Final Destination

Seatbelt fastened for landing, I sit tightly in my seat, waiting for that final bump. The little jolt you get, that tells you that you are now on solid ground, back to reality. That you can longer fall out of the sky.

I'm here now, yes. But this is not my final destination. I go through security, and ask for directions. It is all a foreign language. This is not my country, or my people. I am a stranger here. Spanish is beautiful, but it is just not English. Plus, I don't speak it very well. (Ola, come estace? I think thats it.)

I get to the next gate. Another seat, another plane. Shorter now. Only an hour. But still, I am not where I am meant to be, where I want to be. My journy is a long one. I am tired, so tired, running on no sleep at all. I long for my bed, for a shower, for normal food.

But that is all to come. Because right now, I'm traveling. I'm on my way to my final destination, but I'm not there yet.

The one thing keeping me going, is the knowledge that this will all be over soon enough. That finally, after the last touchdown, and security checkpoint, I will be home, on familiar ground. Despite how tiring and tedious traveling is, I know it won't last forever.

Eight hour flight. I feel claustrophobic. Too many people, not enough space. I pace up and down the plane, but apparently the stewerdes's don't like that too much. I offer to help push the trolly. But no, they have enough people already.
I need to scream, or jump up and down. But in todays society, I will be instantly classidied as being mentally challenged, or such. So I restrain myself, but just barely.

I see a baby crawling down the isle, and I envy her lack of self consciousness. I wish to be able to do the same, but I'm not granted the freedom.

So I sit. I stand. I breath. I ask for a drink. I wrinkle my nose at the unidentifiable airline food. I question why they still bother to serve it, when most will go to the garbage anyway. And small children are starving in Africa... What a pity.

The movie is boring, the music sucks, and I need to get off the plane! I contimplate opening the emergency door. But I'm not that daring. I think about punching a hole in the glass window. But I'm scared of cutting myself, I hate bleeding.

I feel myself begin to hyperventilate. I never do that. So I stand up, I close my eyes, and I rock back and forth. I don't care what the passengers think of me. Let them think I'm crazy, for all I care. It has a soothing effect on me, calms me down.

I still wish for this trip to end. I want to get off the plane. But for now, I'm here. Soon, soon, I'll be there. So I deal, because I have to.

And finally, after another unidentifiable snack, all the regular anouncements about landing, the nausiating, free-falling decent, in which you feel like you are just falling out of the sky, they announce our landing in New York's JFK airport. Yes!!

So I'm here. Finally. I'm home. But you know what? It still feels like I'm traveling. Like this is just another stop on my journey.

And I realize that it is. I may be home now, for pesach. But soon, I'll be going back to Israel. I was just in Toronto for a visit. I'll be going somewhere for the summer IY''H. (No idea yet.) But in life, physically, we are always traveling, always going somewhere.

IY''H when I'm married, I'll have my own home, with my husband and kids, and hopefully not travel as much. I like consistancy, stability. We all do. Because with all the confusion that is called the world, we all need a place to crash at the end of the day, a place to call home. Somewhere that we feel comfortable, wanted, welcome.

As Jews, in golus, we have no such place. This is America, and I love it, for all its freedome, and pratriatism, and all the values it stands for. But is it home? No, not really. Who's to say that tomorrow, the president, or anyone for that matter, won't get up and demand that we leave? That Jews don't belong here? It's happened before, it could happen again. I pray to G-d that it doesn't, but it makes you realize, we shouldn't get too comfortable anywhere.

Israel, my home. No, not really. That zionistic state?? What is that? A state. I'm pretty sure in the Torah, G-d didn't tell Avraham, may your children be as numerous as the sand and stars, and they will inherit the 'state of Israel'. No, that's not what He said. I believe it was 'Eretz Yisroel.' A LAND. Our land.

'Hatikva', the israeli flag. Those are just attempts by people, Jews, who long to belong. They created an illussion, that now Jews have a place to call home, a place of their own.

But they fool themselves. G-d knows best. He didn't give us Israel yet, because now is not the time. Thats not to say, of course, that now that we have it, we should not protect it with our lives. They do, of course. There are many lives at stake, lives that are stupidly being put in danger, by a corrupt governmant, that wants to please everyone.

You can NEVER please everyone. So try to please the only one that counts. G-d.

We are homeless. We are in golus, we shouldn't be here. I long for a home, for a place to belong. I bed G-d for that day, when the world will be a peaceful place. When we will no longer be a sheep among the wolves. When stupid people won't give away land of ours, and kill our own people.

That day is yet to come. I have so many feelings, so many reactions. I'm mad at G-d, yes. At times, I question Him. Sometimes I don't understand it at all. I blame myself, my generation. Maybe we're not trying hard enough. We can be doing more, caring more.

But then I realize, it's just not here because G-d decided He didn't want to bring it yet. Bottem line. For whatever reason. Which means, maybe it has nothing to do with me at all. I don't know. I will never know. 'G-d works in mysterious ways'. Indeed. I will never understand Him.

But I know, with certainty, that this world, this horrible golus we are in, is only temporary. A journy, a road, that will lead to the next one. It is hard, it is long, but it is only a means to an end.

Final destination. We are almost there.