I had a countdown before Shnat,
Countless countdowns during Shnat,
And now I'm starting my countdown until the end of Shnat.
A bittersweet event.
As of right now, there are
46
days left on Shnat.
(Depending on the time of day, I'll add or subtract a day. It's early right now, so I included today)
I don't know how I feel about this.
On one hand, I am really going to miss everybody. Waking up in the morning and falling down the ladder, tripping on something on our floor. Stumbling half blind through the hallway, passing Dan A working something out on the guitar. Transforming myself from the messy-haired, eyeliner smeared balagon that I was when I woke up to something presentable to the world in the bathroom. Feet getting dirtier and even more gross from stepping in the muddy puddles left from last night's showers. Cold air from the broken window blowing in on my face and shoulders. The house is still quiet when I move into the kitchen and get upset at the lack of mugs. I go find myself one somewhere in the house and wash it. I flick the switch that starts the water boiling. A spoonful of coffee, a spoon or two or three of sugar. By now my contacts have settled, but my mind is still a little groggy, so I make my way back to my room, slipping on something or bumping into a wall. In my room, I put on outfit after outfit. To my roommates disgust, I usually go through four or five shirts before deciding. On my way back to the kitchen where the water should be done boiling, I can detect more stirrings of people. Jake on his laptop, searching for a shirt. Josh looking confused and headachey. Dan Aron has traded in the guitar for a bowl of cereal. I retrieve my coffee, and by the time I've gotten make to my room, the roommates are up. Crabby and loud, they are either raving about clothes or angrily persuading each other to get out of bed. I grab the things I'll need for the day, maybe change my shirt again, and head out into the living room. By now I usually have enough time to check facebook, e-mail, and the like. After celebrating the Giants' recent win or, very rarely, lamenting their loss, it's usually time for class.
The part of the day when I get to class on time and awkwardly sit there alone with the teacher for a half an hour before anyone else actually arrives to class is something I won't miss.
It will be things like not seeing Emily and the hallway and giving her a big kiss on the cheek. Not tapping Jake's glasses or playing the 'made you look game' with him. When I want a cup of tea, I won't get to ask Kitty to make me some in Afrikaans. Dan Aron won't fight me to see who's stronger (I usually win) and I won't hear a constant tapping noise followed by someone yelling 'Daniel Aron!'
When I wake up here, I know I am in a place of extreme significance. I know that I will sit in a class and be able to see the walls of the Old City through the window. I know I'll learn something that will challenge or change the way I think. I'll make memories in a place I'll never forget with people I'll never forget.
One the other hand, I think I might be looking forward to going home. There are people I miss and things I want to do. Foods I want to eat and several good night's of sleep to be had. As much as I want to be here, taking advantage of opportunities and adventures here, there is a few years of experiences at home that I am about to embark on. My own bed, my big closet, all the clothes I left behind, my sister's sleep talking, my mom's cooking, some Bones episodes. Not having to live out of a suitcase or turn down my music because of a fragile relationship with the place I live in. Being able to clean my feet. An actual day off with things to do. My cat, and yes, even that dog. My car, my own car that I can drive anywhere I want to go and bring things along without having to stuff them into someone else's bag. Being able to make reliable plans with reliable people.
I'll get to see New York and a Giants' game. I'll start college and take classes and meet new people and be exposed to more than the same twenty personalities. I'll learn things from a wider perspective with people who show up to class on time. I'll live in a different setting and learn in different types of classes. I'll buy different snack food and takes buses from a different company.
I don't know how I feel about leaving. I want to go home and see everything and have those experiences for a while. But I want to stay here. I want Shnat to come to graceful end and although I know I'll miss the program, I know it's coming to a close. But I don't want to get on that plane. I don't want to leave. I want to stay. I don't want to see English everywhere. I want to order a falafel in Hebrew. Instead of teenagers in high heels and bleached blonde hair, I'd rather see teenagers in IDF uniforms and sixty year old women in high heels and bleached blonde hair. 'Am Yisrael Chai' spray painted on every other wall and the Nachman chant on every wall twice. Taglit and movement chultzot around every corner, giving those of us with American accents better discounts. Taxi drivers who overcharge for American accents. The Shabbat siren, after which cars start to drive a bit faster in their race to arrive at their destination before Shabbat does. The bagel men, who never fail to give compliments. The Old City, with all her secrets and wonders.
