My days left in Israel are rapidly transforming into memories while slowly disappearing before my eyes. I have a mere seven days left here on this trip to Israel. I currently sit here as an American tourist in a foreign country. I don't even have a student visa. Next time I come back, I may be Israeli. I have many feelings toward this (making aliyah) but I don't know how to put them into words yet.
This trip has been fabulous so far. I don't know how I could ever manage to put these last few months into words either. My growth, both physically and spiritually, has far surpassed any of my aspirations coming into this experience. I have learned so much about myself in relation to the world around me, to Judaism, to God, and to my individual growth. I have experienced people and places that surpass anything I could have ever envisioned. I have seen people dressed in so many different ways and speaking so many different languages. I have experienced the world through a special, unique lens that has allowed me to become saturated in the culture around me. At times I felt as if I were drowning but it was always a good drowning, one where I was still breathing. Being overwhelmed (especially on a spiritual level) became a common feeling. I learned to open my eyes a lot wider on this trip. There were days when I would wake up, look around me, and not believe where I was. Whether it was submersed in a sea of black hats on the 2 going home, driving a friend's sports car around the Kineret, walking into Magen David Adom all alone to donate blood, or sitting on a picnic blanket while bbqing at Gan Sacher for Independence Day with friends, I was always somewhere new. There were weeks that I would travel for hours upon hours across the country and back, experiencing desert, sea, lakes, mountains, city, and resorts, all within days.
I sit here on the staircase at school and look around me. I see faces walking by my that I have known for a very short period of time. Yet somehow, they have become my best friends. We have built something together. We have built ourselves, our community, our world. We have gone through the good and the bad, the educational and the not-so-educational, the bar nights and the movie nights. Together, we have questioned ourselves and the world around us. Our conversations have become the thread that has woven itself through the past few months and leaves me here today. I am filled with the words of many languages, spoken from many people, that I will take with my for the rest of my life.
I have realized that I am capable of many things. I am in control of my life for the first time ever. Financially, I have come into myself. I have learned to budget my money, my time, and my education. I have begun to understand the consequences of actions, and have really seen the importance of analyzing causes and effects prior to making big decisions. I have learned balance. Emotionally, I have discovered outlets of support, ranging from teachers, to close friends, to my journal. I have learned how to be independent and how to have alone time. I couldn't do that before. I would cry from the fear of being alone. But I have realized that being alone is beautiful. I experienced this for the first time on an independent, spontaneous trip to Pisa, Italy. I traveled there, explored, and learned. I took pictures, soaked in the Italian sun, and became one with the world around me. I felt content that day while sitting on the bright green grass underneath the leaning tower.
So this winding road must continue. And on it, you will find me, moving along. Whether it be through an airplane, a car, a train, a bus, or simply by moving my feet, I will somehow reach the next destination on my journey. My life has become a puzzle that I have realized is not worth solving. I don't know how to solve it. Even if all the pieces are sitting right before me on the table, I will not be able to solve it correctly. And every time I think I can complete it, I need to take a step back and realize that it's not even my job to complete it. There is much less out of our hands than in them.
I'm scared for the future, but that's normal. I'm scared for graduate school, for moving to New York City, for balancing being a religious Jew and a typical American girl at the same time. I don't know what to expect. But in two years, I will be a social worker. A real, live social worker, with the abilities, both intellectually and on paper, to counsel others. I will be the adult. Soon, I will be cooking dinners and building a home of my own. I will look around and for some reason, I think I'll still be just as scared as I am now. It's part of growing up, and contrary to what many believe, growing up isn't just something that happens when you're young.
