Im eshkachech Yerushalayim, tishkach yemeeni *

It was with much sadness - and more than a few tears - that I passed through the familiar sites of Jerusalem for the last time, stopping in Tel Aviv before the difficult 12 hour flight to New York City. How can one describe leaving Jerusalem? Leaving Israel? My initial impressions, after just three days in the States:

Life in Jerusalem feels, in many ways, as if it is lived on a tight rope; one misstep and the balance of the city will be so upset as to send every resident on a disastrous freefall. This phenomenon has an interesting effect, and one that I've mentioned before. Life is not to be avoided, but rather every second lived with intention and purpose. After almost six months in Israel, I, too, began to see my own actions and existence in terms of Ariel, of Ir Ha'Elohim, of Jerusalem. To leave, then, is to fear that the tenuous peace somehow carved out in the magnificent and unearthly city will crumble at the very moment my shoulders are no longer helping to hold it up. I'm told this seemingly self-important apprehension is not an uncommon one; to live in Jerusalem is to become such a part of the place that for even the briefest of moments every person feels as if her existence and the city's are entirely wrapped up in, and dependent on, one another.

The flight was a long one and subdued - none of the nervous energy that colored my voyage to Israel back in August and certainly none of the cheering. My thoughts, and those of my fellow passengers, were palpable: "Am I going home or did I just leave it?"

The huge El-Al airplane was packed the night I left Israel and, as luck would have it, I sat next to a woman of what one might call overly-generous proportions. With bright red nails and a thick Long Island accent, I couldn't help but curse the karma that gave me that particular middle seat. I was far too quick to judge this woman, however. Maybe it was the text message I had just received in Hebrew, or maybe it was my puffy-from-crying red eyes, but she turned to me and began to speak in the language that I'd grown so accustomed to hearing. We were chatting in Hebrew about my experiences and about how hard she always found it to leave, when the attendant began to collect from the passengers leftover Israeli shekels to donate to needy children. As I started to dump out the contents of my change purse, my neighbor leaned over to me and said "Don't give it all away, chamudi. You'll need some money for when you return." Putting a few coins back into my purse, I couldn't help but smile and think that such advice was some of the finest I've received since arriving in the Holy Land.

Such are my first, haphazard thoughts about leaving Jerusalem. In the next few weeks, as I begin to readjust to life in the United States, I'll post again with some final impressions and observations regarding my experiences abroad.

B'Shalom,
Meagan

*Psalm 137: 5 - If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her skill.