These days are strange days in Israel. The day of remembrance for the fallen followed by Independence Day.
Mourning the fallen and then celebrating the state, fall down and then rise up higher than before.
I miss my adopted home tonight. I miss being a part of the story of our people, I miss feeling I’m making history just by being alive there.
Israel, the place that feels like a miracle in the macro and a disaster in the micro.
I live in London now. I made my choice. But I miss Israel still. My friends will have been on their barbecues today. Yaar Ben Shemen was the spot where a bunch of us would gather every year, get drunk, strum guitars, smoke a little weed, lie down in the heat, drink heavy Turkish coffee and talk about nothing or not talk at all. Never ending games of sheshbesh. Ice cold water from the freezer boxes.
It’s better here in the UK. It’s better financially, it’s better in terms of prospects and standard of living.
So why do I dream so much of being over there?
That place where all anyone ever told me was how, if they had my passport, they’d be in London, that place where the first thing I was taught was that the state will screw you (sounds better in Hebrew).
Now Israel is a place I visit once or twice a year. Eat the ice cream, check in on the in-laws, meet up with friends and then say goodbye again with promises of an imminent return.
Promises I seem unable to fulfil.
I miss Israel tonight.