After spending four weeks in Israel with a Jewish youth group, my trip was finally coming to an end. It was the last Shabbat that we would be spending together for who know how long, and we all knew that it would conclude in many hugs, phone number exchanges, and I’ll-come-visit-you remarks. I remember when we all sat in a circle on our hotel’s rooftop, welcoming the end of Shabbat with a song session that we called “As Shabbas ebbs away”. Myself and a few of my friends turned towards the panorama so that we could watch the sunset.
The sun began high in the sky, spreading rays over the city of Jerusalem, and reflecting its light back upon us. The surrounding buildings and sidewalks radiated with sunlight, revealing the fact that even through Jerusalem’s darkest movements, the sun still remained to bring light to the city.
We sat around each other, holding hands, and singing loudly. Over the course of the trip, every night, my friends and I would watch the sun set over the balcony, taking pictures of the gorgeous colors, and taking notice of how quickly the sun set upon day’s end. However, sitting up on the rooftop, enjoying my last Shabbat ebbing, I realized that it would be a long time until I would again see the sun set over Jerusalem.
Amidst the yellow I could see sprinkles of red, pink, and orange, which gave life to the sky. As the minutes faded, the sprinkles of color began to disappear one by one: first red, then pink, then orange. When all color vanished, I felt the tears swell in my eyes, my throat became clogged, and I was prepared to cry about my inevitable departure from Israel. The week prior, I was in denial about the fact that after spending four weeks with a group of teens all over the Midwest whom I’ve never met before, that we would all be going our separate ways, back to our hometowns and real lives. I couldn’t picture walking into my home alone, entering my room without the same people with whom I laughed, danced, rejoiced, and cried.
The sun slowly began to dim, going from a glittering yellow to a low gradient rainbow, and ultimately navy blue erased all warm colors. The sky had become covered in clouds, as if they were guarding the colors behind them.
Our group sang often (almost daily), and there were always a couple of people who would never participate in the singing. One of these people was a friend of mine. He sat across from me on the other side of the circle, his arms wrapped around the kids next to him, but he remained silent, not joining in song. When the sun had nearly vanished, the sky taking on a deep blue shade, he got up and stood by the balcony. As I continued to watch him, I noticed that as the last colors of the sun had vanished, he suddenly became emotional. I was drawn to the fact that this person whom I’d known for four weeks, someone who I never once saw get emotional, and who always joked about having no feelings, was alas sad.
As the minutes ticked by, the colors sunk lower and lower into the sky, their beautiful, colorful swirls spreading into an even shade. The air around us became cooler and crisper as the sun kept setting, and it became darker by the second. Finally, the red melted into the blue, and the sky became one solid color. The stars slowly began to appear, with little silver sparkles intruding the navy blue sky, enough to make an appearance but not draw attention to them. Lastly, the moon came out, shining brighter and prouder than all the stars combined, marking the end of sunset.
The boy sat back down in his chair, and I noticed his eyes were glossy and red, striking a chord with me. He finally wrapped his arms back around the people next to him, and for the first time in four weeks, he sang with us.
Sunsets are always more beautiful than sunrises. A sunrise is still beautiful: the sky erupting with color and cotton-candy pink clouds, marking the beginning of a new day, a new page in the book of life. But as the sun disappears at the end of the day, the colors slowly fade and are replaced by a shining moon and glittering stars. The page in the book of life is turned to the next. That day is concluded and moved on from, not just marking the end of the day, but marking the end of the moments that occurred that day, the end of the ‘you-won’t-believe-what-he-said’ conversations, the end of the bad jokes you heard. But even though sunset is a conclusion, it also stands as the beginning of a new page, a new chapter, a new person to relate to and joke with.
But just because something is over, it does not mean that it is completely finished.
While my trip to Israel may be over, the friendships, memories, and conversations that I took home with me aren’t. Even now, I continue to talk to the same people almost every single day, and I'll always have photos and certain phrases that'll bring me back to “oh yeah, that” moments. The sun settled on the end of the trip, but it did not end the aftermath. Not only did my experience in Israel expand my knowledge as a Jew, but my knowledge of Israel as a whole was broadened, as well as my skill of how to interact with people that I've never met before, especially since now I consider them my family members.
We all have moments in our lives that occur that we don't want to ever end. We don't wantto imagine what will happen to us when it's over. But once the sun sets on those moments, it is important to take with us everything we learned, every laugh we had, every new friend we made. We start the next page fresh, but with the memories of the previous page building upon our new chapter. And no matter how much we may try to deny it, every sunrise must end with a sunset.
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