. President, and frankly, I felt a tad uncomfortable. I feel your pain. The plans for your trip to the Holy Land include a visit to tombs, monuments, and other gloomy sites. It’s an ascetic’s pilgrimage, lacking any inspiration or sunlight.
The problem isn’t you. It’s us. That’s how we welcome everyone here. We get them to sign in at Yad Vashem [the Holocaust Museum] and make sure not to skip a visit to Mount Herzl national cemetery, before whisking them off to see the Dead Sea Scrolls and the Eternal Flame. Two thousand years of Jewish suffering in exile are dropped on the drooping shoulders of our guests. It always ends with a bad case of the doldrums, with feelings of guilt and pangs of conscience. And there is always that same sigh of relief on the plane on their way home: “Thank God for getting me out of there!”
