Going Back

Recently, I went back to the states. If you didn't know and I didn't get the chance to see you,  I was running around like a chicken with my head cut off and most days didn't even have time to look properly in the mirror. I went with a dear friend of mine and had an amazing time seeing both of our families, exploring new cities, and making memories! I expected to have a great time and I did, but there was also an odd feeling that stuck with me even before I got on the plane, even before I got to Ben-Gurion. When I was still in Israel..

I didn't want to leave.

Of course, I wanted to see my friends and family. I hadn't seen them for months and honestly being back in my childhood home was enough of an attraction for me that I would have been sold on the idea of going home even if it was just that. Yet, I looked at my friend on the way there and said "Do we have to go? Can't we just bring everyone here?" knowing what his response would be. Nope, we had to go. We didn't get this far to just turn around. My solace was that this was the first time that I  left Israel with a definite return date. Normally I have been leaving heartbroken and despondent after spending time in Israel but living in the uncertainty of not knowing when I will be able to return. This time I did. So, why didn't I feel any better about what was going on? I knew I was coming back. What was my problem!

When I got to the states, the initial shock of being able to understand everything was overwhelming. I could read and listen, without really thinking, every sign, and every conversation. At first I was excited. It was such a relief, I honestly hadn't even realized how hard I was working to understand what was going on around me until I didn't have to anymore. It was as if my mind could finally rest after working all day, despite the fact that learning and speaking Hebrew is most definitely a labor of love.As everyone waited in line to get there bags and there was personal space. I was again shocked. It was the little things that first hit me about the culture shock. It was so quiet, where was the noise that I had gotten so used to? Did it disappear as soon as I got off the plane. Then it hit me...I was in America. Where people have things like personal space and understand things like lines. Even as I write this I'm chuckling to myself because it sounds ridiculous but that's what I noticed. 

I was no longer surrounded by a bustling, pushing, cacophony of unintelligible noise and motion. I missed it. I had grown used to all of these different things. It now bothered me that it was quiet. It was quiet almost always from the time when I was outside walking around my suburban childhood home to every city that I had the opportunity to be in. I missed hearing the bustle of streets, of cars honking to each other and of the feeling that everything was within a walking distance. In Israel I a) don't have the luxury of having a car and b) everything I typically need is well within walking distance or the proximity of public transportation. I love that. I didn't know I loved that. 

This trip let me realize and crystalize in my head that I am home. Despite the fact that Israel is still new to me. I love it. The more I am here, the more I am in love. I love the language, the bustling streets, the near constant honking of car horns, and the people. I love that when I am here I can really know where I stand with myself and with others. I feel comfortable here even within my discomfort. I know that while I am new here, I am rooting myself in Israel.