Nobody told me how hard it would be to make Aliyah. Or maybe they did and I just didn't listen. Why would I? I have a dream to live.
I've always thought of Aliyah as my next big step. It has just always been my next step, even when in reality it wasn't. This wasn't the first time I'd tried to make Aliyah. I really wanted to straight out of my gap year and join the IDF. Unfortunately, that wasn't a realistic plan financially and now that will just sit as a lasting regret.
My grandparents dropped me off at Newark. I spent my whole time in the terminal bawling my eyes out and probably snotting all over myself. I was surprised that this out of this greater Jewish community that I have grown to love and feel comfortable in, not one person asked me if I was okay. Instead, a tall lanky black man with a cross belt buckle, big cross necklace, long jeans, boots, and a cowboy hat squeezed my shoulder, asked me if there was anything he could do for me multiple times, and told me that he and his wife, Ruth, were praying for me. When I was boarding the plane the security guard asked me why I was crying. I was able to blubber out “I’m making Aliyah”. His response was “Thats good, nu”. How Israeli.
I expected to get to Israel and feel the euphoria that overcomes me every time I set foot in Jerusalem. Something about that city just captured my heart and soul. When I got here, I didn't feel euphoric. I didn't feel relieved. I was fearful, guilt ridden, I missed Poki (my grandpa), and I spent a lot of time crying. I just felt like I'd closed a whole book that I never thought would end. I thought I’d be starting a new chapter, instead I’m in the process of writing a dissertation on a subject I know nothing about.
Now, a week later, I’ve finally settled in, visited Jerusalem, and kept that euphoria of being a citizen of this beautiful (and a little bit backwards) country.
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