Nothing compares to you

Day 1 – a man’s belly is pressed against my ear, I know I am going to Israel again.   He is asking for money for an institute in Jerusalem and has targeted all the men wearing skullcaps on the plane and is walking amongst them offering to take credit cards.  He has long sidecurls, a long white beard and little shame.  Two Israelis look at videos of a pop concert and a few people clap as we land.  This clapping thing only ever happens on flights to Israel and instead of making me smile.  People really do care about this place they'll even clap the pilot for taking us there.  


As I enter the airport the shininess of it all hits me.  A great curved departure hall below that looks like any other European city lounge.  But this is Tel Aviv, and I soon realize it's different when the chaos of passport control means that foreign nationals are waiting over an hour to get through, and I am asked why I don’t have an Israeli passport even though I lived here only until I was four.

Outside my relatives have been waiting for an hour, and it all feels a shambles.

First impressions – there’s a confidence about the place that I don’t remember.  There’s also a friendliness I don’t remember.  People help me with directions when I don’t even ask ‘what do you need?’ they say.

I’m reminded of the words of the song ‘it’s been seven hours and fifteen years since you took your love away’.  Instead I think seven years.  It's been seven years since I've been here.  But for better or worse, nothing really does compare to this place.