"Nowhere"

I'm sure everyone has those moments, you think your life is flying high, you've got it all; Friends, family, great apartment.. happiness- right? I found myself on a bus Friday morning heading somewhere. I wasn't sure where, but bus 277 was my mode of transport. I arrived at the bus station not even a full minute before the bus arrives, out of breathe, laughing with one of my roommates that neither of us has a penny to buy our bus ticket because we just spent our last money on bagels- clearly the more important situation at hand. We meet up with two of our more responsible friends who are waiting at the stop, and thank g-d, they had enough money to compensate for our un-organized hectic morning. I push into the crowd (the concept of "lines" has yet to make its way to Israel), and nudge around to pay for a seat. I step onto the bus. The front is filled with black and brown fur hatted men, clothed in long, black, silk coats. The back is a mix of "regular" looking Israeli's, and religious women. My roommate and I pushed through to get some seats and threw our things down for our two friends who were dealing with the driver to pay, for themselves.. and us. After we sit down, we look around to realize the bus might have been a "Mehadrin Bus".. meaning men are to sit in the front and women in the back.. but it was too late at this point, which is when we all awkwardly sunk into our seats a bit, laughed about it, and put in the headphones to kick back and enjoy the beautiful scenery that occurs on any bus travel through Israel. We drive about an hour or so, still not even sure which direction we were driving, or going. Our stop comes, and we exit the bus.. we are in the middle of nowhere. We sit on the side of the road, our friend calls up this family, and we chill on the side of this highway for a while and enjoy the sun. After about 30 to 40 minutes, a dark man, beard, and yarmulke pulls up in a small, navy blue, 89' sudan. He jumps out of the car, huge smile on his face, and grabs our bags, opens his car doors, and greets us. We get in the car, and drives about five minutes down to the road where we arrive at the entrance of Moshav Bereqet.
[mo·shav:Etymology: Modern Hebrew mōshābh, from Hebrew, dwelling: a cooperative settlement of small individual farms in Israel] Was I still in Israel? What was this place! Why would people choose to live in the middle of nowhere? It was literally as if I had taken a time machine. We pulled into the pathway and parked next to a tractor and a giant, run down, tireless van. There was a small house next to us, and a door to what seemed to be a barn or garage. As soon as we got out of the car, the door swung open, and there stood a dark, thin, smiling wife. She greeted my friends and I over joyously and took us to the room where we would all be sleeping. Traditional yeminite music was playing quietly in the room, and the house was filled with aromatic smells. There was nothing in the house. They had no "stuff", nothing on the walls, the simplest of furniture, and it was immaculately clean. My friends and I wandered around the moshav for a bit, came home, helped Chaya (the hostess) set up the table for shabbos. The couple was young, married a few years, and yemenite. I've never met more genuine people. The wife didn't speak a word of English, and the husband Shneur might have known a a couple dozen words, but didn't like to use them. We sat at their table, as he told us stories of their crazy family history, and great grandparents who all lived past the ages of 110. They were happy, genuinely happy. But they had nothing, they lived nowhere. The next day, same deal, but lunch. Multiple courses, crazy stories, happy people. The husband told us that his wife woke up at 4:30am Friday morning to prepare for the guests, and as they served us tea after each meal they apologized for not having a fancy box of teas they once saw at a house they were guests at. He told us that each time they have guests, they try to add something new, and always make everything as nice as possible. If only they knew. They had everything. They lived in the center of the universe. The whole Moshav is comprised of about four families. Grandparents next door, uncles, sisters, cousins, all around the corner. Small, quiet, peaceful streets. Love and community. Happiness.
On our walk around Friday afternoon we passed goats, cows, and chicken coups in yards. We found out that they raised almost all of their own meats. The grandfather of the husband lived in front of them in the cute little house we had first parked next to when we arrived. At ninety-something, he personally shechted their chickens. [Schect: Jewish ritual way to slaughter animals in a Kosher way] We found out that the smoke we saw Friday afternoon was the family fire they had to smoke and cook the chicken they all served at their respective homes that night for dinner. No, these people didn't live nowhere, and they didn't have nothing, they had it all. I left thinking, maybe I didn't have "it all", rarely do we find anyone who has it all. Rarely do I find myself just happy with nothing, because its always on to the next thing. If only we could all be so fortunate to feel the real happiness that this couple had, receive as much joy giving as we do receiving, and live so peacefully in the middle of nowhere, under the radar of all of the everywhere, secretly harboring the realest happiness there is to have.