I hadn’t left Israel in almost 7 years.

I must have booked over 20 different trips; book tours, family events, summer plans- and over the years nothing came to fruition from a combination of external factors I could never control.

But last week we finally made it in for a beautiful and joyous family simcha, and I got to spend true quality time with some of the people I love most in the world.

But when I got off the plane in New Jersey, for the first time I realized that I was a different person than I had been when I left, and I was arriving in a different land than I remembered.

For the first time in a long time, I felt truly like a minority.

When we landed in America, the pilot closed out his final messages for the flight with prayers for the return of the hostages, and I recall now that I welled up with tears, because I knew I would be walking out of the shared values of the Israeli community when I got off that plane, unsure of what I would find on the other side.

Waiting in line at the airport, I became aware of the fact that things had changed, and the sense of safety and belonging I once had in the country of my birth was gone.

The trip was wonderful, the time with family and friends was precious, and I still have many suitcases and emotions to unpack.

But-

Flying back into Israel as the sun was rising, kissing the shorelines of our holy land with a blush morning…

Walking out of the airport to the crisp blue sky, the sun now higher on the horizon…

Seeing the ribbons painted in clouds in the sky in honor of the hostages (I’m assuming by the airforce)...

I was reminded that, God, it was good to be home.