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Purpose

Purpose:

The reason for which something is done or created for which something exists.

After a week in Israel I already feel that being here is normal. Last time it took two months to feel semi normal and comfortable. Because of that, I didn’t want to come back but, not coming wasn’t an option. If I wouldn’t have come, it could have been another four to six months before I’d see Ram. What makes this trip more bearable this time (other than Ram) is that we’re doing the Israel National Trail. Just being with Ram isn’t enough, I need purpose and Alonim (the village we live in) is a place of constant struggle to find any. If I don’t have purpose I’ll become depressed. The trail gives me purpose.

Tuesday through Thursday this week is supposed to be a big rain storm, so our trips been delayed. We were going to start hiking on Tuesday or Wednesday but if we do we’ll be hiking not only in pouring rain but in thick sticky mud. The soil in Israel is clay, when it gets wet it’s extremely sticky. You can end up with five pound platforms on the bottom of your shoes. What do they say? One pound on your feet is ten pounds on your back? Point is, we’re going to stay here another week. I’m not super happy about waiting but Ram isn’t working so we’re having a good time hanging out.

A couple days ago Ram took me to the Mediterranean Sea for the first time. It wasn’t too long of a drive, maybe 45 minutes. To get to the shore we took private gravel roads winding through an industrial area of Kibbutz Ma’agan Michael (translated Micheal Bay). We drove between big fish hatchery ponds and almost ran over a mongoose; who was probably try to steal fish like all the birds. The beach was completely empty, except for one lady who may have been tripping on something… She was walking back and forth on a log, dressed in all white and holding her hands high in the air.

We took off our shoes and rolled up our pants. The sand was cool and firm under our feet. I ran to the water to let the first waves come over me. I closed my eyes to brace for cold water but to my surprise the water was warm. I watched the water ebb and flow over my feet. With each wave I sank deeper into the sand. A line of many small seashells sparkled in the sunlight, beautifully outlining high tide.

I felt wonder and excitement as I walked and searched for the perfect seashell. When I found one I excitedly showed Ram, who’s reply was quite disappointing “it’s the most common shell, nothing special”. So maybe it was “nothing special” but I thought it was beautiful and unique so I kept it.

As we got farther down the beach we came to the “private beach” of the Kibbutz. In Israel it’s not legal to make a section of beach private so it’s not actually off limits to anyone. Off in the shallow water many children were out taking surfing lessons; one of the perks of the Kibbutz. They were all in wet suits lying on surfboards bobbing up and down with the waves.

From the beach a path lined with big tall palm trees led into the Kibbutz. We walked a little ways towards it but we didn’t see much so we turned around and headed back down the beach. We soon saw many headlights coming towards us. It was a gang of about fifteen dun buggies! As they swooshed by they hoot and hollered, revved their engines and honked their horns. As soon as they appeared they disappeared and it was quiet again. Again it was only Ram, the Sea and I.

I love listening to the waves. To close my eyes and hear the constant rhythm. The waves are soothing; like a slow heart beat. With each wave I felt more connected and grounded. With each wave I floated farther down from the sky and back into my body.

With each wave I became more me again.


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