Thursday, September 17, 2015

A Stranger in a Strange Land

What time is it? Where am I? Where is home? When will I be home?

What time is it? My phone lists a few of them, and the time zone keeps jumping back to Jonesport, ME (I haven't been there since May--what is happening?!). The weather report says 'Dreary' and my head feels as foggy as the skies on the other sides of these windows.

Where am I? I wake up on a train, heading north, heading home. Where is home? I think for a moment. After 26 moves, my home is Tzfat. But it doesn't feel like home...not the way it did a year ago. Did it feel like home then? Well, I swore I'd never move again. I'm just so tired of moving.

I arrived to this mythological place know as 'home' on the Friday before Rosh Hashana, kicking off the marathon of Shabbat and holidays. Dust has settled heavily on my surroundings, giving an eerie feeling. Then I turn my phone on for the first time in two days, and my heart crumbles as I read the news. Couldn't sleep the whole night. Picked up and pen and let the words flow out along with the tears:

I will never feel at home
Anywhere on this earth
Born too soon, or too late
On the wrong side of the ocean
I don't belong
I'm more soul than body
Don't understand how anybody
Can take the life of another
My heart is broken
Aching for the pain
Of the family
That will never hold him again

May the family of Alexander Levlovich be comforted along with the mourners of Zion.

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