One month. 30 days. 720 hours. 2,592,000 seconds. This is the amount of time that has passed since I have stepped foot in Israel.
To some people, 30 days is a long arduous journey of painstakingly trying to reach the finish line of a never ending cleanse or diet.
For others, 30 days is a short pocket of time after realizing that one only has 30 days of summer, of freedom, until the real world comes tumbling down around you, screaming your name.
For me, these past 30 days have been spent missing Israel.
I miss having the Kotel as my backyard.
I miss living in the Old City, a place I will never grasp the enormity of. A city that can unearth stories upon stories of miracles and dreams, of tragedy and defeat.
I miss the rowdy bus drivers that without fail constantly tested my limit of nausea.
I miss the rough but flowing language of Hebrew, a language I have yet to grasp completely but feel secure getting around nonetheless.
I miss seeing soldiers everyday. (No explanation needed.)
I miss the countless hills throughout Jerusalem that gave me an unwanted and added workout to my day.
I miss my midrasha’s schnitzel. (No, I really don’t.) I miss Falafel and warm pitas. I miss Maafe Neeman.
I miss the light rail, the hot sweaty mess of people of different sex, race, religion and size all crowding together as one while traveling.
I miss the beauty of the land, landscapes that will never fade into the darkness.
I miss my awe-inspiring and captivating classes. I miss my teachers that care more about their students then I will ever realize. I miss my madrichot who helped me with the little details that helped my day run ever so smooth.
I miss my friends who were with me every step of the way. I miss my old and new-found family; without them I don’t know how I would have gotten through the year.
I miss Israel.
I miss Israel, and Israel, I hope and pray that you miss me too.