There is something about Israel that refuses to be explained in rational terms. You can analyze politics, history, conflict, economics. You can debate endlessly about borders, policies, narratives. But none of that captures what I experience every single time I step onto a plane bound for Tel Aviv.

Am I the only one who starts crying the moment the coastline appears beneath the wings?

Not once. Not occasionally. Every single time. Twenty two visits since 2015, and the last in February 2023, and still it hits me like the first time. The tears come without permission. The heart races. Something inside me recognizes a place before my mind can even process it.

And then comes that almost manic happiness the moment I step into Ben Gurion Airport. It is not normal happiness. It is overwhelming. It is consuming. The first breath of air feels different, as if I am trying to recover a scent I once knew. The orange blossom from 1978, when I first set foot in Israel as a child. Tiberias, Haifa, memories of youth that never left me.

Israel is not just a country I visit. It is a place that imprinted itself onto me before I even understood what that meant.

And yet, here comes the contradiction.

Because the same person who cries at arrival feels something entirely different at departure. Standing again in Ben Gurion, waiting........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)