My mum’s coming to Israel for Christmas. Oh, hold on, no she’s not. She can’t get in: tourists are banned. Never mind. I’ll go to London for Christmas. Oh, hold on. I can’t – Israel has made the UK a Red country and it’s now illegal for me to go there because I’m an Israeli citizen. I’m also a British citizen, but I’m not sure Israel cares much for this duality. What it cares about right now is keeping Omicron out, even though it’s already basically in.

I’m all for protecting ourselves. In January I joined a Hebrew language Facebook group called “Vaccine Hunting Between Friends”. Members of the group would tip each other off when they heard about surplus vaccine stock. One night, I took a slightly illegal lockdown bus ride to Bat Yam in the hope of getting a jab earlier than I was meant to (I failed: the vaccination centre was closed).

I got my booster in mid-August and felt extremely lucky to have an antibody boost way before most other people of my age in the entire world.

But I’m also pro mental health. Pro family. Pro having a cup of tea with a loved one in-person more than once a year.

Israel’s readiness to adopt a war footing is at such odds with Boris Johnson’s bumbling, we-might-have-a-problem-but-we’re-not-entirely-sure-yet stance, that it confuses my friends and family back home - not to mention, it confuses me.

I’m not a political person and generally I accept that doctors, scientists and yes, even politicians, know more about virology than me. But the logic of letting Israeli citizens fly off to America or Germany or anywhere they fancy for the holidays, but not letting a triple-jabbed 74 year-old British woman enter Israel to spend two weeks with her daughter, is confusing to me.

For new citizens such as myself –  “olim” in Hebrew – the decision to ban travel to my other country puts me in a challenging emotional situation. My family is all in England. What if something happened to one of them? Apparently we can get special permission to travel for funerals but has there ever been a more depressing reason for exemption?

You might be tempted to say never mind, just go to England and do hotel quarantine and pay the cash fine when you get back.

But 5000 shekels is a lot of money (this is what it cost in August when Israelis dared to travel to red-list countries). And even if I had it, I would prefer not to give it to the Israeli government as a thank you for letting me see my family.

Many diaspora Jews are deeply upset about their lack of access to Israel since Covid first took hold and rightly so – it is meant to be a safe haven for all Jews, not just those with Israeli passports. Until November, Israeli citizens like me could fill in confusing and lengthy forms to
apply for a permit for a first-degree relative to enter the country. It wasn’t a perfect solution; many people posted hellish stories in the Facebook groupReunite Olim With Their Familiesabout missed flights, visas not granted and other such bureaucracy, but at least there was a way.

Now though, even this convoluted scheme has been scrapped. The only way a first-degree relative can get into Israel is if they are the mother of a woman giving birth that month, or the grandparent of a Barmitzvah boy: a decision that once again prioritises the creation of Jewish
life above all else. But what about the quality of life for Jews who chose to make Israel their home?

Blanket travel bans leave no room for feelings or families. As one of the 16,000 olim in the Facebook group wrote this week: “There is absolutely no reason why loved ones who are triple vaccinated and willing to isolate cannot reunite.” Omicron or not – I agree.