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To be brave is all I’ve ever wanted. 

I always envied those who told stories of bravery, who exuded bravery, who were—to their very core—brave by nature (e.g. every Israeli I ever met). To be brave was everything I couldn’t do and everything I wanted to be. To be someone who stood up for herself, her needs, her desires, no matter what people thought of her.

I dreamed of being the girl that saw an adventure ahead of her and ran after it without overthinking all the ways it could possibly go wrong.

***

When the war broke out, my dreams of bravery felt even more out of reach. Making the impossible choice to leave Israel to stay with my family in New York brought all of these feelings to the surface. Leaving felt like just another way of proving I would never be brave. I was ashamed. I wished I could live through the fear, or ignore the fear, like everyone who stayed, but instead I fled. At one point in New York, I broke down. I cried because I just wished I could be brave. Not just in the face of war, but in the tiny, everyday battles of bravery, too.

Brave enough to feel the fear and do it anyway,

Brave enough to stand up for myself and the life I want to live,

And most of all, I wished I was brave enough to be the girl I never was and always wanted to be.

***

When I finally returned to Israel, I found myself on a familiar bus route, heading home after work. A woman a few seats ahead caught my attention. I overheard her asking for directions to a street near my apartment, so I approached her and offered to show her the way. 

We got off the bus together, introduced ourselves, and fell into an easy conversation as we walked. She had a warm, inviting presence, and I found myself opening up about my recent return to Israel. When we reached the corner to part ways, she turned to me with a smile. 

“Here, let me give you my number. I’d love for you to come for Friday dinner. I know it’s hard to be away from family, so you can always call me.”

***

Two weeks later, there I was, about to climb onto the back of her son’s motorbike. I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement mingled with a hint of apprehension. It was an unexpected adventure, one that I was diving into headfirst.

At that moment, I don’t know who had the right to feel more uncomfortable; me, the young woman getting on a stranger’s motorbike, or the young man who was told to fetch a stranger their mom met on a bus. We both agreed that this was a very weird situation, we laughed, and off we went. I was welcomed warmly by a sweet dog, a hug from my new friend, and a delicious meal. We talked, we ate, we walked around the neighborhood, and then it was time to leave. We got back on the motorbike and headed for my apartment.

At the first stoplight, he turned around with disbelief; telling me, “You’re so brave.” I laughed, denied it, and brushed it off. Then, at the next stoplight,

“You’re so brave for moving away from home and living here alone.”

And the next,

“You’re so brave for going to a stranger’s house for dinner.”

He kept doing it.

“You’re so brave for accepting a ride on a motorbike from a stranger—and you seem so calm.”

Every stoplight.

“You’re so brave for meeting new people everywhere you go.”

“You’re so brave for creating all of these new experiences.”

“You’re so brave for coming back to Israel during this war.”

I can’t help but laugh at the irony of it. How is it possible that he can’t stop coming up with ways that I was proving to be brave, when it’s the one thing I have always convinced myself I am not?

***

I think this is exactly what I needed—a wake-up call on my way home from yet another adventure. It’s something my younger self wouldn’t have even dreamed I could ever do. In this moment, I realized something. This was bravery in raw form, and I was fully immersed in the moment, soaking up every bit of it.

***

I’m learning that just because I wasn’t able to be brave when I was younger doesn’t mean that I will never be brave—or that I’m not brave now. So yes, maybe I wasn’t ‘brave enough’ to stay through the war. And that’s okay. I can be brave in other ways. 

Like choosing to come back to Israel. And living on my own across the world from my family. And giving directions to a woman on the bus in a language I’m still trying to learn. And accepting an invitation to dinner at her house. And being vulnerable on the internet. And telling people how I really feel. And embracing as many adventures like this as I possibly can.

To be brave is all I’ve ever wanted. And now, on the back of that motorbike, in the heart of a city that’s become my home, I realize—I already am. It’s time I start believing it.

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Written by Jessica Bard.

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