I am in the air, in a plane, somewhere high above the Atlantic Ocean, between New York and Rome, where I switch planes, back to Tel Aviv.
I like being on the plane. There’s nothing to do but sit here, and fly the plane, of course. Faithful reader, you must know, being a King of Jewish Baseball can be busy, but, briefly, here and now, I sit alone.
I left Israel a week ago, left my new home for my old home. What, I am sure you are wondering, was the occasion that could pull me away from the glorious ranks of Elementary-Level Hebrew Speaker? My niece and nephew were born, two future geniuses, the Duke and Dutchess of Jewish Baseball…
So just three months after saying goodbye to everyone and everything in New York, forever, I was back. New York, surprisingly, still stands, sturdy, wide roads, comparatively high sidewalks, steel, brick, a mountain. I drove past the Baseball Academy where I used to work, I ate salad, listened to the new Drake record on 97.1, picked up baseball gear to bring back to the kids here, I used a flip phone, I was jet-lagged, I slept on different couches and beds each night, I was tired. I am not used to Israel yet, but, I know, too, I am not a New Yorker anymore. I am between worlds, ghostly, in the world, but not of it, a King without a Land, exile.
And then, suddenly, it was today, time to leave. I have 10 hours until we land in Israel, and it’s back to Raziel 11, to life as leader of the Free Jewish Baseball World. I will get back to the Raze and go through e-mails. I tried to keep up, but failed.
This morning, be fore I left, Danny and Callie gave me something, a well-timed gift to remind me who I am.
I have a job to do, for everyone back in New York, for everyone in Israel, for Luca and Leo. I may just be a poor Jewish kid from Cleveland, and you are almost certainly just an unwashed mental patient, reading a blog in your underpants at 2 in the morning, but we are somebody!
It’s time to hit the ground, and hit the grind. There is work to be done.