Yesterday, I had an experience that made me feel like I am actually living in Israel.
Our daughter and her friend traveled with us from America to Israel two weeks ago. They both wanted to return sooner than my husband and I did, so I made arrangements for them to have an earlier departure date.
Yesterday, we took them to the airport to fly back to JFK. We parked in the regular short-term parking lot at Ben Gurion airport. We took the elevator to the third floor, stayed with them through the check-in process, bought them ice coffees (which, in Israel, are more like coffee slushees) and sat with them until it was time to go through security and on to their gate.
I was a little sad, saying goodbye to our daughter, but only a little, because I expect to see her again in 10 days. If Moshiach comes in the interim, she’ll be back here; if not, we’ll be together again in Baltimore.
We waved and threw kisses through the glass that separated us, and then, when we couldn’t see them anymore, we left the airport, drove to Modi’in and had a lovely dinner with friends.
Exactly as we will, Gd-willing, do in the future, when we actually live here.