A canopy of stars rippled across the night sky and cascaded down to the sandstone horizon, swaddling the thick emptiness of the desert. The sigh of a crisp breeze grazed my jawline as I wrapped my arms around my thighs, clutching the sleeves of my sweatshirt. This was my first night in Israel. I hadn't slept for over 20 hours and my eyes strained to stay open but I had never felt more awake. My heart was warm with gratitude and, even though I had only been there for a day, I felt at home. For the remainder of my trip, I fell in love with the state, the people, and most of all, the land.
This first experience in the Israeli desert sparked a craving to return to this soulful land and even inspired me to live and study abroad in Tel Aviv this past semester.
When I first landed in Israel, the very beginning of my five month trip, I couldn't have felt more excited. I jumped at any and every opportunity to visit new places, make new friends, and get outside. I felt extremely blessed to be back in the holy land and wanted to make sure I didn't waste a minute of it. However, somewhere along the way, about three months in, this dedication to experience waned. I started to become more complacent and comfortable, choosing not to go out on Saturday nights and turning down hiking treks throughout the country. I always "had too much homework" or "wasn't feeling well" and unfortunately missed out on experiencing the connection that brought me there in the first place.
This feeling persisted and became louder up until my next trip deep into the desert about a week ago. The university organized a trip for all of its international students to explore the Negev and Eilat and although my initial reaction was not to go, I decided that since I only had three more weeks, this would be the home stretch.
Despite the party culture and arseim that Eilat is known for, the small city is the perfect base to explore and be enchanted by the expansiveness of the desert, the Red Sea, and perhaps, parts of yourself. Surrounding the flashing, neon carnival rides and the booths of tacky souvenirs featuring misspelled English slang words are rolling hills of red rock and rolling waves of blue ocean, reminding you of your connection to the earth.
Our first hike was a lovely 9 hour trek along the Egyptian border, commonly known as the Gishron Stream hike. The path was full of boulder scrambles, laddered drops, and stunning views over the mountains of the Sinai. Just an hour in, and my pants were covered with the red dust of the rock and the wind encouraged my hair to rebel from my ponytail. I felt alive and I felt more present and grounded than I had felt throughout my whole time in Israel.
There were many moments of extreme energy when I wanted to race down the path, eager to find the next lookout point or boulder to climb. I felt fueled by the burning heat of the sun and the crisp breath of the wind. The nature nurtured an overwhelming feeling of connection and purpose. I befriended new friends and reconnected with old friends and together, we delayed the whole hiking group by laughing too much, taking too many cheesy photos, and singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of our lungs. We talked about what our time in Israel meant to us and we joked about what our lives back in America would look like. We had been walking and skipping and climbing for 7 hours and even though our legs felt like jelly and our stomachs were starving, we all had huge smiles plastered on our faces.
But there were also many more moments of overwhelming peace and a gentle sort of joy. The entire hike was a sort of walking meditation. My feet rooted deep into the rock and dust with each step, connecting me to the same piece of land my ancestors had allegedly crossed thousands of years ago. I remembered why I came here and my true self. During the times when I was waiting for my friends to catch up to me, usually after a huge surge of energy, I sat and breathed. I inhaled the silence and stillness, hoping to encourage these traits to also manifest within myself.
This expansive feeling was augmented during our second hike of the trip, a much shorter hike up Mount Tzfahot. My calves were still sore and my pants still had rock dust on them but this hike was well worth it. Once we climbed the half a mile, all completely and seriously uphill, we reached one of the most exquisite lookout points I'd ever seen. Perched at the top of the mountain, the entirety of the Red Sea was at our feet. The ripples glistened and glittered in the light of the sun, softly kissing the edge of Eilat and the mountains of Jordan as they drew in.
I couldn't help but feel incredibly small: a tiny human in a tiny body with a finite amount of perspective. I was one of many who have been here before and many who will come after. Who was I compared to the vastness of the sky? And yet at the same time, I was the vastness. I was uplifted by the grandeur of the mountain, standing above of the sea and the earth. Who was I if not the sea and the earth? Who was I if not connected to all?
My time in Eilat offered friends, views, really beautiful photos that I couldn't wait to show my family back home, but more than anything else it was a reminder. It was a reminder of the power of my spirit in connection with the earth and other people. It was a reminder that everything I was seeking was already within me, already inherently a part of me. It was a reminder of why I came to Israel in the first place.
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