Storks

 

Storks

Every spring, when we still lived in Jerusalem, I waited for them. I used to raise my eyes to the sky and search for them for hours until my eyes hurt, and I had to close them to give them some rest.

In the beginning it was just a small cloud on the horizon and we (my brother and I) watched it intently, not sure if this is the real thing, unwilling to miss the opportunity to be the first ones to see them.

And then the flocks of storks would materialize, almost like magic, and where the sky, just a minute earlier was blue and empty, suddenly hundreds of birds filled the air with the noise of their wings going up and down in a unified speed.

With their appearance we knew, spring is coming and with it Passover, which to me meant the biggest joy of all, going to my aunt's farm in the Jezreel Valley, a week full of wonders that I waited for all year long.

Years later when we lived in the desert we saw them, a little later, already on their way south. They would stop for a night rest in the nearby grove and we went there at dusk, trying to catch a glimpse of these big birds, as they got ready for their night rest.

Funny I would think, still in the spirit of Passover, how they were actually going in the wrong direction back into Egypt rather than out.

 

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As always on the week of Passover (and the week, or two before) I get immersed in searching and writing about anything even vaguely connected with this special spring holiday. Special for me that is, being attached to so many memories. This one, that I almost forgot, was an unexpected present.