King Solomon wrote, “Matzati et sh’ahava nafshi—I have found that which my soul loves.” This part of the Song of Songs captures my mood exactly. I have just returned from Eretz Yisrael, the Land of Israel, a place I love and a country that feels more like home than my actual home.

In America, it’s OK to be Jewish, and maybe even cool. But in Israel, it’s better—it’s just normal. Whether I’m floating down the Jordan River in a tube, winning a card game with my cousins or just hanging out eating kosher burgers at a local McDonald’s, I’m free to be myself.

My first trip to Israel was with my family when I was 3 years old, and I’m sure I didn’t appreciate the full experience because of my age. We went to the usual tourist attractions: the museums, Western Wall, tunnel tours, Ben Yehudah Street, Luna Park and the marketplace. I remember riding a donkey and putting a petek (note) in the Kotel.

But I also remember that it was very hot and I was kvetching a lot. I did like finding a lot of ancient coins in the dust at Masada, but I got cranky when my brother told me I was finding the pennies my mother tossed out to keep me busy. I’m told I had a tantrum while waiting in the heat for my older siblings to climb up the mountain. And I do remember my mother holding my doll, Ralphie (at the time, I thought that was a girl’s name!), over the edge of Masada and threatening to drop her off the mountain or leave her in the desert to melt.

The good news is that later trips to Israel have been much better for me (evidence: Ralphie is sitting comfortably in my room). Each time, I enjoy the tourist attractions, but the difference, I think, is that I have a giant family in Israel of 40-plus people, ranging from four months pregnant to 84 years old. Everyone is very close, and throughout all my trips, family is always a big part of the visit—especially this summer.

During the past two weeks in the Holy Land, I did the usual touristy things: slogging through the water of Ir David, shopping on Nahalat Binyamin and—finally—being allowed to visit Yad Vashem. But the best part of everything (except for maybe the shawarma!) was the family vacation.

Every summer—and for several shabbatot during the year, my entire extended family goes on vacation together. This year, we met at a farm on a moshav in the North, a place called Arka. It was wall-to-wall games: ping-pong, foosball, air hockey, pool and even a real pool to swim in. The owner of the farm gave us rides on a cherry picker (during which we picked lychee and passiflora) and let us drive the tractor. We drank fresh milk and ate cheese produced by his cows. The younger cousins got to drive little-kid Jeeps and the older cousins got to ride a horse (although it did run away with my adult cousin Pauly on its back!).

My cousins are the children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of Holocaust survivors, and they love every grain of sand in Israel because it’s home. My cousin Bentzi is a trained tour guide, and he made sure we did our share of tiyulim (field trips). We saw lots of nature and were continually surprised and amazed by the many beautiful parts of Israel. It was hard to believe that a place the size of New Jersey can have so many different attractions!

On the way back from one tiyul, the road was clear and my dad decided to annoy my cousin David by driving crazily on the wrong side of the road (he actually told me not to write about that!). My cousin Penina, who is 15, asked, “Do they drive on the left-hand side in America?”

The Jews and my family who live in Israel are an amazing group of people. Through lots of hard times and historical disasters, we have survived. We have always thought of Israel as home, except for Ralphie, who doesn’t like to travel anymore. And as for me? Well, I can’t wait until the next trip!

Zoë Golub-Sass is a 14-year-old from Marblehead, Mass. She has been enjoying theater and reading much of Shakespeare's works for the past few years. She also enjoys knitting, basketball and book shops. She's also a member of the JVibe Teen Advisory Board.