In my family, as in many Israeli families, a backpack is a rite of passage. Not just any backpack though - it has to be a huge one, with pockets, straps, mesh, and zippers galore. In a country where students go on long, arduous hiking trips with their grade every year since elementary school, such a backpack is a necessity.
Spending ninth grade in Israel, I dutifully acquired a backpack of my own — after trying on too many to count. The occasion? A four-day hiking trip where I would carry all my supplies on my back. And that is where our journey (me and the backpack’s, of course) began.
Though technically I carried it, my precious backpack has carried me through countless adventures. That first hiking trip showed me how far I could go carrying only 48 kilograms, proving my own strength and resilience to myself. It might seem small, but believe me, it’s harder than you would think.
Since then, my backpack and I have taken on new countries and experiences. While on a gap year, my backpack and I spent over half a month living in the forest in 100-degree weather, training teenagers to be camp counselors. It held the meager amount of clothes and the sleeping bag I had brought with me, even serving as my pillow as I slept directly under the treetops.
From there, my backpack came along for the ride as I led kids on hiking trips through the Negev desert, bursting from all the warm clothing and coats I ambitiously stuffed into it. It may have gotten a little dusty and smelled like smoke, but my loyal backpack was far from done.
With each camping trip, my bag became a little more faded and ripped, and infinitely more infused with fond memories. Most importantly, though, my trusty backpack was the most constant home I had as I made friends and found my way in a new country. Each free weekend I had, my backpack and I set off to stay with a new friend, visit relatives, or even camp out at a music festival. My temporary closet and my sense of security, I was never without it.
When a forest fired threatened to burn down my apartment, I painstakingly filled up my backpack, prepared for it to quite literally be all I had left. Luckily, the fire never reached my house, but that reality was never that far off from the truth. When I left Israel at the end of the year, I boarded the plane with my backpack more full than it had ever been. We had survived the year, together.
Now, more than halfway done with my first year of college, I once again have filled up my backpack and am ready for a new adventure — this time in Montreal. And like each time before, I trust that this trip will be full of amazing memories.
