So, a kibbutz is a small village on crack. Everyone knows everything about everyone — the walls listen. The trees have eyes.
It was suffocating when I first lived here, and I craved the anonymity and invisibility of the city, but:
When I got off the bus with the kids on the kibbutz today, my daughter said to me
“Mama, didn’t you have TWO bags? Now you only have one.”
Great math, Sweet Girl! And mother-FML because 2-1 = I Ieft my laptop on the bus…
My slow and cranky laptop with all my writing and photos and songs.
My big and steady laptop that I’ve had since I started working at TOI.
My known and dusty laptop that’s been with me to LA and NYC and Zurich and Jordan and Tel Aviv and Jerusalem and Ramallah and the kibbutz.
So I ran: My left flipflop flung from my foot as I chased after 3 years of living rolling down the main road and out the gate to highway 40
(Thank God I wore a bra)
But the bus was gone. With my papers and my pictures and my passwords and through the panic I had enough clarity and presence of mind to log out of EVERYTHING, and change every password TWICE, but still WTF do I do now…..
But then: one of the kindergarten teachers came up to me and said “I saw you running and I called my friend on the bus and she has your laptop.”
And yeah. Screw the city.
I’ll take this village with a hug.