Simplicity

I miss Israel. That's a fact that everyone knows about me. Sure I miss hearing Hebrew swarm my ears and the Jewishness of the country. It's more than the connection I have with Israel, though. I miss the simple things of Israel. I miss the essence of the country. The details that make Israel what it is.

I miss the juice stands that squeeze of fresh orange, pomegranate, and/or carrot juice. The guys behind the counter, whether old or young, were always friendly despite my indecisiveness. They always complimented my friends and I, but not in a creepy manner. In a genuine "I'm Israeli so I notice American  girls" kind of way. That still sounds creepy, but you have to be in Israel to understand. Hence, my point of why I miss the country.

I miss the Jerusalem stone roads that I always slipped on. I miss walking to the bus stop with the sun rising over the Old City and sparkling against the Dome of the Rock. I miss the bus drivers and their crazy driving. I miss the honking. The shuttling to Tel Aviv every weekend via Sheirut. I miss the beach (though I think that's mostly a general thing because it is so cold here!) and the tire playground. I miss the cafes. I miss the Aromas and the Angel Bakery. I miss the kindergarten. I miss my misinterpretations. I miss the Israeli accent. I miss the "telawivtelawivtelawiv" of the sheirut drivers at the Tachanat Mercazit (Bus Station). I miss the sea of black, also known as the religious. I miss the pita. The hummus. The tahina. The falafel. The chocolate and its spread. The persimmons and the fresh fruit.

But most of all, I miss the silence of Shabbat. I live in the suburbs so everything is always still and silent. But there is no way to describe the busy, overcrowded, overpopulated, pushing and shoving citizens of Israel right before the beginning of Shabbat. As soon as sundown sets, it's like someone put a silencer on the country. You can see families at their kitchen table saying prayers over candles, wine, and challah. From my window in Jerusalem, I could see into the apartment complex next door and every Friday I would see a father blessing his little girl. Everyone in Israel is with family and friends. No one is worried about anything except what to eat for dinner. The closest you get to this warm fuzzy feeling of familial ties is Christmas of Fourth of July. You don't (or at least I don't) even get this feeling on Shabbat in America. There's just an essence about knowing that everyone else in the country is doing exactly what you are doing at exactly the same time that gives you a sense of security and warmth.