Walking in the Judean Hills, it’s clear that the end of summer has descended upon the Land of Israel. From my vantage point on the trail, the land looks parched and dry, dusty and thorny – thirsty for the first drops of autumn rain from the heavens.
Still, there is beauty here. Ripe figs, bursting with nectar, hang from the trees and fill the air with their fragrance, attracting birds and bees. Thorny purple flowers line the path, alongside dried remnants of spring mustard and wild golden grain. It’s not a picture of lush, unrestrained beauty. But it’s real.
My mind drifts back to our recent family travels through the national parks of the United States. There, we swam in the crystal-clear blue waters of a lake inside a volcano. We gazed up at massive trees and linked arms in a futile attempt to encircle their trunks in a full-family embrace. We saw marmots and mountain goats, black bears, elk, and even a few dolphins.
On one trail, ripe blackberries lined the edge, and we were so busy picking and eating that we nearly missed the tidepools teeming with starfish. There were glaciers - lots of them - and snowcapped peaks where wildflowers blossomed in July.
We spent time with family, too. In New Orleans, Fairfield, Connecticut, and Teaneck, New Jersey, it was hard not to notice the conveniences of life in America. Walmart and Amazon orders arrived on the doorstep – sometimes in under an hour. We enjoyed long walks through picture-perfect neighborhoods with sprawling lawns and bouncy hydrangeas in full bloom.
It was beautiful. And still, after several weeks abroad, I longed to return home.
One morning, sitting outside in my brother’s backyard in the bright sun, I had the distinct feeling that the sun itself felt different in Israel – sharper, somehow. And it wasn’t just the sun. Since leaving the Land of Israel, life had started to feel like it was happening under a kind of spiritual haze. Not bad, exactly – just a little soft around the edges. A little dreamlike. Less real.
I knew what I was returning to: dusty sidewalks, far too much litter on the trails, and the infamous Israeli shopping carts with minds of their own. But my heart ached for home.
Back in Israel, walking once again through its dry hills, I turned to our tradition for insight. Was this feeling something real, or just post-vacation sentiment?
In the Torah, the Land of Israel is described as a place that God’s “eyes are upon always, from the beginning of the year to the end of the year” (Deuteronomy 11:12). According to the Sages, this verse isn’t just poetic – it suggests an ongoing, unbroken connection between the Divine presence and this land.
Ramban teaches that unlike other places, where spiritual forces act as intermediaries, the Land of Israel is God’s personal domain. Here, the connection to the Divine is direct – like a gateway open wide between heaven and earth. Even when the hills are thorny and the trails dusty, that closeness remains, making the land feel alive with a unique and unmistakable spiritual presence.
I’m not the first to feel that life outside the land, while full of blessings, can sometimes feel like a dream. Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi wrote in The Kuzari that Jewish life outside of Israel, even when lived fully, exists in a kind of shadow. He saw Israel as the place where soul and soil meet most tangibly. That imagery resonated with me – especially after spending so much time in places filled with beauty but missing some intangible thread of inner connection.
I don’t believe this means a Jew can’t be deeply connected to God outside the Land of Israel. Far from it. But I do believe that, for reasons I can’t fully explain, it’s somehow easier here. As the Sages taught, “The air of the Land of Israel makes one wise” (Bava Batra 158b). Maybe it just makes the heart more awake.
Soon, the rains will come and bring the hills back to life
Soon the rains will begin again, softening the earth and bringing the hills back to life. New wildflowers will bloom, and the dusty trails will once again carry the scent of wet earth. But even now – especially now – I’m reminded of what it means to live in a land that is not always picture-perfect, but is deeply, spiritually present.
There are many places in the world filled with beauty, even holiness. But for me, there is something about being here that makes all the difference. Not because we are better for living here, but because we are more fully ourselves.
The dream fades. Life begins again.