My family and I made a blessed move to the Golan Heights two and half years ago. We live in a small agricultural community – just shy of 100 families, there is not a day that the magic of this place is lost on me. Especially at this time of year – when the wild flowers have lost patience for the “peek-a-boo” they’ve played all winter and turned into full blown exhibitionists. Spring has sprung in the Golan and I am hooked on its charm.
There is a quiet pulse and rhythm in this part of the country that suits my soul and calms my head in ways I didn’t know was possible for me. The words “G-d’s Land” come to mind.
That and rehab.
We live in a quiet, out-of the-way, low-stimulation place that feels like somewhere people should come when they need to pull themselves together.
There is so much about living here that fills and calms and aligns me. But there is one aspect of life here in the Golan that hovers on the periphery of each of my days –tugs at my soul and inspires me deeply.