My fingers run over the smooth surfaces, finding the places in between that are rough or hard to find. My hands guide me along the wall like brail on a page I begin to see the mysteries before me unfold, like a story in a book, the triumphs and the failures begin to unfold. I come to a spot where my body drags me against the warm rock. I press my face gently to it, taking in everything, the smell of history around me, the sounds of prayer and being there for the first time.
Next to me the woman is crying, for what reason I don't know. I keep praying. "Barauch atah Adonai..." I begin, filling in with the rest of the prayer I've come to know by heart. My hand brushes the hand of the woman next to me and I rest it there. I hold her hand her tears fall against my hand. This stranger that I don't know, I help and comfort her, her head on my shoulder and me praying. My prayers I know have reached Hashem. Praying for more than just myself, the tears begin to flow down my own cheeks. I wipe them off, bid my crying friend goodbye, and turn to return to the rest of the group.
The wind flows over my face, and I breathe it in, shabbat is in the air. Back at the kibbutz, we come in to begin tefillah. The Rabbi asks quietly if anyone know a this one niggun, I do. I begin humming along with him. People look up as if to question what's going on, some look at me with strange looks on their faces, other's give me a pitiful look. I keep singing, and soon, everyone has joined in. My soul begins to reach Hashem as I let my soul unwind from all of the weeks troubles and self concious worries, or any other such tiresome care. I place my heart in my hands, and raise it to G-d, I pray a full shabbat evening service, even though we're only doing a reform service. I sing the tunes that the Beth-El'ers use. I harmonize where no one else but my family does.
I smell Mom's challah all of sudden, and my eyes are filled with tears, as I remember what I'm missing. The challah here pales in comparison, the foods okay, but nothing I'd really eat to satisfy my cravings, just to keep me healthy.
I so much miss home, but I'm in love with this country that it's hard to find a specific balance between the two. And as I sit here in my room all by myself, in the quiet solitude of my own company, I'm able to hear it as just one more helpful voice telling me where my heart is. It's not with the boys, they're to over-rated for now. It's not with the girls here, for as amazing as some of them, I just haven't been intruiged nor wanted them. It's in the history of Judaism and where my ancestors and my family's ancestors came from. It's in the language that is spoken so beautifully here. It's in the place where my parents are and where my dreams meet them at night. It's why I wake up at night crying softly sometimes. It's why I'm not wanting to tell people things anymore. The silent geeky kid, the one who know's everything. That's me to everyone else who can't see deeper into me. It's why I know more about themselves than they do, I've grown up, I don't shed my tears over them, I shed my tears for those who couldn't come, for my parents who aren't coming. I shed tears for being able to be here, to expierence this and yet not wanting it because no one is here to share it with me. I shed my tears for the emotions I have but can't explain, for the hug I need but can't receive, for the people I love so much but can't see right when I need them. I shed tears for reason's only I feel important.
Tonight I shed my tears because I cannot be with you on this shabbat, for the portion that I don't get to discuss, for the things I miss now seem more important. Life is good, it really is, but it's not home either. Things get better day by day, we become closer, I talk a little more, I breathe a little easier, I speak a little more freely. I use less duct-tape on my mouth to hold myself back. I love this place but I hate not having you here. I need you but I need to rely on myself, and this is hard, but I can do it... Hineni... Here I am.........
Shabbat Shalom,
Heather
