Abby Greenspan

I Like Running Water and Electricity

I would not describe myself as a hiker. Or a camper. Or an outdoors person at all. However, I am there for the experience. We are getting ready, and I’m packing one shirt, the one I’m wearing, and that’s it. This is very foreign to me. Usually, I would pack five or six different shirts for a four-day trip like this, but this is not the time or place for that; everyone says it’s a “tradition” to wear the same crusty white shirt for all four days of Yam Le Yam. I’m not happy about it, but what can I do? This was inevitable.

We are finally embarking on our journey to the middle of nowhere. We get on the bus at an ungodly hour in the morning. Trying to get comfy in those scratchy, rough, red bus seats is a challenge, but nothing we haven’t done before. In hopes of salvaging the little time left to sleep, I doze off onto my hiker boyfriend next to me. We arrive at our so-called destination and get off the bus. Obviously, we need a pee break after our 45-minute drive because 16-year-olds have bladders the size of goldfish, so I find a nice-looking bush and take a squat. After checking off all the necessary items on the list, we gather into a circle on a rocky beach. Random Israelis are fishing about ten feet away. We hear a speech about our ancestors and the Jewish nation or something. They tell us we are starting at the Mediterranean Sea and after four short days, we will be at the Kineret. Let me tell you now: those four days are anything but short. Next, our madrichim start handing out things we’ll need on our journey, including a red bucket hat, a journal with our names, and a half-roll of toilet paper. Now we have everything we need to begin.

We start to walk. And walk. And walk. This act seems simple, however, the three liters of water and other miscellaneous items in my bag are not making it any easier; neither is the extremely rocky and uneven terrain we are hiking across. Our teachers keep telling us "This is the easy part,” and I think, “I might as well quit now.” But alas, that isn’t an option, so I keep trudging along. To be honest, I can’t even tell you any more details about the day because I don’t even remember anything more. I’ve created a mental block of this horrid uphill hiking.

So, let’s skip to the evening. Finally, after a long day of hiking 13 kilometers, we get to our campsite. The sun has already partially set, which means it will get dark. Yay. Everything has been set up for us: tents in a circle and bamboo rugs with our suitcases in the middle, and that's it. My tent-mates and I pick a tent and go inside to change. Inside, I find the whole tent covered in dirt. There is dirt in the tent. The one place that I thought I would find some sanctuary — this is probably the worst part of this already-horrible day. But again, I have no other option.

Having gone through enough in that white HSI shirt for one day, I needed to get into new clothes. We go for dinner, which surprisingly isn’t so bad, and sit on those dirty bamboo rugs. The sun is setting, making a beautiful cotton candy sky for our dinner entertainment—yellows, pinks, and purples mix before our eyes as we eat scalding hot soup. The entire grade goes around debriefing from our day. We all share someone we are grateful for. This little act of kindness is just what everyone needed after a day like this. The chaos from this day all melted away at this moment, and there was calm. The wind is blowing, the air is perfectly cool, and I see the cute, dirty faces sitting in front of me. The earth and I are finally on the same wavelength. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.

—Abby Greenspan