Perfect

Photo: Courtesy of Zvika Rotbart

It’s clearly a non-enlightened being speaking, but some days are better than others. Some days suck. While other days just seem to flow, like nature intended them to do, without grinding halts, or pitfalls, or otherwise annoying obstacles.

On one of these days, you may go out for dinner with a dear friend. You may sit in a waterfront restaurant and watch the sun lazily make its way down towards the water, your skin aglow with the evening light. You may wiggle at the sight of the amazing array of middle-eastern salads being brought, all for you to taste and fill you with carnal delight. There might be some bubbly white wine involved, gentle in taste but exploding in your head with fireworks and stories that arrive from god knows where. You’d look up from these fragrant goodies, into your friend’s laughing eyes. You’d be mildly surprised, ever so slightly baffled, for all the knowing him, you’ve suddenly seen him again, anew. You’ve both been able to temporarily strip off, from your individual histories, and from the one you share together. You’ve even forgotten the neglect and grief you might have caused one another. As you laugh, eat, tell funny stories, feed your posh fish dish to the cat – you feel excited; you want to start getting to know your friend all over again.

And then…

Then Shai and I repeated our infamous walk through the empty and trashy Carmiel Market again. It was just as stinky and sticky as on my first night here, only this time Shai (sans the halva), God bless his soul, carried me on his back.

And then we said good-bye. And I was wistful, but joyful, that a friendship I thought of as lost, showed hope to be salvaged after all. That forgiveness and compassion can triumph over resentment and hurt feelings. That you can know someone long and well, and continue to see the goodness in them.

As my Israel trip inevitably draws to an end, I am sad. I don’t want to leave yet. So much still to see, to learn. So many people to meet and have a little banter with. So many pitas with falafel to eat.

It hasn’t been an entirely easy month. Some of my expectations crashed with a huge thud when confronted with ruthless concrete of reality. Some timid hopes had to be buried under the not so clean sands of Tel Aviv’s beaches. Other timid hopes have had to remain timid hopes, for now. And there were times when my longing for loving touch preceded all thought.

But amidst all this balagan, unexpected love for this breathtakingly beautiful land was born. I began to find stories in the mundane and catch them on the fishing rod of my words again. Passion and creativity were restored to me. The sorry leftovers of my prozac pills finally landed in the bin. We all know that life ain’t an endless firework show. Still, for here and now, dear readers, let Miss Smilla proclaim herself – recovered.

"Say anything is possible,

It's not too late

The sun has already risen

It's time for love

Together, heart to heart,

we'll open and we'll see

The light in the sky

Together, heart to heart

we'll open with hope

- to love" Yachad, by Gaya

(translation from Hebrew)

(and she better not be mistaken).