I said goodbye to my Birthright group in Ben Gurion airport outside of Tel Aviv.  I was a little sad to see them go, but happy to see my friends.   I arrived at my friend’s apartment and after 10 days of already being in the country, that’s when a feeling of jet lag started to creep in.

Life got pretty normal.  While many just assumed I was on vacation for a month, I dove into catching up on work and finding cafes suitable for the freelance life.  Of course I went out, saw friends, ate my way through Israel, and eventually made myself talk to strangers to practice my Hebrew.

It was nice to be back, but I have to be honest – I didn’t feel torn the way I usually did.  I was definitive about where I wanted to live.  I missed Brooklyn.  It had become home, and I missed my synagogue and my community.  I missed my friends and the potluck lunches in the park and my bike.  I missed cheap drinks and bars that weren’t pretentious.  I missed bodega coffee for a dollar – in Israel my pockets were emptying from the equivalent of $4 coffee.

Friends asked me if I wanted to move back to Israel.  It was nice to finally give a definitive answer.  “No” rolled off my tongue like a reflex.  I didn’t even have to think about it, but when I did I realized that no didn’t mean never.  It just meant that I’m really happy where I am right now.