Didn’t see that coming.
My parents tell this story: it’s the end of our Sabbatical year in Israel. We had spent my 11th grade year living in Yerushalayim and we were heading home. I will be the first to admit that I was not all that thrilled to be heading to Israel. I thought I was committing social suicide by leaving Israel the year that everyone was getting their drivers license. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. It was a fantastic year filled with fantastic people. I think I did 16 year old me the exact way it was supposed to be done. But as we were getting into the sherut to head to the airport, traffic stopped on Rechov Charlap because there were TEARS and there was DRAMA. Everyone came to say goodbye and we cried and cried (in just the way 16 year olds are supposed to). My parents would put me in the sherut and I’d climb out to cry some more or my friends would crawl in to cry some more. Oh, the drama. Let’s just say this: the Yael apple didn’t fall all that far from the Devorah tree. Oh the tears and the drama.
But while tearing up just a bit myself and dragging Yael into the van, what I didn’t notice for a few minutes was Channan. Nani was sitting in the van, clicked into his booster seat and just sobbing his eyes out. He was going to miss his life and friend and Israel. Sigh…
I would like to list all the people who were wonderful in the past week, but I crazy know that I am going to forget someone. But Tamara, Jorge, Efrat, Marci, Jessica, Atara, Rocky, Abbi, Dina and Tamar : you make it hard for a girl to get on a plane. My favorite moment, by far, of leaving yesterday was Efrat Schorr walking over to David as we’re loading 10 bags and 10 carry ons and 5 kids while surrounded by dozens of neighbors to point out that David had buttoned his shirt wrong (I believe the exact words were: “David, I’m not sure how to tell you that you’ve got a few more buttons on the bottom of your shirt than the top.”). It was perfect.
I am writing this entry from Cleveland. We’re here. The flights were great. Eitan didn’t throw up. Yael and Channan stopped crying. Flying with a 3 year old Dov is WAY more better than flying with a 2 year old Dov. And there was non-stop TV for the kids.
I realize that I am, of course, in a precarious position. If I write about how much I miss Israel then I risk insulting all of my new world. And if I write how joyous it is to be reunited with America, I risk upsetting all the Israelites in my life (not to mention my mother). So, I’ll leave it at this: I’m excited for the fun to begin.
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