Meditating F*cking Hurts

Screaming Knees, Epiphanies, and…HOW MUCH LONGER?! A 60-minute meditation. Fuck. A lesson in Einsteinian relativity. When you sit with a nice girl for two hours you think it’s only a minute, but when you sit in meditation for a minute you think it’s two hours. Now imagine 60 minutes. But when a monk commands you to meditate, you do. I’m not new to meditation. I’ve done it countless times. I pride myself on some of my meditation spots — mountain tops, beaches, the

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Jewish Celebrities in Myanmar

Day 5 in Myanmar. I have grown weary from the diet of yak meat and chicken guts. The sun scalds during the day but darkness quickly purges all warmth, leaving us huddled beneath a mountain of blankets and sleeping bags. Hotel rooms, devoid of heating, seem to trap in the cold rather than repel it; nighttime cuddling suddenly ceases to be gender discriminate. After a particularly unproductive conversation with a hotel employee given the enormous language barrier, I wander alone

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Barbed wire, Darkness, and the Streets of Myanmar

What defines my past travels are memories of the grandiose. Remarkable friends, once in a lifetime adventures, close calls, “I’m never telling my mom about that” ones. Yet the actual day to day moments of traveling are defined by the minute details —the smells, the sounds, the heat and sweat, and jet lag. And as I disembark from my flight, navigating the Yangon airport and later, the hodgepodge streets, it is those details I notice first. The way the air

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Couldn’t Stay Away

It’s surreal when a dream becomes a reality. And not in a corny, awestruck, just met Justin Bieber kind of way. Surreal in the sense that when I dreamt about returning to Israel – the friends, the family, the steaming shawarma after a night out, I was living in a fantasy; now I’m confronted with reality. I fantasized for so long about returning that I feared it might not live up to my expectations. It’s my nature to live in

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Frozen in Time

The father and the son stroll through the dawn and the dust and the peaceful silence of the village—passive spectators. Behind them the sun peaks tentatively over the horizon, piercing the acrid smoke of the coal fires with sharp beams of gold that cast their long meticulous shadows across a waking world. The very earth seems to stir as the sound of their footsteps and the crowing of the roosters mingles with the clang of pots and the mellifluous giggling

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Reflections Two Years Later

It’s been over three years since I drafted into the IDF. Even today, I struggle to fully understand the scope of my experience; its effect was indubitably defining, but I can’t fully process it all. I don’t believe there is a soldier, especially a Chayal Boded, who can survive IDF service and not be profoundly affected. I miss it immensely. Two years since release and my army memories are the most powerful memories I have. Far more than with any

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עדמתי? דצמבר 13 – It All Ends

      I’m done. Two words, so short. Yet for so long I thought about them, dreamt about them. A year and a half finished, Michve Alon, combat training, commander training, all done. No more hikes or sleepless nights or shivizuit yom aleph or hating commanders or missing home. I’ve accomplished so much, survived the IDF. So why do I feel so empty?  I feel like I’m leaving my home. My family. A place that at times I hated so much, but

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This is Gaza

Wow, it’s been a while since I posted. One, I want to apologize, but two I want to explain that it is more or less a representation of my mental state right now. I get out of the army in 5 months and have a lot of conflictual feelings and thoughts which I will touch on later. Kav Aza – the Gaza Border – is probably one of the most conflictual zones in the world. It is the frequented subject

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