Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Coming back from a month in Israel was hella tough, and the Hajj returners packed on my flight and the Christmas carols echoing through the airport didn't really help.
Neither does this cold.
But what bothers me most, I think, is how quiet it is.
I used to think the noise that all my relatives complained about so much about would get to me. I have very sensitive hearing -- everyone in my family thought I would end up becoming a musician when I was a kid. But my life took a different path.
As it turns out, I miss the noise. I miss the musica mizrahit on the overcrowded bus, the guy with the loudspeaker who screamed "PEROT PEROT YERAKOT ANAVIM BANNANA" every morning in the yard near my aunt's apartment in Haifa, and singing zmirot as I walked down the streets of Tel Aviv with friends on Shabbat. I miss loud arguments over soccer matches, angry protests in front of government offices, honking cars, and screaming children.
The streets here are dead. People rarely venture outside...only to their cars, and back again in the evening.
I guess quiet does not suit me, after all. Unless its the quiet of the desert.

I miss Israel so much.

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