There is this one road I drive on. Its path winds and bends, through thick forests and lethargic farmland, over highways and bridges, past streams and under stars. No matter how I like to speed, catching warm breeze through my window and rushes of adrenaline, which colour my face, on this road I go 20 [mph] under. I like to capture the entire scene from beginning to end. I like to bask in the ecstasy of the view, unhindered by any passing car. Yet, around 18:30/19:00, my breathing almost ceases when on this road. The entire aura of the picture has changed, and now it is heavy with gold dust. The air is saturated with orange and yellow film, heightening the presence of nature. Nothing has ever been more striking.
On my way back, the sun had finished its journey, long since set. The stars glisten in a crisp summer sky. The full moon hangs over the radio tower, trying to catch the waves of music running through the body of my car. The clouds are illuminated by the florescent moon, but the pattern in which they scatter across the sky has me yearning for a frame, to capture my panorama and keep forever.
But through the clouds I see the stars, like spilled glitter, start to sweep themselves into pictures of their own. The big constellation, I've recognized since birth, catches my sight and sent my mind spiralling. As the winds pick up, I realize it's the very same one. It's the very same one I looked up at fifteen months ago. I take in as much air as my lungs will permit, and exhale softer than the breeze. These are my stars, the same ones from home: Israel.
As I walked down my street in the dead of night, they are the same stars that stole my breath as I first muttered the words, "HaShem, hachochaviem shelo zot yafim meod,"* in my imperfect Hebrew. They are the stars that slowly vanished as I was left singing “Eli, Eli" as I prepared to leave. Imagining my surroundings, masked in shadows, I drew my Israeli sky over its American counterpart and recalled the words that entered my heart, scrawled on a flag, my blue stained white flag, “Ein li eretz acheret." I have no other land. But I ask in response, if I have no other land, why is my heart torn in two?
My name is Rebekah Carly Morris, Tzisil Aviva. I am seventeen years old. And these might be the only facts you may find in my writings.
There is no chronological order in which to start, so I'll start with the future. In one year from now, if my plans unfold correctly, I'll be living in Israel, on a Kibbutz, in a program called Garin Tzabar, B'Ezrat HaShem. I'll be on my way to joining the Israeli army, already in possession of my Israeli citizenship. Presently, I am awaiting for the application to Garin Tzabar. And as the past would have it, two of my felIow Eisendrath International Exchange (EIE) peers made Aliyah a few days ago.
Often, I feel my self defending my choice, so obscure for the typical American Jew. How, I ask myself, am I supposed to explain myself to all the people who wish I'd stay in America? How do I make them understand, if not agree, to why I feel I need to leave? I'm not sure if this forum is a portal to convey these answers, but I'm sure it is a place to at least voice my thoughts. I kept another blog "RebekahsAdventure.blogspot.com" for my travels from EIE. I urge you to seek out the ones that displayed my passion during Gadna(a taste of basic training in the army). But, back to the core message of this post:
Lis, my roommate from Israel, and I sat down yesterday, by the poolside on a flawless August afternoon. She said, "Once high school ends, our lives begin." And now I sit here, in my room, with six Israeli flags scattered around. I have my map of Israel by my door, as well. My desk holds various Jewish books, and the Tanakh I traveled with. On my floor sits my Hebrew dictionary, and my blanket is sharpie-stained with a Jewish star proclaiming the months I spent in the Holy Land. Around my neck rests the Jewish star my brother picked out for me; sand, from the north to south of Israel hangs in a tube, colorful and captivating; and there, at the bottom of my chain, there is a bullet from the ammunitions factory. That factory helped Israel win its independence. Where does life begin? It's when the choices you make are your own. It's when the life you lead is all yours to lead.
My reason for going to Israel is complex at heart. My reasons for going is more than just a religion, its more than just a gun. My reasons might even trump the pride I feel altogether. I laughed with Lis, telling her I can't believe what I'm doing. I wouldn't get married to a man I've only met for four months. But, here I am, running off to marry Israel; Like a lustful woman on her wedding day, unsure if love will settle in her heart until the end of time. Death do us part. But, the real reason, so sacred to me, is soul. I have an obligation that runs deeper than bone. I have a love that transcends my core. I have more than just an ascetic love of the land. The soul of my people rests there. The way I feel when I walk at night, just changes me. The stars are the same, but when I'm there I am not. I am the person I'd rather myself see:
On my way back, the sun had finished its journey, long since set. The stars glisten in a crisp summer sky. The full moon hangs over the radio tower, trying to catch the waves of music running through the body of my car. The clouds are illuminated by the florescent moon, but the pattern in which they scatter across the sky has me yearning for a frame, to capture my panorama and keep forever.
But through the clouds I see the stars, like spilled glitter, start to sweep themselves into pictures of their own. The big constellation, I've recognized since birth, catches my sight and sent my mind spiralling. As the winds pick up, I realize it's the very same one. It's the very same one I looked up at fifteen months ago. I take in as much air as my lungs will permit, and exhale softer than the breeze. These are my stars, the same ones from home: Israel.
As I walked down my street in the dead of night, they are the same stars that stole my breath as I first muttered the words, "HaShem, hachochaviem shelo zot yafim meod,"* in my imperfect Hebrew. They are the stars that slowly vanished as I was left singing “Eli, Eli" as I prepared to leave. Imagining my surroundings, masked in shadows, I drew my Israeli sky over its American counterpart and recalled the words that entered my heart, scrawled on a flag, my blue stained white flag, “Ein li eretz acheret." I have no other land. But I ask in response, if I have no other land, why is my heart torn in two?
My name is Rebekah Carly Morris, Tzisil Aviva. I am seventeen years old. And these might be the only facts you may find in my writings.
There is no chronological order in which to start, so I'll start with the future. In one year from now, if my plans unfold correctly, I'll be living in Israel, on a Kibbutz, in a program called Garin Tzabar, B'Ezrat HaShem. I'll be on my way to joining the Israeli army, already in possession of my Israeli citizenship. Presently, I am awaiting for the application to Garin Tzabar. And as the past would have it, two of my felIow Eisendrath International Exchange (EIE) peers made Aliyah a few days ago.
Often, I feel my self defending my choice, so obscure for the typical American Jew. How, I ask myself, am I supposed to explain myself to all the people who wish I'd stay in America? How do I make them understand, if not agree, to why I feel I need to leave? I'm not sure if this forum is a portal to convey these answers, but I'm sure it is a place to at least voice my thoughts. I kept another blog "RebekahsAdventure.blogspot.com" for my travels from EIE. I urge you to seek out the ones that displayed my passion during Gadna(a taste of basic training in the army). But, back to the core message of this post:
Lis, my roommate from Israel, and I sat down yesterday, by the poolside on a flawless August afternoon. She said, "Once high school ends, our lives begin." And now I sit here, in my room, with six Israeli flags scattered around. I have my map of Israel by my door, as well. My desk holds various Jewish books, and the Tanakh I traveled with. On my floor sits my Hebrew dictionary, and my blanket is sharpie-stained with a Jewish star proclaiming the months I spent in the Holy Land. Around my neck rests the Jewish star my brother picked out for me; sand, from the north to south of Israel hangs in a tube, colorful and captivating; and there, at the bottom of my chain, there is a bullet from the ammunitions factory. That factory helped Israel win its independence. Where does life begin? It's when the choices you make are your own. It's when the life you lead is all yours to lead.
My reason for going to Israel is complex at heart. My reasons for going is more than just a religion, its more than just a gun. My reasons might even trump the pride I feel altogether. I laughed with Lis, telling her I can't believe what I'm doing. I wouldn't get married to a man I've only met for four months. But, here I am, running off to marry Israel; Like a lustful woman on her wedding day, unsure if love will settle in her heart until the end of time. Death do us part. But, the real reason, so sacred to me, is soul. I have an obligation that runs deeper than bone. I have a love that transcends my core. I have more than just an ascetic love of the land. The soul of my people rests there. The way I feel when I walk at night, just changes me. The stars are the same, but when I'm there I am not. I am the person I'd rather myself see:
Happy. In Love. At Home.
