I am a dual citizen of Israel and the United States, but have lived my entire life in Israel. I only moved to California three months ago to start graduate school. My dual citizenship let me vote in American elections by mail. Now, for the first time, I will be able to walk into an American polling place to cast my vote.

In Israel, elections are crucial events. In a nation that takes pride in its democracy but is politically unstable – no Israeli government has managed to finish a complete term since 1992 - every vote counts because the results have a tremendous impact on daily life.

Elections are so important that everyone participates, even if they are still too young to vote. Many teenagers devote hours to politics, standing on street corners during elections to give away bumper stickers and to advocate for different parties. My friends and I did that, too. Elections, we were taught, are the greatest privilege a citizen has. At 13, we went every Friday to Paris Square in downtown Jerusalem. There was always a group from Labor Youth and a group from Likud Youth. We talked to every person crossing the square and discussed election issues just like grown ups. When it quieted down, we would argue with the kids from the other group and debate which party was best for Israel.

When I turned 18, I didn't think twice about whether or not I would vote. I wanted to vote, I felt compelled to vote, and I could vote in two places – Israel and the United States. I sent my absentee ballot to the registrar of voters in Chicago.

I never thought about the implications of voting in a country where I didn’t live. The first time I realized that matters weren't as simple as I thought was during the last presidential elections in 2004. I already knew I was moving to the United States when one Friday night, over dinner, my family was discussing the elections. They argued which U.S. presidential candidate had a better Middle East policy. That was my family's main criteria in deciding who to vote for.

In previous elections, I would have done the same. But sitting there, I suddenly realized I cared less about which candidate would further the peace process and more about how he would impact day-to-day life in the United States.

Later that night, it hit me.

I voted in American elections because I knew it was important, but did I have the right to? In Israel, we live the critical issues that are voted on at the ballot box. Who will handle the peace talks with our Arab neighbors better? Who will make us feel – relatively – secure? And sometimes, there's a room to think about social issues. In the last elections, when it was obvious that Kadima would win, many of us took the opportunity to focus on different issues. I voted for a party that supports the legislation of civil marriage in Israel, since currently only a religious orthodox ceremony is a valid one.

In Israel, you don't have to study a campaign pamphlet to get ready to vote. You already know what you believe.

Voting in the United States is not that easy. I can't understand many of the issues because they have never been part of my day-to-day concerns. I vote according to party rather than because of my understanding of who would do a better job in the variety of issues that comprise the American daily life. Legally, I have the right to vote, but do I have a moral right? Now that I do live here and struggle to grasp the implications that my voting will have, I'm not so sure.

Israel has already decided that citizens living outside of the country do not have the right to cast absentee ballots, except for a few government diplomats living overseas.

If I wanted to vote, I would have to buy a plane ticket and fly to the other side of the world. It's not as outlandish as it seems; for every election, many Israelis do just that. However, due to logistical reasons, most of the citizens living abroad don't vote. If they could vote, they would have a lot of power because there are so many Israelis living overseas. In a nation of 7 million that traditionally has tight election races, every vote counts. If the people living outside the country got to cast votes, the election could be decided by people who wouldn’t be directly impacted.

In Israel, one vote can change so much. Parties have won or lost seats in the Israeli Parliament because of 100 votes or less. That's what makes people cross the globe to vote.

In the United States, with its larger pool of registered voters, those situations hardly ever emerge.

In the United States, unlike in Israel, a single vote doesn’t seem very important. Most citizens don’t even bother to vote. Some elections here only attract 30% of the voters. In Israel, this would be scandalous. In the last election, where the outcome seemed predictable, voter turnout was at an all-time low, but even then, 63% of the electorate voted.

Many of my American friends feel frustrated and don’t feel they have any power to change things – even by voting. And I have to admit that the more I think of it, the more I feel the same way. I always voted in U.S. elections because it was second nature for me to vote. In Israel, I was voting to have an effect on the way I live my life. In the United States, I voted for the sake of voting itself, rather than voting for something.

I was always so excited about the fact that I could vote that I didn't think deeply what it meant. For me, a dual citizen, it was merely a way to connect with the American side of my identity, because we were so far away from the United States and its culture and values. Now that I'm here, that is no longer part of the equation, and it allows me to consider other aspects. The results of this are somehow depressing, because it took me such a short time to adapt to the feeling many people here have, that their vote doesn't matter. Thinking back, I don't feel like my vote in the United States ever did.

But even if that's true, on November 7th I'll stand in line at my voting place in North Berkeley. For the first time I'll physically cast a vote rather than sitting on the living room floor in Israel with my absentee ballot forms.

Old habits are hard to change – and sometimes shouldn't.

I must vote.