The Land of Lost Children

Israel is the land of lost children; I think that’s what I’ve realized since I’ve gotten here. People come from all over the world in search of something. What exactly is that something? Well it’s different for all of us, some come seeking adventure and a chance to settle a new land, for a chance to lay down their stake in a country that is scarcely more then sixty years old. Others come to lay claim to a spiritual destiny that they see as being timeless and beyond our control. They come to fulfill the ancient prophecy of the ingathering of the exiles, and to rebuild Jerusalem. Others come because it s halfway point somewhere in between Europe and Asia, a tiny piece of land that human beings have lived on since the beginnings of modern man. Israel is so many things to so many different people, and all of them every single one becomes part of a beautiful and tragic mosaic. The Holy Land is after all build upon the tears of the Matriarchs. I often think about what brought me to this mysterious land, I think about my first experience of flying all night and getting off the plane, the sun was rising, the morning dew and fog slowly being burned off as the suns heat hit it. I remember dragging my bag to the bus, then stopping for a moment taking the scene in. Taking a deep breath of the soft morning air and looking over my shoulder feeling inexplicably as though someone or something was there with me. I have over the course of the at times grueling months here thought of that singular moment. The time where I understood Israel without understanding a thing, I remember the naivety, the innocence. I miss those moments, I don’t know if I’ll ever get them back, I suspect not. After all moments of innocence rely on that one thing you can’t get unless you have it: experience. We all come into this world, to this land innocent, curious, then experience gets in the way. We learn Torah, or find a job, or become settlers in the West Bank or whatever it is we do. And then we make decisions, we stay or we go, making terrible decisions to leave our families or to leave or true home. It’s beautiful and tragic, funny how those words seem inexplicably linked. And we all become lost children.