With a thud and a loud BING I am jerked awake. My eyes open and all I see is darkness. The first thing I am aware of is shooting pain in my legs. Where am I? What is going on? Then with another loud BING, a booming voice cries out “Shalom,” and it all rushes back to me.

The darkness is my sleep mask; the shooting pain in my legs is due to the fact that I have been sitting in a cramped seat for 10 hours. I am on a plane that is currently hovering several thousand feet over the land promised to my people by God.

Excitement courses through me. Finally, after months of planning, days of packing and far too many hours of travel, I am nearly there.

I rip the mask from my face, greeted by a blinding light. Sunshine pours through the narrow windows of the plane as if God himself (or herself) is willing that my first glance of the Promised Land is one filled with radiance and promise. As my eyes slowly adjust to the unaccustomed brightness, the true enormity of the situation hits me.

This is not merely the trip of a lifetime; this is a group of the chosen people returning from Diaspora to their land. As this revelation hits me, I am struggling to get a glimpse out the window. If I crane my neck, I can see a tiny corner of arid soil. I unbuckle my seatbelt and rush over to the window. Ignoring the protests of the flight attendant that I “really need to return to my seat,” I press my nose against the window. My eyes are filled with the sight of scraggly trees fighting their way up through dry earth, land that is shimmering and heat waves giving the earth a welcoming glow.

After a few more awestruck seconds, I return to my senses. Apologizing profusely to the harassed-looking stewardess, I return to my seat, and, grinning, re-buckle my seatbelt. The next two hours pass in a blur of bureaucracy and standing in lines. When at last I fought my way through passport control and found my bags, I eagerly joined the pack of teenagers shuffling toward the exit.

With a reassuring hiss, the door automatically slides open in front of us, and we are embraced by the hot, dry air of Israel. After traveling thousands of miles from where I live, I am finally home, and my feeling of elation is overwhelming.

Jake Bleiberg is 17 years old and returned to his home in northern New Jersey in December after living in Israel for four months. Jake is the Religious and Cultural Vice President of his temple youth group and an active member of the Jewish community. He’s also a member of the JVibe Teen Advisory Board.