Blundstones, Bombs and the Reality of a New Olah The threat of war looms over us. Israel is different all of a sudden. Being Israeli is suddenly real, palpable. Brown boots seem so silly now. I remember when I got my first pair of Blundstones. I was overcharged by the salesman at Mamilla Mall, but the extra hundred shekels seemed worth it. I couldn’t wait to have them. My friends congratulated me on the boots, as now I was “a real Israeli” — and I believed them. Being an olah is a difficult thing. I was born to Israeli parents and my childhood was filled with El Al flights to visit Sabba and Safta, but I’m still woefully American. My Hebrew is broken, and I have yet to get used to waiting for hot water in order to take a shower. The shoes felt like a step toward my complete initiation as an Israeli citizen.