As I walked through the marketplace, all I could think about was how hungry I was. I had been running around shopping for things and meeting all the interesting people that walk through the Machane Yehuda Marketplace. Friday morning is the craziest time as everyone is getting ready for the Sabbath that night. Vendors sell meat, soup, and bread for the festive meal; each one trying to sell more than their opponent by screaming louder. I could barely hear my friend talking to me because there was so much noise around us. It was nearing time for us to head towards our hosts for the Sabbath but before we went, we needed to satiate our hunger. I knew of this very small shop in the marketplace that sold falafel, a middle eastern food made out of ground chickpeas.  We walked through a narrow alleyway while holding our noses to prevent smelling the horrible smell of fresh fish. After dodging a man holding a huge box of fruits and another pushing a cart of fresh bread, we finally arrived at the falafel shop. It was a very small place, having only 2 tables and a thin but long counter. The marketplace was crowded but the shop was empty. We finally got to sit down and relax in peace. I walked up to the counter to order and asked for a falafel. “Pita or Laffa?” asked the store owner. “Pita” I replied. “Chips (Hebrew for French fries)? Hummus? Tahini?” he asked. “Hakol” I replied, meaning everything. One cannot eat Falafel without all that comes with it.

Although I was born and raised in America, as have four generations of my family, I still Israel my homeland. A tiny country, the size of New Jersey, in the Middle East, Israel is the place I call home. It is the land that my forefathers lived on and that my whole nation is destined to go back to when the time comes. I grew up in America but ever since I can remember, Israel was a discussion in my house and in school. We spoke about different ways to support Israel and the ultimate goal of moving there. I have two sisters who have already moved there and I plan to follow them soon. I have visited many times throughout my life; touring the country as a foreigner and also submerging myself in Israeli society. Every time I come back to New York, I miss the food, culture, and atmosphere of Israel. Falafel, in particular, is an Israeli food that I always miss when I am in America. Although we have the recipe here, it never seems to taste the same as it does in Israel. The chickpeas have to be crushed, mixed with spices and then deep fried in oil. The falafel balls are then put into either a pita or laffa, a Middle Eastern flatbread, with diced tomatoes, cucumbers and onions. Most of the time it is also topped with hummus, tahini, French fries, and fried eggplant. It may sound simple but no one makes it as well as Israelis do.

It has been almost ten months since I’ve last had falafel and ten months since I’ve been in the Machane Yehuda Marketplace. I hope to visit again sometime soon to remind myself of all that I am missing about Israel.