Of all the time I spent in the Children’s Village, my most special moment was on the last Wednesday, the day the kids were departing for their homes. As soon as I woke up that morning, I walked over to my mispachton, still in my pajamas, to spend as much time as I could with my kids before they left. That morning, Noam, a 6-year old boy, came up to me to say his last goodbye. Even though Noam spoke no English, and “Shalom” and “Sabbaba” were the full extent of my knowledge of Hebrew, we were able to develop a very special relationship during the short time we had together. Noam approached me that last day with the small drawstring bag I had given him earlier on his back; it contained all of his belongings, all he had to take with him for a two-week trip. As I compared his small bag to my giant suitcase, stuffed to capacity for just ten days, I felt a pang of guilt. Then Noam opened up his bag and took out a small cardboard box. I soon figured out that inside that six-by-six box were all of his most cherished possessions.
You can imagine that when you live in a house with 14 other kids, you have to share practically everything; the few things that are “yours” are likely hand-me-downs and will continue to be handed down. Thus, when a child has a few items that are just his, they are greatly valued. Neverthe-less, Noam opened up his box and took out a rock with a colorful string around it and handed it to me with a smile. I was hesitant to accept the gift, knowing how precious it must be to him, but he insisted that I take it. It was wonderful to know that he cared enough about me to share one of his prized possessions. It also showed me that this young boy already understood that relationships with friends and family are of much greater value than any possession, which is a concept that seems lost on many people five times Noam’s age.
Yesterday, during our Pesach (Passover)dinner, one of Oren’s relatives was asking me why I was in Israel. He wondered why I would come to a kibbutz of all places when I could be lying on a beach somewhere with my friends. I immediately thought of Noam. I told the man that I had come to Israel not just because I enjoy doing community service but because I could never gain such deeply meaningful experiences on a beach in Florida. The children in the village taught me so much about myself and the world they and I live in. The new knowledge and insight those kids have given are infinitely more valuable to me all the gifts and souvenirs I might stuff into a suitcase that has to be under fifty pounds.
It is difficult to isolate a favorite moment or day of my trip since every day offered a new discovery or new challenge–and new fun to be had. I had an amazing time in the Children’s Village. But I would have to say that one of my best times on the trip was touring the northern half of the country, especially significant to me because I have grown up in a Christian household. I was practically raised in the church that my family attended when I was younger. My mom worked at the church full time, my dad volunteered weekly, and I went to preschool–all on the same campus. I have grown up listening to songs and stories about the word of God and the life of Jesus.
Before I left, I asked my mom to make a list of Bible verses for me to take to Israel, verses relevant to all of the places I would be visiting. She did this, and every morning as we drove to our site of the day, I would read the verses she had listed for me to refresh my memory of the Christian significance of the site. It helped me know and appreciate what I was seeing. I wanted to take away as much as possible from my time in Israel, so I tried to build a firm foundation of basic knowledge before I toured. When we actually visited important sites mentioned in the New Testament, I was able to connect them to what I’d heard in church since I was a wee sprout. For me, actually seeing, touching, smelling, and tasting (we did lots of tasting) these ancient places was incredible.
But my favorite place in Israel was, without a doubt, Jerusalem. I enjoyed learning about the Jewish, Islamic, and Christian history of the city. But I took special interest in hearing why Christians regard Jerusalem as the Holy City. Walking down the Via Dolorosa, the “Way of Grief,” and touching the stone on which Jesus was buried was an indescribable moment for me. Let me tell you, it was very hard to think of Jesus, the Son of God, as walking the same path, on the same stones, as I was.
My experience in Israel was beyond amazing. I cannot wait to return. I highly recommend to all Christians–to people of any faith–to visit this beautiful country so they can experience the same things I did.
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