Hummus Withdrawal
24 hours ago, I was sitting on a plane, irascibly trying to tune out two screaming toddlers and reflecting on the past 240 hours of my life. And so here is the first of hopefully many recorded reflections on a transformative experience.
To be completely honest, Spring Break has always been an event I have unwaveringly attached mentally to beaches, crazy dance parties, staying up all night, lifelong memories with amazing people, and stories that I might not necessarily be comfortable telling my parents. I never thought I’d find all of the above in a place like Israel.
There are a couple of things to expect when you tell people that you’re going to Israel over Spring Break. First come the worried calls from the parents, made fearful by the media industry. Second come the concerned texts from friends about why you’re not spending what could be the BEST WEEK OF YOUR LIFE in Cabo. And thirdly, you start asking yourself what exactly you’re doing in a land historically full of strife you will never fully understand and whether or not the only thing you will get out of 10 days is a bunch of souvenirs and a touristy Instagram and a banging new FB prof pic worthy of at least 100 likes.
I don’t know at what moment exactly I realized that this was not your average trek, whether it was somewhere in between listening to the former prime minister of Palestine or herding sheep, or if it was in the marketplace being offered a beer (turned it down, Mom, don’t worry) or floating in the Dead Sea. Maybe it was having Israeli political coalitions explained to me with floaty pool blocks by the deputy minister of defense or having deep, intimate conversations about religion, life, family, and things I had filed far back into my mind with people I’d only just met, but however I realized it, I want you to realize too, that this was no ordinary trip taken by ordinary people, but rather a whirlwind of humanity experienced in a tiny amount of time that 56 Harvard students embarked upon.
And so I’m reliving it for as long as I have hummus withdrawal. Come along with me as I recount the 240 hours of traveling and food and lovable tour guides, the intensely emotional experiences and the chilled out camel riding ones. It’s going to be AH-MAYzing.
