The new year
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Last weekend, I felt a nudge to begin to gather all of my writing. I dusted off old blogs hiding in forgotten corners of the internet, and read them start to finish. There’s The Wallflower, detailing my first true solo time abroad to Barcelona at age 21, and I Spy with my Mojalvo Eye that perfectly encapsulates my return to photo storytelling when I was 24 in NYC. I discovered handwritten journal entries and a super secret blog (I searched for hours for this thing) from age 26 when I was dating all sorts of guys while pining for a man who did not deserve my heart. I’ve collected about 400 pages of writing, and I am in shock. So many pages of emotions and days that I’ve lived documented—a capsule of my life from 21 to 31.
Reading through these entries, I recalled where I was at 21. I had just moved from Israel back to the states to start my journey of adulthood, and I was heartbroken. Leaving Israel when I was 21 was one of the hardest things I’ve had to do in my life. I had fallen in love, but I couldn’t stay. Israel felt like home, but it was also not my home. Being a third culture kid leaves me in the middle of so many spaces. When I lived in Herzilya, I missed my parents so much. I missed the cozy fall afternoons, the chilly air that begins to envelop us in October. The way the sun sets early and the dusky night gives way to a feeling of renewal. My dad’s chili. At 21, I was ready to reconnect with these parts of me, so I came back to America.
I grew up. I moved through my twenties with turbulence like most everyone does. I experienced first love, and discovered how much it can consume you. I stood up for myself in a situation of wrongful compensation at an internship, and I started a successful business. I moved to another city alone, mostly for the thrill of moving to another city alone. I met a partner who shares the same curiosity for traveling and learning as I do. Throughout my 20’s I felt recalled to this part of me that forever resides in Israel, and at home in the states, I never really feel completely whole.
It’s the Jewish new year, and the coincidence of these writings popping up in the midst of powerful planetary retrogrades and a new moon is not lost on me. It’s also not lost on me that I spent a week or so reflecting on this leading up to a very special (and long overdue) trip to Israel. October has begun, another year of life tucked away. The vision of Tel Aviv and floating in the clear Mediterranean water, and sipping coffee under the fruit trees on my aunt and uncle’s balcony called to me. It was a beacon in the darkness of the pandemic and throughout my twenties. Last week, I spoke with one of my spiritual advisors and she saw this upcoming trip. She said, “I see roots. A tree with roots. This is your home.” Here I am. Our flight made its descent into Tel Aviv, circling over the Judean hills and over cities and towns I have come to know. I felt a piece of my soul return.
The olives are ripe here, and the morning sun creates a hazy glow around ripening lemons. And as I continue to grow in this multi-cultural body, I know that I will always have to strike harmony. To consistently work to collect the parts of my soul that prefer to exist in the memories of the places that most fit them. I must take time to honor these parts of me by spending time with them in these places, reconnecting, retrieving. Because when I neglect any parts of my soul’s home, I feel incomplete. Not having been to Israel in five years made my heart feel like it weighed a hundred pounds in my chest. It left me viscerally dreaming of Shabbat dinner. Yesterday, upon our arrival, my cousins, aunt, uncle, and grandmother gathered around the table with my sister, our significant others, and my parents. The circle felt complete. I lit the shabbat candles with my Savta, and let her bless me for the new week ahead, her hand cupping the top of my head. I soaked up the simplicity of family together that my soul so deeply loves and craves daily.
For this Jewish new year, I find peace in knowing that I have many homes, and for the next handful of days, I will enjoy feeling this piece of my soul at home with me in my body.