The final stretch.

And so I came back. In no way can I say that I returned to stability in the Mechina. As the great Shai Komarov once said, "There is no such thing." For two weeks straight I did not sleep in one place for more than two nights. I had about one day of normalcy to be jet-lagged, and the next day we set off for a two day hike...destination: Nachal Daraje (the Daraje river). We were told that it was one of the more challenging trails and that we would get wet. The entire trail was in water. This particular trail also required rock climbing and a great deal of repelling. I had repelled one time with a harness on "Ad haKatzeh," and suddenly I found myself in a situation without a harness, wearing slippery shoes, and repelling down a drop in the rocks into water. This tiyul challenged my hiking capabilities the most. The combination of the "challenge" and jet-lag has a bizarre outcome of mood swings. One moment I would fear for my life, the next I would feel on top of the world and prepared to face anything, then emotionally and physically exhausted, then I would simply be. In many ways, as cheesy as it may sound, is very symbolic of my year in the Mechina. It was a huge challenge that was scary, fun, supported, beautiful, and exhausting. When we finished the actual hike, the bus picked us up and quickly dropped us off at a campsite in Ein Gedi on the Dead Sea. Immediately a group of about ten of us walked directly towards the Dead Sea to cover ourselves in mud and float. And there one of my greatest memories of this year occurred. It is hard to explain exactly what created those precious moments-- perhaps the combination of time of day, temperature, people, landscape, or the calm that follows a difficult hike-- whatever it was, every detail seemed to align to create the perfect moment. That does not happen to me often, in fact, I cannot recall another perfect moment in my life where I felt entirely comfortable and in the present. After a crazy day of wading through water, slipping down rock slides, getting slightly injured, and attempting not to fall while repelling, everything became serene. That serenity carried over to the next two days. After floating in the sea, we returned, showered, and relaxed. There was no schedule, no one in charge, no time limits. We were on vacation- me and 27 of my closest friends. The small number of the group also created a wonderful intimacy that is very difficult to find in a group of 44. I ate dinner, ate ice cream, and star gazed until we all collapsed from exhaustion. Rather than allow myself to sleep in like everyone else and make up for almost 3 straight days of being awake, I decided to wake up at 5:30 am to see the sunrise. The night before everyone agreed to wake up, yet as expected we were only five in the end: Uri, Sarig, Ilai, Yotam, and myself. It was less the sunrise that I enjoyed, but more the feeling of happiness to be sitting with 4 close friends at six in the morning in the desert. There was no schedule or counselors with us on that second day. Rather than hang around and do nothing, which is something that we NEVER get the opportunity to do in the Mechina, the group made me very proud. One person suggested the option of going on a small hike to some maayanot (springs) in the area, and 19 of us joined in. In many ways, the Mechina taught us to do and to try rather than to sit around and wait. Our "vacation" continued with a weekend with Netzer gap year kids from Australia. For the first time, I was exposed to Australian Judaism and its youth groups. They were completely crazy, in the best way possible. It was refreshing for our group to see another group which resided in a different part of their process. They had only been together for three months, and were overflowing with energy, songs, strange traditions, etc. Some took what they saw in their group and turned inwardly to question our group: why aren't we like that? The answer is: we were like that, once. And now we are something else. We have undergone such a powerful process together that our mentality and energy is simply in a different place...and there is nothing wrong with that. In a way, the Netzer kids succeeded in giving us the want to strengthen our group and traditions that we do.

The next great events were Memorial Day and Independence Day. In short, these are two very good days to feel like an outsider. On Memorial Day it is suddenly very clear if one was not born here. For as much as I attempt to understand the history, pain, and meaning behind the day, I will never truly be able to feel it. The question of: "What am I entitled to feel?" comes to mind. After complaining to Yotam Eshed about not being able to fully experience this day, he said, "But you do experience it, because you live with us." True. In a strange way, I live vicariously through my friends in the Mechina. For example: I understand what it means to prepare oneself for the army for I have lived with 42 people who have been doing that the whole year. In terms of the holidays, I lack the capability of understanding this holiday myself, so I internalize the group's understandings and reactions and turn it into my own. Their experience becomes my experience; I live and understand it through them. Yiftach summed up the whole two days for me by saying that these days make him face his Israeli nationality and identity and everything that comes along with it.
This year has been a true gift, for I was given the opportunity to view this land through the eyes of those who care about it most. Their feelings towards these holidays, their nearing army service, and this country in general are quite complex, yet the most genuine that I could find.
The immediate switch between Memorial Day to Independence day was bizarre. I believe that I would have had a harder time making that mental switch if I had truly allowed myself to enter Memorial day. However, I did not do that. I spent most of the day as a sociologist, attending the events and performing the customs, yet viewing from the outside. Yom HaAtzmaut was one of my highlights of the year. All of the Jerusalem kids in the Mechina gathered for a barbecue at Sara's house then went downtown together. We believed that we were going to a certain street party, yet ended up at a strange techno dance party in Gan Sacher. From there we wandered and saw basically all of Jerusalem's youth in the city celebrating the establishment of their country.

