Israel

That year I had planned to go back home. The priest was good enough to bless me for the journey and I had almost forgotten that I am Jewish and who knows how far his prayers carried. At that point I needed all the blessings I could get, so I thanked the priest and went on my way. Monica of course did her best to keep me put. She pampered me with her country charm and hospitality. Even her grandmother tried hard to sway me with all her good cooking as well as the homemade wine presented at every table. Even the friendly cats managed to pull me in as they gingerly caressed themselves against my leg as I sat down for the afternoon meal. The whole house seemed to conspire against my leaving, and for a moment I almost consented. My afternoon walks did not help either. I seemed to want more and more to melt into that timeless place. Even the local church started to feel like home, especially the Sunday mass singing, and all the pretty catholic girls, who would come out of the woodwork dressed in their Sunday best. I stayed a while longer. Even the priest started to wonder about his stationary blessings. The food and the wine, the hospitality and the long walks, only seemed to pull me in deeper towards staying. But I had to remember that I inherited an unwanted gift called " The wandering Jew" and so there I was again falling back to an ancient dilemma; like a prisoner whose body escapes but his mind is still trapped in the confines of his cell.