There's something about an Israeli supermarket shopping experience that intimidates me incredibly. Perhaps the Russian women behind the counters who don't speak English and wouldn't be able to help me if I was in a bind. Perhaps it's that I need my American reliable pre-packaged portions that always seem to suit my meals so perfectly.

Today I completed a survey about my experience while on my 10-day organized trip to Israel. "It did not meet my expectations." In my wine-tinged truth, I must say what followed freedom from my trip hasn't met my expectations either. And the more I think about it, the brattier I feel. I have to say, I never once wanted to be anywhere else until now. Something's off and I think it's me. Because it's a Thursday night in Tel Aviv and where I once would have wanted to be painting the town red, I want nothing more than to bury my head in the pillow until I fall asleep.