Final Days at Work

 Although I know without a doubt that leaving Israel now is the right thing to do, there is sadness in moving out of a place I've been for 3 years. In a grand paradox, the year I am leaving is the year I feel the most at home here. I no longer struggle to pump gas, ask for help or push my way to the front so I don't get left off the bus. I know how to get cash at the ATM, I know my neighbors and how to get to church each Sunday on the bus. 

As I am writing this, I am on my final train trip hone from work. I have not felt super connected to a lot of my coworkers, but the bonds I did make are deep and strong. Two of my closest friends left last year. This year I made some new friends but the person that I walked through all three years with was Mark. I call him my teaching partner even though he taught a different grade. We started in the middle school the same year--the year of Covid. It was a terrible year made bearable by trudging through it with him. 

The Israeli countryside somewhere near Hertzliya, through a dirty train window.

I didn't get emotional today except when he drove away after dropping me at the train station. The security guard at the entrance asked me if I was okay because I was crying as she searched my backpack. I sat in the grief for the 15 minutes I waited for my train, and now I am back to the checklist of things that need to be done before I go to the airport tomorrow: meet the charity people coming to take a few more pieces of furniture, throw more stuff away, take more stuff to a bench for the city to pick through, go to the beach one last time, have dinner with a friend. Not a bad list!