Award-winning author Diana Spechler was kind enough to take the reins and provide a guest post for me today. Enjoy. I'll be back later this week.
When I spent a semester in Israel during college, I gained twenty pounds. If you look through my photo album from that time, you'll see a lot of pictures of me in sweatpants and sundresses, because my jeans were the jeans of a smaller me; they were the jeans of a girl not yet acquainted with the lafa, or with the idea of ordering falafel in lafa, rather than in pita, or with the capacity to eat not one, but two falafel b'lafa for lunch.
I don't know what to say. I was hungry.
I certainly wasn't the first person to become hungry in Israel. For years, people have been traveling to Jerusalem and consuming the city like it's good wine or chocolate cake or LSD. The phenomenon has even been named: the Jerusalem Syndrome, which Wikipedia defines as
... the name given to a group of mental phenomena involving the presence of either religiously themed obsessive ideas, delusions or other psychosis-like experiences, that are triggered by, or lead to, a visit to the city of Jerusalem. It is not endemic to one single religion or denomination, but has affected Jews and Christians of many different backgrounds.
The best known, although not the most prevalent manifestation of the Jerusalem Syndrome, is the phenomenon whereby a person who seems previously balanced and devoid of any signs of psychopathology becomes psychotic after arriving in Jerusalem. The psychosis is characterized by an intense religious theme and typically resolves to full recovery after a few weeks, or after being removed from the area.
It wasn't just food I was craving. I would stand at the Western Wall after the Sabbath and watch the Havdallah services, watch religious men hold the spice box over the mechitza (the divider between the men's and women's sections), so the women could smell the spices. The sight would make my heart pound, as if it was going to leap out of my chest and grab something. I would watch the men in black hats dance in circles. I would stay up with my friends into the early hours of the morning discussing the imminent arrival of Moshiach, the Messiah. I wanted, for the first time in my life, to pray. I wanted to pray until I felt the ground move under my feet. I wanted God to drop down out of the sky--Ta-da!--and land right in front of me.
When I got home, the cravings faded. I had decided to keep kosher, but within in a few months, I was going out for sushi with my friends. I wanted to wake up and pray every morning, but I kept forgetting. The twenty pounds came off. I started forgetting Hebrew words. Psychologists might have said that my psychosis was fading, and maybe that's true. Who am I to say? But it felt more like I was losing my edge, becoming complacent. Thinner, yes, but complacent.
I don't ever want to gain twenty pounds again, but I do miss that hunger. I’ve never felt anything like it since.


