I was in Varanasi, or Delhi, or Jaisalmer.
“I can’t believe they’re playing Yehudit Ravitz!”, was the first thought that occured to me when the song had started playing.
And then my mind emerged out of the book I was reading, and I remembered I’m not in India, but rather in a crowded coffee place somewhere in the midst of the Dead Sea hotels area.
“So how’s being back home? What are you up to?”
Anyone who’s ever embarked on a long journey can testify – You return somewhat different.
‘So what do you wanna do?’, I was suddenly self-pondering again, and then I realized I was limiting the range of possibilities. The answer ‘should’ be a type of job or profession, while the real answer is ‘to travel’, or even ‘to wander’.
400 meters, 300 meters, 200 meters – the road signs make sure I’m well prepared for the oncoming easy-to-miss turn, and suddenly the clear sign appears – Yearot Menashe Festival
You can stretch a direct line of recovery, confusion and PTSD from Sunday till Sunday. Look at me, I know what day it is. The driving directions are opposite, I can drink tap water, and the electrical switches that seem turned off are actually turned on, and vice versa.