There is nothing definitive about Israel.
This is apparent in her amorphous "winter" horizons; filled with alternating cacti and firs, sharing only creed with their neighboring bamboo. And all because the land of milk and honey isn't dry yet; snaking hoses make sure that a country that salutes white and blue blooms unyielding green.
The jungles were surreal, and the desert was solace. I imagine summer must be rough.
On the plane ride home, I spent hours arguing the irrationality of the deafening black and white border that defines rightousness with a surprisingly open, orthodox jew. All the while a few kilometers below death was forgiven.
Many days I witnessed fanatacism.
But everyday I gorged on insufferable beauty.
