Note to my readers: I have accepted that I'm probably not going to get around to blogging about M&D's visit to Israel anytime soon (pictures on Facebook may be as far as I get, but I promise to try -- if not for you, I want a record of it for myself, because it was a grand adventure!), so I decided I finally ought to post the reflection I wrote back in January. Enjoy!
As I write this, I am on a
plane from Phoenix to Oakland, the second-to-last leg of my long journey from
Jerusalem to San Jose. The whole
32-hour saga includes a 90-minute bus ride from Jerusalem to Tel Aviv; a
12-hour flight from Tel Aviv to Newark; a 5-hour flight from Newark to Phoenix;
a 2-hour flight from Phoenix to Oakland; and a 90-minute drive from Oakland to
San Jose. Plus many hours of of
waiting around in airports!
A funny thing just
happened to me. As our plane sat
in line, waiting for its turn to take off, I suddenly realized what was going
on: I’m not in Israel anymore.
And just like that, I inexplicably burst into tears! Even now with our plane at cruising
altitude, I’ve got a lump in the back of my throat and a serious case of the
sniffles. In the moment that I
began to cry, I wasn’t sure why, and why now? Why not when I said goodbye to Carolyn or Arielle, or when
we took off from Israel, or when we landed in the United States? Was it because after my first trip to
Starbucks since I left home in August, I was finally awake enough to grasp the
enormity of the situation? Was it
because I was flying solo? As I
have written this, pouring my soul out through my fingertips (and leaking it from
my eyes!), the picture slowly became clear—or at least clearer.
I think that when we love,
be it a person or a place, we leave little pieces of ourselves behind with
them, and bring pieces of them along with us as we continue our life journey. Depending on the intimacy of that love,
the piece may be large or small.
Not only did I leave pieces of myself with the lands and people of
Palestine, Israel, Egypt, and Jordan, I left pieces of myself with four
extraordinary women who are currently scattered across the globe: two in Israel, one in Ohio, and one in Washington
D.C. I cried because I honestly
have no idea when I will see any of them again—the places or the people. But I am comforted because I know that
my love for them means that I will see them again, be it months or decades from
now, and we will reunite the pieces of ourselves that we gave to one another.
So many things about my
life have changed in the last four months or so, some obvious and tangible, and
some less so. I know that I have
changed enormously, and I can’t even see some of those changes yet—I will come
to recognize them as I resume my life in San Jose and at Mount Holyoke. I can already see that I have new
insights, new appetites, new questions, new goals, new friends, new
dreams. I have gained and I have
lost. I am experiencing spiritual
growing pains. I cried because I
am not who I was, and I never will be again, and that may mean I lose some things
about my old life. But I am
comforted knowing that I have become someone new, someone stronger, and
hopefully someone better, and that being this new person will allow me to
replace what I’ve lost with something that is a better fit. (To be honest, I’m a little scared of
this new Grace—I think she’s a force to be reckoned with, I’m in for a wild
ride with her!)
One of the (remarkably
few!) books that I brought with me was a Christmas gift from my parents two
years ago, Travel as a Political Act
by Rick Steves. It waited for me
on my bookshelf all through the busy semester, and on my flight from Newark
today, I finally cracked it open, reading the first chapter and the last
chapter, and skimming everything in between. The first chapter was about how to accomplish travel as a
political act. (I was pleased to
see that, even without reading it ahead of time, I did rather well!) The last was on how to come home
again. The author reminded me that
I have changed in more ways than I can see this close to my experience, and
that my life at home has continued in my absence and changed too, although only
in small ways. I cried because I
am scared that I will not fit anymore.
But I am comforted because I know that I have so much love in my old
life, and so while the pieces have changed, the puzzle will solve itself in a
new and beautiful way.
This experience wasn’t
perfect. There were days when I curled
up in my bed wanted more than anything to come home; there were days when I went
miles away from my comfort zone and smiled and laughed until my cheeks
hurt. Mostly there were days that
were somewhere in between:
drinking ice-café between classes, walking from campus to my apartment
with good company, whining about professors and midterms, having dinner-and-a-movie
night with my friends, doing reading and homework while listening to folk
music, shopping at the shuk, wandering the Old City of Jerusalem. I cried because I mourn the loss of the
life I built there. But I am
comforted by the thought that I have two other lives waiting for me in the
coming weeks, and probably dozens more in my life.
Whether I like it or not,
it is time to close this chapter and begin writing the next one. It is a new calendar year, and it is a
new phase of my life. I do not think
I have ever had an experience this life-altering, so I honestly do not know
what will fill the blank pages of the next days, weeks, and months. In some ways I will pick up my old
life: stage managing, singing in
Chorale, working toward my teacher licensure. But I am sure that while there are a few things I do know
about the coming months, there are many more that I don’t. I feel terrified, I feel naked, I feel
vulnerable. But in the last four
months, I have been utterly broken and discovered that I have the strength to
rise above and come back better and stronger than before. I also know that I’m not alone; even
when I feel broken, I have so much love in my life and so many people to listen
to me and help me. So I am
confident that whatever the universe throws at me next, I am ready for it—in
fact, I welcome the unknown challenge with open arms.
Well, dear readers, my
journey is drawing to a close.
Thank you for your
interest, your comments, and your support—they meant the world to me. Shalom aleichem; salaam wa alaykum;
peace be with you <3
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