tamarjacobson

Nineteen years ago I met America. I had spent the month of October visiting Buffalo to see if the offer of studying at the University could become a reality for me. I fell in love with fall, the cold, open spaces, choices, hot fudge atop butter crunch ice cream on a brownie, and most of all, the chance for a fresh start. Less than a year later I returned to begin my American adventure. One that would change me inside and out, grow me up, and give me the greatest gift of all: freedom to keep [my] channel[s] open!

On Halloween night, nineteen years ago I boarded a plane to return to Israel to tell my fourteen-year-old son, "Yes, it’s a go!" When he asked me what America was like, I replied, "It’s just like one big sit-com."

I remember being in New York City, looking for a cab to the airport. Dark and cold and everyone running to and fro. What a strange land, I thought at the time. How different, exciting, how child-like.

So let me see now: I lived the first nineteen years of my life in Zimbabwe (what was Rhodesia); the second 19 in Israel; and if my calculations are correct, by this time next year it will be nineteen years in the U.S. of A.

"Ooh, ooh ooh …" methinks, "where to next?"