A Year Away from Maryland and A Year to Explore

Not many people know about a little town called Bayit Vagan in Israel. Some may have heard of it because it's near the biggest mall in Jerusalem, Malcha Mall, but most see it as just another ultra-orthodox neighborhood in Israel.

But there, in Bayit Vagan, nestled between cottages made of Jerusalem stone and surrounded by a beautiful view of mountains, is an American all-girls school called Darchei Binah (translated from Hebrew as "paths of wisdom"). Girls from all over the United States go there, and this year I'll be one of them.

Darchei Binah is a school that specializes in post-high school Judaic studies. Many teens from Montgomery County attend a religious school like Darchei Binah for a year or two before college.

Aside from schoolwork, Darchei Binah also takes its students on various trips around Israel and on a two-week trip mandatory trip to Poland to visit sites focused on the Holocaust. Also, once a week, girls going to Darchei Binah are required to volunteer at a charity of their choosing.

With all the learning and traveling and volunteering, this next year seems overwhelming.

Not to mention I will be staying in a different country without my mother for a year. Who will do my laundry? Who will be with me for the holidays? And most importantly, who will feed me? Will I have to cook every day?

I know it seems melodramatic, but it's not like my mother's just a phone call away. There's a seven-hour time difference between Israel and America. Not to mention, I won't have a car. I'll have to take buses. Everywhere. Stuffed like a sardine with pushy locals. That ought to toughen me up, to say the least. (Which can be a good thing.)

With all this anxiety building up, I need to remind myself why I chose to take this year abroad.

From what I've heard, some people enjoyed their year, others didn't, but everyone experienced a change in their life. I want to grow and challenge myself. I don't want to go straight from high school into college without experiencing something so uncomfortable that I feel like I was dropped into an ice cold bath. It's about getting out of my comfort zone.

I want to push beyond the conventional curriculum. I want to learn about controversial topics that no high school would dare touch upon. I want to be able to question what I've believed my whole life about history and religion.

I want to learn and grow and enjoy myself in Israel. I want to hike up Masada. I want to go swimming at the white sanded beaches in Netanya. I want to see the coral-colored walls of ancient synagogues in Tzfat. I want to visit the place where Adam and Eve are buried, and most importantly, I want to be at the Western Wall, surrounded by people from all walks of life singing and whispering and shaking and crying out to G-d.

Yet there are some things around Wheaton and Kemp Mill that I'll miss dearly.

I'll miss scouring the used bookstore at the Wheaton Library and finding the new Meg Cabot novel for $2. I'll miss hanging out in "the box" (gazebo? fort?) at Kemp Mill Park and feeding the surprisingly aggressive geese some old bread. I'll miss eating Ben Yehuda pizza, Nut House pizza and Subway at the JCC. I'll miss spending hours at Barnes and Noble on Rockville Pike, reading everything and anything I want.

I will miss a lot, but at least I know that I'll come back with more than when I left.

I've talked to a lot of returning students. There seemed to be a consistent motif about their thoughts on the year: You get as much as you put in. You can read about Israeli occupiers on CNN's website, or you can visit them yourself. You can bring hundreds of packets of oatmeal from America with you, or you can befriend an Israeli family in your neighborhood and experience a real hearty breakfast. You can spend your nights in your dorm watching episodes of "Glee" online, or you can travel, see, smell, learn. However you choose to spend your time, and whomever you choose to spend your time with, will create your year for you.

So the question now is: How will I create my year?

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Note: Some photos originally attached to this story were removed at the author's request.