Hello, Dear Reader,


My final review is in three days, so I'm not going to do this post justice, but...


Its almost sundown in New York, on the eve of יום הזיכרן Yom HaZekaron, Israel's Memorial Day, the day before Independence Day. The first time I went to Israel I kept a sketchbook / journal / diary of my time there. I have perhaps ten pages in that notebook of drawings and writing from the few hours I spent at Har Herzl. The emotion I felt there, the connection seems almost laughable from the jaded place I usually stand. On three hundred and sixty three days a year it sounds sappy and disgusting and I cringe when I read the things I wrote, when I look at the things I drew. But on Yom HaZekaron and on Yom Ha'atzmaut I remember the feeling, and suddenly I remember why I couldn't stop myself from filling up ten front-and-back pages of sketchbook with text and imagery when I was on Har Herzl.

It is sometimes hard for me to explain, Dear Reader, why I feel such a strong connection to Israel. Today, I think, I can boil it down to this: It is a place where I can be whoever I want to be, without having something else overshadowing that. I can be an Arse throwing bricks at people's heads (sorry for the memories, Jake), or a Haredi man putting up an Aruv and making my soon to be neighbors mental in the process (this time, sorry Ilan), or some guy, living near the beach in Tel Aviv who digs tattoo and piercing sub-culture. And, as the sun goes down tonight, Dear Reader, I remember all of the people who gave their lives so that I would have that place.

I love what I am doing. But I want to go home.


Be well, Dear Reader, and remember.