Geshem

It started raining today, after a brutal summer of temperatures as high as 107 degrees, where walking out at 2 am was like stepping into a furnace. Rain! Rain and grey skies and cool breezes! I was overjoyed. I ran outside, flung my arms to the sky, lifted my face to the rain, and proclaimed, “Geshem!” I ran back inside and put on the classic Meir Banai song by the same name, blasted my sound system, and ran back outside, twirling around on the grass and singing along.

Flashback to a punk rock club in Haifa, circa 1989. Here’s the difference between Israeli punks and American punks, at least back then: For starters, Israeli punks only slam danced against those people they knew and knew would appreciate being slammed against. Second, when it started to rain outside, all these otherwise fuck-you-face kids in requisite black attire, with random piercings, fucked up dyed hair, and dramatic makeup, went running outside, laughing in delight, squealing, “Geshem!” and prancing about in the puddles like four year old children.

Innocent. Wholesome. Beautiful. A fabulous mixture of seeming contradictions resonating with my own. I felt stunned, joyful, proud. Home.