"Sit by the window, Sarah." my Aunt Anita smiled as we boarded the plane for Tel Aviv. I remembered my husband's advice to let her spoil me.
I stared out the window, trying to identify the islands in the Mediterranean Sea. I had studied maps of this region since I was a kid, but never imagined that I would see it, in person. We were fed a sampler of Mediterranean food. I heard other passengers speaking in Hebrew. Soon the coastline of Israel came into view. "Look!" I invited my aunt. Golden and pink hues shone through the clouds. "I don't think my camera will pick up the color." I told her. "Let's just enjoy this moment."
I thought Tel Aviv was near the coast, but we flew for quite a while over land. I saw hills and valleys, cities and villages. I drank in the view, wondering what it would feel like to stand on the ground in Israel and what adventures awaited me. "It's not so different from my home." I thought. Houses and trees. Rocks and hills.
"I can't believe I'm here!" I whispered to my aunt. Many of my friends and family members have visited, some for months, or even years. Some of my relatives were born in Israel, and a few are buried there. I loved listening to stories of their adventures. It was enough for me to experience the Holy Land second hand. I didn't need this trip. I wanted to go to support my aunts. -to show my cousins that we haven't forgotten them, especially in this time of war.
The flight attendants served us something sweet as the airplane swept over the rocky terrain. This is the land where so many Bible stories took place. Maybe David watched his sheep on that hill, maybe Jesus and his disciples camped over there... I remembered what a Jewish woman in the airport said, "Everyone wants to come to Israel." I wasn't sure how she felt about that, but I felt like I understood. Everyone wants to come to America too, yet, paradoxically, everyone also seems to be very critical of us. Why is that? Would I be looked at as a typical American tourist, in this land full of people?
Soon we were landing- tired and jet-lagged.
We meandered through the airport, following the other passengers. And then we came around a corner and I saw them- the posters of faces all too familiar. My heart ached. The dear hostages, including the faces of those two little red-headed baby boys and their mother. Toys surrounded their pictures. [Today, as I write this, we now know they will never play with those toys.] I stopped for a moment to pray for them and their families. "Look!" Aunt Anita said as she pointed up above the entranceway. "It says, "Welcome to Israel in Arabic, Hebrew and English!" This was a lot for me to take in. "I can't believe we are really here!" Was I dreaming, or was this real?
The line was long to get through customs. Finally, we got our luggage and found the place Aunt Sheryl said we should meet. I recognized her right away. She does look like Grandma! We hugged and then she helped us get bus passes. She led us from train to bus and from here to there all over Israel -it seemed. It was late at night, yet perfectly safe to wander the streets of Tel Aviv and then Jerusalem. A girl ran up to us excitedly, seeing our suitcases, and said something in Hebrew. Aunt Sheryl wasn't sure what she said, but I'm pretty sure she was welcoming us to Israel. It felt good to be welcomed. I wasn't a foreigner, I was family. Aunt Deb told me that is how it would be and that I should walk the streets with confidence. So, I did! "...the mother of us all..." words from my great-grandmother's song ran through my head.
That's exactly what it felt like: -going to my mother's house. Where my roots are. No matter how many other places we may call home, or how old we get, our mother's house is still home too. We can relax and be ourselves. We are loved just the way we are. And Mother always has something to give us. "Are you hungry?" she asks.
Somehow, even though I was weary from travel, I didn't feel hungry or thirsty. "Here, eat something. Have something warm to drink." Aunt Sheryl said when we got to her house. And we did- her little sister, and niece. We let her take care of us. She was the first one in Israel to show us this maternal love. Somehow this house, that looked so different than mine, didn't feel foreign at all- it felt like home.