One of the great goals of the Mechina is to raise awareness. In addition to our two tours of Southern Chevron, where we were exposed to both the Palestinian and Settlement sides of the story, we had a four day long seminar in Shomron and Gush Etzion. Everyone absorbed this experience in a different way. For me, the four days were a deep head-first immersion into a gigantic topic, conflict, and history that i had never touched. It also became an incredible opportunity to break down the internal labels and stereotypes which I unknowingly assign to those that I less understand. The minute that you find yourself in the home of the one that you disagree with or do not understand it becomes very difficult to judge. Throughout the whole bizarre seminar we did not observe, we interacted. Of the four days, the most surreal experience was our visit to the Jewish part of Chevron. It began in the "MaArat HaMachpela" or the "Cave of the Patriarchs." Supposedly, Abraham, Sara, and others are buried there. It is a holy place for Jews, Muslims, Christians, and the second one enters the building it is quite clear. I did not connect to the place on any sort of spiritual level. It turned out to be some strange mash-up of the three religions. Next we left the building and began to wander the abandoned streets of Chevron. We walked through what must have been a shook, with rusted signs completely written in Arabic. Every alleyway, corner, and along the "main" roads Israeli soldiers hovered. Four hundred soldiers serve in Chevron at a given time. However, the number is totally disproportional to the number of inhabitants. The numbers: 700 Jews and 200,000 Palestinians. Historically, Chevron and the whole surrounding area are inundated with meaning. Yet today it is hard to feel connected to that place, or even feel like we have any right to be there. The overall feeling, along with feelings of disgust and discomfort, was the general understanding that it does not belong to us anymore. Many would beg to differ with that statement. Those 700 jews who choose these (less than pleasant) living conditions choose it for they feel that they are "shlichim," or that they are representing the Jewish presence and preserving it for all Jews. Yet me feeling was simply, it is no longer our home. Perhaps once it was, yet now we lack the right to be there. Personally, the torah does not give me enough of a reason to remain. No one wants to give up on lands overflowing with our nation's history, yet sometimes perhaps the answer is to learn to let go. Judaism has a difficult time with that idea though. Walking through Chevron felt entirely unnatural. In some way, I built up a mental barrier that prevented me from truly understanding the gravity of the situation...from understanding that 400 soldiers must stand there at all times, and endanger their lives in order to protect 700 Jews that are not legally allowed to be there.
After the surreal tour, the seminar calmed down for the shabbas. We were given 20 minutes for every single person (44) to shower after the driver threatened to leave without us...and surprisingly, we made it right on time. That is probably the only example of us arriving on time the whole year. Shabbat was spent in Bat Ayin--a settlement filled with people who were born secular and then became religious, a sort of hippie community, with an extreme reputation. As weird as it is to admit it, I really enjoyed myself there. It was one of the better shabbatot that I have had in the Mechina this year. We found ourselves in a beautiful place, surrounded by nature and a strong shabbat atmosphere. We belted Carlebach tunes during Kabbalat Shabbat, and were welcomed into incredibly warm and open families.
The final highlight of the intense seminar where new information was thrown at me from every angle came in the simplest form. We had a discussion with Rafi's (the man who planned the whole seminar) wife. She is a phenomenal woman who grew up entirely secular, then discovered her connection to Judaism, got married, and moved to the settlements to start a family. Discussing spiritual topics with a someone who feels that they are more religious and educated than you is a frustrating experience, for they simply cannot grasp the world from which I come, yet that did not happen this time. This woman knew the "outside" world very well, she lived in it too once, and so she spoke to us at eye-level. Rather than discuss the situation in the settlements (like most of the speakers) she decided to talk about something more relatable: dreams. She told the story of her son who had cancer and the dream that she had while she held him in the hospital bed. Her message (which can be applied to her situation, the settlement situation, and nearly everything,) is that sometimes reality can be too big, scary, complex, and heavy to understand; dreams are necessary to carry us through life.