So today we had breakout groups where we had the opportunity to reflect. As a first exercise we we asked to spend fifteen minutes writing about the word "home." I struggle with this word for I feel like I have many homes. I decided that my fifteen minutes worth of writing were worth saving, and if I was going to type them up I might as well share them with all of you....
Home. This word which is supposed to be so grounding, so comforting has recently begun to bring me so much anxiety. What is home? Where is home? Who is home? Most days I don't know. Last month when there were rocket sirens in Jerusalem my mother told me to, "come home." I was in my bedroom, wasn't I home? There is a nostalgic tinge associated with the word and concept of home. However, when I go to my home of St. Louis, Missouri, the home where I grew up, I am left empty, unsatisfied. Many people who made it my home are long gone, scattered across the country and world. My family is there in a new apartment, a new physical home, and in time there have been new challenges as we grow together, separately. These struggles are far from the idyllic childhood on Brooktrail Court. That home is a memory. I want St. Louis to be home, yet it no longer feels right. it's a place, a place I've loved, now changed.
Then there is Boston, the city I called my home, yet it took me awhile. For most of the time I lived in Boston, St. Louis was still my home. How and when did it switch? What did that mean? Why did it happen? I'm in unsure, but I know it did. I long for Boston now, there is a deep void in my heart that I can't be there sitting in the commons with Cayla or singing at Kavod or just simply being in Shafe's kitchen. I feel so at a loss. That was my home and I loved it. TBS was my home. I was supported, challenged, and appreciated. I was known and loved both at TBS and around my Boston cmmunity. It's hard to carry that knowledge and feeling of love, I'm trying to, I know that I need to. The thought of Boston and my community does ground me, but it also makes me immensely sad.
Then there are my memories vivid, strong and colorful. Camp, Viroqua, Jenny's house..well camp especially. it was a place where i felt I could be my authentic self. Like TBS I felt loved and supported. it is a home. I guess it is one of the many. It's so log since I've been there and I'm sure it's different. I wonder if it still feels like home. Maybe home is a feeling of the people you love. Maybe home is love..
Now I live in Jerusalem, the "homeland" yet is it not my home, not yet but it's getting there, maybe. The streets familiar, the stores known. I see people I know on the streets and after a visit to Tel Aviv, i am happy to be home. Yet I still long for Boston, but at least I have the pictures of those memories in frames on my wall here in Jerusalem, my home....
