So, I came back home after a ten days-long trip to Israel,
and I’m writing these few lines for the third time already, and, apparently, I just can’t
get it right. I want to write about Israel – about how it’s not just a country,
and not as much of a country, as it’s a beautiful idea, and faith,
and the essence of hope. I want to write about how grateful I am for a chance
to do what endless generations of my family never dreamt of doing – to somewhat
come back there and be met at the airport with the “welcome home” words. I’m
bursting with all these stories we had there, stories about swimming in the Dead
Sea during a sand storm, and reading Shabbat prayers with strangers, and singing
this special kind of songs without words that you can only sing with Jews.
There are also all the people I’ve met that deserve to be mentioned, and places
so beautiful that it still hurts, and feeling of immersion into something immense as you walk the streets and roads there – but,
honestly, it’s just too hard to get it all together.
To put it simple, there is a country out there, which
is simply beautiful, in a sense which I’ve never come across before. It’s
stunning in the way it colours the desert around itself in impossible shades,
and in the clashing of its cities into one another, and in the way mountains
are out of the blue crossed by valleys and lakes, but the real essence of its beauty
for me is spiritual – it’s in its strength, in stories it tells, in
impossibility of its existence and in the way it, despite all the reasons to
cease, is obsessed with living, not just existing.
I said it already – I saw Israel as an idea rather
than a country; it’s the idea of a homeland, created and built by people for
people – that’s it.
And you know
what? – Any idea is only powerful when it’s believed in. Our ten days were merely a real Israel – we lived in
hotels, and saw more history that we were able to cope with, and ate what was kosher,
but very European-like food. But the way I, the way our group learnt to believe in this country –
well, that was real for sure.
Just as hard as it was to write about that trip, it was equally hard to find the photos I really want to share, but look, here they are. Thank you, Taglit, and thank you, Israel, for showing us so much, for people, places, times and that overwhelming beauty of being your part.
The wearing of a red string is an ancient segula (propitious remedy) that protects the wearer from danger.
The wearing of a red string is an ancient segula (propitious remedy) that protects the wearer from danger.
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The whole world is a very narrow bridge;
the important thing is not to be afraid.
the important thing is not to be afraid.
-Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav
