I ought to blog all about Israel, oughtn't I? I'll just begin with that: there is too much to tell. The anecdotes that I could put here are ridiculous and most of them aren't funny unless the reader is slaphappy (as we were, most of the time). I made a great friend in Poland, in Auschwitz, made because we were both bawling and needed a shoulder to lean on. And I adore her.
I got way closer with tons of people, but distanced from two, which makes me sad. And about thirty of the 66 people on the trip I still don't know very well.
Nonetheless, it's really like a family. I won't lie to you. You don't go hiking through the desert, on the inside of a mountain, through woods and thorn bushes, over mountains, halfway to a Crusader fortress and back, from sea to sea and tip to tip of a country so saturated with history that every stone is carved with a prayer - you don't do that with 65 folks and then part ways without feeling a connection of some sort.
Of course, I'll forget names. That always happens. Of course, we all won't hang out all the time like we said we would.
Many people will find a park to smoke hookah, and I won't go - I probably won't be invited. There will be birthdays misplaced, phone numbers lost on old SD cards, and even some faces will fade away and only the shirt will be remembered. Do you remember that guy who got Tonsilitis only the week after he was hospitalized for dehydration? (That was Alex, by the way, poor guy.) Do you remember that girl who was always falling down - when she slipped and fell into the river? (That was me, of course. I'm a bit of a klutz when I'm not on flat earth.)
Nonetheless, I daresay that even the not-so-good memories will be thought of fondly eventually, and the people and stories are imprinted on the pictures we'll all put in our albums when we finally get around to pulling everyone else's pictures off of Facebook, sorting them, picking out the best, calling people to help remember where and when they happened.
I'm glad to be back home to normalcy, but at the same time, there's the nagging feeling that some of the things that I remember happening didn't actually occur. It's false, of course, brought on by time there and time away, the feeling of being tugged by two different homes - one po (here) and one sham (there) - the sleep deprivation and the occasional feeling, even there, that we were dreaming while awake.
Nonetheless, some things can never be lost in my mind - at least, I hope not. Conquering my fear of heights on the narrow ledge between a cliff and a sheer drop into a rocky valley; ocean, plains, mountains and forest, another ocean, cities and rivers passing by the window within minutes of each other.
And the experiences that were so deep, so personal, so wonderful and thrilling and terrifying that I could never write them in a blog - no one would take me seriously, thank you, K.M.V. - and can only share them with my one and only, letting these stories escape hurriedly from my lungs and rush to his side...
I can only try to keep my breathing steady as I recount something I cannot comprehend until my breathing and my story dissolve into sobs of confusion and exultation as he listens and considers, comforts and believes me.
These stories I keep for those times.
So that is all I'll say about my experiences in Israel thus far: that there were many of them, and many incredible people with whom I shared them, and as is logical when one considers so many teenagers breathing and eating and sleeping side by side for five weeks, there were dozens of inside jokes and many of them were dirtier than we were after traversing that country.
Now we are back home, to relative normalcy. Has this trip changed us permanently? I doubt otherwise. I, for one, feel that it will be impossible to ever do anything again that isn't sitting and thinking, or seeing and listening. Writing papers again for school will be bizarre, to say the least. How many times a during a school day will I pause and think to myself that at this time in Israel, I might be picking tomatoes for the povertous, or climbing a "mountain," or even a mountain?
I can't say. But hopefully I'll be able to keep you posted.
I got way closer with tons of people, but distanced from two, which makes me sad. And about thirty of the 66 people on the trip I still don't know very well.
Nonetheless, it's really like a family. I won't lie to you. You don't go hiking through the desert, on the inside of a mountain, through woods and thorn bushes, over mountains, halfway to a Crusader fortress and back, from sea to sea and tip to tip of a country so saturated with history that every stone is carved with a prayer - you don't do that with 65 folks and then part ways without feeling a connection of some sort.
Of course, I'll forget names. That always happens. Of course, we all won't hang out all the time like we said we would.
Many people will find a park to smoke hookah, and I won't go - I probably won't be invited. There will be birthdays misplaced, phone numbers lost on old SD cards, and even some faces will fade away and only the shirt will be remembered. Do you remember that guy who got Tonsilitis only the week after he was hospitalized for dehydration? (That was Alex, by the way, poor guy.) Do you remember that girl who was always falling down - when she slipped and fell into the river? (That was me, of course. I'm a bit of a klutz when I'm not on flat earth.)
Nonetheless, I daresay that even the not-so-good memories will be thought of fondly eventually, and the people and stories are imprinted on the pictures we'll all put in our albums when we finally get around to pulling everyone else's pictures off of Facebook, sorting them, picking out the best, calling people to help remember where and when they happened.
I'm glad to be back home to normalcy, but at the same time, there's the nagging feeling that some of the things that I remember happening didn't actually occur. It's false, of course, brought on by time there and time away, the feeling of being tugged by two different homes - one po (here) and one sham (there) - the sleep deprivation and the occasional feeling, even there, that we were dreaming while awake.
Nonetheless, some things can never be lost in my mind - at least, I hope not. Conquering my fear of heights on the narrow ledge between a cliff and a sheer drop into a rocky valley; ocean, plains, mountains and forest, another ocean, cities and rivers passing by the window within minutes of each other.
And the experiences that were so deep, so personal, so wonderful and thrilling and terrifying that I could never write them in a blog - no one would take me seriously, thank you, K.M.V. - and can only share them with my one and only, letting these stories escape hurriedly from my lungs and rush to his side...
I can only try to keep my breathing steady as I recount something I cannot comprehend until my breathing and my story dissolve into sobs of confusion and exultation as he listens and considers, comforts and believes me.
These stories I keep for those times.
So that is all I'll say about my experiences in Israel thus far: that there were many of them, and many incredible people with whom I shared them, and as is logical when one considers so many teenagers breathing and eating and sleeping side by side for five weeks, there were dozens of inside jokes and many of them were dirtier than we were after traversing that country.
Now we are back home, to relative normalcy. Has this trip changed us permanently? I doubt otherwise. I, for one, feel that it will be impossible to ever do anything again that isn't sitting and thinking, or seeing and listening. Writing papers again for school will be bizarre, to say the least. How many times a during a school day will I pause and think to myself that at this time in Israel, I might be picking tomatoes for the povertous, or climbing a "mountain," or even a mountain?
I can't say. But hopefully I'll be able to keep you posted.
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