Forty-six more days. Twenty-four days of classes. Seven days of tiyul. Ten days of weekends. Five days of Sikkum Seminar.
And that's it.
A few plane rides home, and then I'm gone.
We went to the beach yesterday. We went to this museum and learned about the Palmach; it was amazing. But after, we went to the beach in Tel Aviv. I stood in the waves, the water level at my waist. The tide was coming in, but we didn't notice it. We swam and joked and laughed at played without realizing. Whether or not we knew wouldn't have made such a difference, but we were completely oblivious. At one point, I turned around and there was a monster wave coming. Larger than all others that had proceeded it, it grew and grew as it crept up towards us. I had time to panic but not enough to try to reach shallower ground. A feeling of dread increased until the wave was looming over my head. I watched as it crashed down on me, helpless to do anything. Cold enveloped me, and I was paralyzed for a moment. And as the wave moved on, I was left standing there, wet and shivering from the wave's lasting effects.
When I started thinking about Shnat ending, I thought it was a lot like that wave. We have fun playing and laughing, and then suddenly the end comes, and we're left there wondering what to do with the after effects. But maybe the wave is Shnat in it's entirety. There we are, living our lives, and then suddenly we pack up and have this great adventure, and then it's over. And we go home wondering what to do with it.
What to do with life. What to do with school. With our communities. With Israel. With Judaism.
And maybe we're the wave, encountering obstacles but growing with each moment, building and building, reaching the peak of ourselves and our lives, and then we break. And we fade out and are lost to the mass.
So how do we leave that lasting affect? What can we do to make sure someone, something remembers us? The obstacles, how far we reach on the shore, the things we move and take with us can all tell the story, but who's to say any of us are more than a passing wave, significant enough to move the sand under your feet but subtle enough to blend in with the breeze? Subject to the forces of time, gravity, physics, and the relations of every other wave, we are only what we can change. The sand, rocks, the mood of a person we encounter, the beach. And it's all just a countdown until we crash and fade into the sea.
See? This is what happens when I have to get up early for no reason.
On that depressing note, I am off to have my own lonely Shabbat adventure.
Countless countdowns during Shnat,
And now I'm starting my countdown until the end of Shnat.
A bittersweet event.
As of right now, there are
46
days left on Shnat.
(Depending on the time of day, I'll add or subtract a day. It's early right now, so I included today)
I don't know how I feel about this.
On one hand, I am really going to miss everybody. Waking up in the morning and falling down the ladder, tripping on something on our floor. Stumbling half blind through the hallway, passing Dan A working something out on the guitar. Transforming myself from the messy-haired, eyeliner smeared balagon that I was when I woke up to something presentable to the world in the bathroom. Feet getting dirtier and even more gross from stepping in the muddy puddles left from last night's showers. Cold air from the broken window blowing in on my face and shoulders. The house is still quiet when I move into the kitchen and get upset at the lack of mugs. I go find myself one somewhere in the house and wash it. I flick the switch that starts the water boiling. A spoonful of coffee, a spoon or two or three of sugar. By now my contacts have settled, but my mind is still a little groggy, so I make my way back to my room, slipping on something or bumping into a wall. In my room, I put on outfit after outfit. To my roommates disgust, I usually go through four or five shirts before deciding. On my way back to the kitchen where the water should be done boiling, I can detect more stirrings of people. Jake on his laptop, searching for a shirt. Josh looking confused and headachey. Dan Aron has traded in the guitar for a bowl of cereal. I retrieve my coffee, and by the time I've gotten make to my room, the roommates are up. Crabby and loud, they are either raving about clothes or angrily persuading each other to get out of bed. I grab the things I'll need for the day, maybe change my shirt again, and head out into the living room. By now I usually have enough time to check facebook, e-mail, and the like. After celebrating the Giants' recent win or, very rarely, lamenting their loss, it's usually time for class.
The part of the day when I get to class on time and awkwardly sit there alone with the teacher for a half an hour before anyone else actually arrives to class is something I won't miss.
It will be things like not seeing Emily and the hallway and giving her a big kiss on the cheek. Not tapping Jake's glasses or playing the 'made you look game' with him. When I want a cup of tea, I won't get to ask Kitty to make me some in Afrikaans. Dan Aron won't fight me to see who's stronger (I usually win) and I won't hear a constant tapping noise followed by someone yelling 'Daniel Aron!'
