This past June I was walking down a street in beautiful Port Tel Aviv. I was there to teach a workshop. I had been doing some afternoon grocery shopping and was hauling my bounty on my back in the backpack that I travel with expressly for this purpose. Groceries can be heavy.
It was hot and sunny as it usually is in this part pf the world in late June. The buildings were a bright white, reflecting the the light of the sun which can be intense in this part of the world. I like Tel Aviv. It reminds me of New York City in many ways. The people have a similar friendly directness, sometimes called gruffness. It is like New York City with better weather, and beaches!
I looked across the street and my eyes rested on a large black block letters spaced just so on the white stucco facade of a building. T R A N S I T I O N. Whoa. I stopped. I starred. "T r a n s i t i o n," I said slowly, sounding it out phonetically like it was not word that I knew. The meaning was right there in the slow sounding of the word, the feeling of its meaning, the feeling that this was not an accident.