Shalom all,

I was listening to a Jewish teacher from overseas describe what "homeland" is. "For us Jews" she said with passion and a sense of drama, "homeland is a concept, maybe a dream. I don't feel it where I live, but I also haven't found it in Israel. Where I live isn't really mine, and Israel isn't really mine - I will never be able to really feel at home anywhere, because I always feel like I don't belong."
I understood exactly what she meant. To really feel connected, that a place is in your blood, you must be able to feel part of everything that is around you - using all the senses, thoughts, expressions, connecting them to experiences, memories and actions. I guess it's the over-all experience of the combination of little things that make a place - a home.

And I feel very, very lucky.

Years ago, Israeli poet Shaul Tshernichovsky wrote that "Man is nothing but the mold of his homeland". I remember how, as a 12 year old, my literature teacher took us through a very vibrant, interesting discussion about the meanings of this phrase - what does "homeland" mean? How does one become a "mold" of something? what are the implications of being "a mold of your homeland"? and most important - how is it relevant to our lives?

There are many answers to these questions, and this week I experienced soe of them very closely, almost intimately.

A mold of your homeland. Hearing that the queen of Israeli music has passed away and first of all, before anything else - starting to sing all her songs, each one of the notes and words bringing a bitter-sweet memory of your own personal life. Standing together with an entire nation, praying, singing and crying. Doing the same, all over again, even if on a smaller scale but nevertheless with the same ingredients - two days later, when one of Israel's well-known singers - Arik Lavi - dies as well. taking comfort in a phrase that he used to sing: nothing will stop this melody, we have to keep the music going.

A mold of your homeland. Hearing that terrorists have murdered 2 innocent people, one of them a 4 year old child, with Kassam rockets in Sderot. Going there the very next day, expressing solidarity, understanding the despair, trying to help. Knowing that today it's Sderot, tomorrow it can be Kiryat Shmona again, or Haifa, or anywhere else. Hoping that we will continue to have the strength to carry on. Remembering that not so many years ago, your own mother can still witness, it was dangerous - almost imposible - to drive from Tel-Aviv to Jerusalem. Yet we did. And we do now.

A mold of your homeland. Driving in the Negev to a new town that is being established in the desert, watching the caravans and having a very strong, wonderful deja-vu feeling because you can give a long list of many wonderful places that started exactly like this.

A mold of your homeland. Arguing, debating, laughing, showing passion for small bumps, getting angry at things that elsewhere you wouldn't even notice and excited by things that people from other places wouldn't understand - because it's all part of you and who you are.

A mold of your homeland. hearing the word "orange" and being able to sense it's smell, the color of the leaves, the orchids of the Land. Holding a handful of grapes and thinking of your cousins, an hour away, who have been growing them for several generations. Drinking lemon juice or tea only with Nana - our special mint. Sprinkling a handful of Za'atar on your salad or Jerusalem bagel.

A mold of your homeland. The only place you can really, truly call "home".

Shabbat Shalom,
Liat