When I wake up here, I know I am in a place of extreme significance. I know that I will sit in a class and be able to see the walls of the Old City through the window. I know I'll learn something that will challenge or change the way I think. I'll make memories in a place I'll never forget with people I'll never forget.
One the other hand, I think I might be looking forward to going home. There are people I miss and things I want to do. Foods I want to eat and several good night's of sleep to be had. As much as I want to be here, taking advantage of opportunities and adventures here, there is a few years of experiences at home that I am about to embark on. My own bed, my big closet, all the clothes I left behind, my sister's sleep talking, my mom's cooking, some Bones episodes. Not having to live out of a suitcase or turn down my music because of a fragile relationship with the place I live in. Being able to clean my feet. An actual day off with things to do. My cat, and yes, even that dog. My car, my own car that I can drive anywhere I want to go and bring things along without having to stuff them into someone else's bag. Being able to make reliable plans with reliable people.
I'll get to see New York and a Giants' game. I'll start college and take classes and meet new people and be exposed to more than the same twenty personalities. I'll learn things from a wider perspective with people who show up to class on time. I'll live in a different setting and learn in different types of classes. I'll buy different snack food and takes buses from a different company.
I don't know how I feel about leaving. I want to go home and see everything and have those experiences for a while. But I want to stay here. I want Shnat to come to graceful end and although I know I'll miss the program, I know it's coming to a close. But I don't want to get on that plane. I don't want to leave. I want to stay. I don't want to see English everywhere. I want to order a falafel in Hebrew. Instead of teenagers in high heels and bleached blonde hair, I'd rather see teenagers in IDF uniforms and sixty year old women in high heels and bleached blonde hair. 'Am Yisrael Chai' spray painted on every other wall and the Nachman chant on every wall twice. Taglit and movement chultzot around every corner, giving those of us with American accents better discounts. Taxi drivers who overcharge for American accents. The Shabbat siren, after which cars start to drive a bit faster in their race to arrive at their destination before Shabbat does. The bagel men, who never fail to give compliments. The Old City, with all her secrets and wonders.
Forty-six more days. Twenty-four days of classes. Seven days of tiyul. Ten days of weekends. Five days of Sikkum Seminar.
And that's it.
A few plane rides home, and then I'm gone.
We went to the beach yesterday. We went to this museum and learned about the Palmach; it was amazing. But after, we went to the beach in Tel Aviv. I stood in the waves, the water level at my waist. The tide was coming in, but we didn't notice it. We swam and joked and laughed at played without realizing. Whether or not we knew wouldn't have made such a difference, but we were completely oblivious. At one point, I turned around and there was a monster wave coming. Larger than all others that had proceeded it, it grew and grew as it crept up towards us. I had time to panic but not enough to try to reach shallower ground. A feeling of dread increased until the wave was looming over my head. I watched as it crashed down on me, helpless to do anything. Cold enveloped me, and I was paralyzed for a moment. And as the wave moved on, I was left standing there, wet and shivering from the wave's lasting effects.
When I started thinking about Shnat ending, I thought it was a lot like that wave. We have fun playing and laughing, and then suddenly the end comes, and we're left there wondering what to do with the after effects. But maybe the wave is Shnat in it's entirety. There we are, living our lives, and then suddenly we pack up and have this great adventure, and then it's over. And we go home wondering what to do with it.
What to do with life. What to do with school. With our communities. With Israel. With Judaism.
And maybe we're the wave, encountering obstacles but growing with each moment, building and building, reaching the peak of ourselves and our lives, and then we break. And we fade out and are lost to the mass.
So how do we leave that lasting affect? What can we do to make sure someone, something remembers us? The obstacles, how far we reach on the shore, the things we move and take with us can all tell the story, but who's to say any of us are more than a passing wave, significant enough to move the sand under your feet but subtle enough to blend in with the breeze? Subject to the forces of time, gravity, physics, and the relations of every other wave, we are only what we can change. The sand, rocks, the mood of a person we encounter, the beach. And it's all just a countdown until we crash and fade into the sea.
See? This is what happens when I have to get up early for no reason.
On that depressing note, I am off to have my own lonely Shabbat adventure.
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