I left in April 2024.
That’s less than two years.
It is also a lifetime.
I left with a bag of soil.
I had taken it for a project.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
When I say a bag, I mean a bag.
A thin supermarket plastic bag.
Carrying earth from a holy land across borders
in a supermarket bag
felt obscene.
At times, I hated it.
I paid for it, over and over again.
Excess luggage. Excess weight.
Because I left, but I did not know I had left.
And I did not know where I was going.
So I kept moving.
And the bag moved with me.
It’s been almost two years now.
I had plans for this ground.
A video.
A ritual.
Maybe perform Tashlikh with it.
Maybe throw it into water and pretend something could be washed away.
Maybe absolve myself of the crimes.
Someone should.
I didn’t have the courage to throw it away.
Not even for Tashlikh.
The more I carried it, the more I realized it didn’t belong to me.
It was never meant to stay closed in plastic.
