There is this sound on Tiktok that goes “Maybe you just need to go back to the ocean.” Under this sound, users post about traveling abroad or places with personal significance. I have seen iterations of this trend that lament the end to one’s study abroad experience, as well as posts from first or second generation Americans visiting the places their families emigrated from. I almost added to this trend myself, wanting to post old pictures of myself in Israel, excited to announce that I would return soon. I ultimately decided against that, though, because I wanted to keep my excitement to myself. I knew that this trip, my first time visiting Israel since I was 16, would be special. I just didn’t know how special it would be yet.
When I landed in Israel, it was at around 7 a.m. local time. We had a full day of activities ahead of us and although I should have been tired from traveling for more than 24 hours, I was rejuvenated as soon as I left the plane. Upon exiting the airport, I was immediately hit by the strong smell of dozens of people smoking cigarettes on nearby benches and heard the taxi drivers arguing with each other and their customers in Hebrew. I couldn’t help but smile, I was home. There were few things more quintessentially Israeli than the scene unfolding in front of me. Although it seems silly, this was what marked the beginning of a profound sense of comfort.
I do not remember my first trip to Israel. I was around a year old, maybe less, when my parents took me to see my family. The trip I took over winter break marked my 13th time visiting Israel and, although some might think that the frequency of my visits would dilute the magic, they just make my connection stronger. I do not start my trips with culture shock, or the hassle of adjusting to a new language or even the plain awe that can arise from traveling abroad for the first time. Instead, I can pick up where I left off. I can see things that I’ve seen before, with the privilege of experiencing them in a new light as I become older and wiser.
My trips to Israel are not just vacations, they are a return to my homeland. Israel is both the ancestral Jewish homeland and the place where my dad was born, making my return both one made on behalf of my forefathers and also on the behalf of my actual father. Because of these deep roots, traveling there is a rejuvenating experience. I feel understood and at home because everyone acts like me. People are abrasive and speak honestly, just like me. The meat is well done, just how I like it, and the food that my aunts make is the same cuisine as the restaurants. Going to Israel feels like going home, even if that home is all the way across the world.
It can be hard as an American Jew and as a first generation American to feel at home in the United States. There are certain creature comforts that I cherish and grant me a sense of ease, but that brief moment of peace cannot compare to how I feel in Israel. When I am amongst my friends, family and people that I do not yet know but who look, talk and act like me - I feel complete. Like the one piece I was missing in the puzzle of my identity has fallen into place. This was not just a fun way to spend my winter break, but also a way to restore a part of myself I didn’t know I’d lost. My “maybe you just need to go back to the ocean” moment has come and gone, and I am better for it.
Hadass Galili is a senior studying political science pre-law at Ohio University. Please note that the views and opinions of the columnist do not reflect those of The Post. Do you agree? Tell Hadass by tweeting her at @HadassGalili.
