Reina V. Kutner is a freelance editor and author living in Lakewood, California, with her husband Ari. She blogs for beachhillel.com.

As long as in the heart, within,
A soul of a Jew is yearning,
And to the edges of the East, forward,
An eye gazes towards Zion,

Our hope is not yet lost,
The hope of two thousand years,
To be a free nation in our land,
The land of Zion and Jerusalem.
-Translation of Hatikvah

When Israel was formed 60 years ago, a great fire of hope was lit inside the souls of the Jewish people. Two thousand years of exile preceded that, including the Holocaust three years previous to that moment; each Jew was like a little candle, being snuffed out one by one. Each candle left merged together to become that fire after the birth of our homeland. And yet, we have had to learn to be careful, as fire can be incredibly destructive.

Israel is an inferno within my soul that cannot be quieted. It drives me to tears, drives me to the edge, and yet saves me from myself at the same time. Like Jacob on the mountaintop wrestling with the angel, I continue to wrestle with every single emotion that comes up with my Israel: love, hope, anger, sorrow, joy, peace, confusion, understanding, bitterness, freedom and even the notion of forgiveness and birthright. It challenges me constantly, tries to get me to extend beyond myself and beyond the circumstances I have faced.

I only spent ten days in Israel in what was supposed to be a six-week stay. During my stay, I fell in love with the glory of Israel despite the fact I only saw a peek of it. But like many Jews before me, I was forced into exile into the Diaspora. Like the conquerers of Israel before, someone tried to snuff out my soul by taking me away from the one place where I felt the most rooted.

However, I was guided toward Jerusalem, which I first saw glowing in the setting sun of a clear July day. When I approached the Western Wall for the first time, hours before I was supposed to leave, I began to cry. My body shook as the women swayed and prayed to G-d at this holiest site. When I touched the wall, kissed it, felt its smooth stone against my skin, I knew that this place would never leave my soul. In my most desperate hour, I was reborn and my soul turned to a powerful flame.

It has been nine years since I left Israel, filled with happiness and sorrow, new life and death. More complex emotions feed the fire to this day. Although it is confusing, hurtful and sometimes crazy, there is a beautiful thought that has lingered with me: despite all the horrible things that happen to us or how we grow and change, there is an Israel. There is a Holy Land, a place for the Jews. The flame would never die, and no matter how much it hurts sometimes, it never should. It keeps us alive.

I know I am meant to return. I dream of Sfat and the mystics dancing in the fields before Shabbat, of playing in the mud at the Dead Sea, and of being in the glorious presence of the Western Wall once more. Despite everything, I have hope. No matter what happens, that hope cannot be taken away from me, no matter who tries. Israel may be a half a world a way, but somehow I will find a way.

When I talk to people who are about to go to Israel, I see it in their eyes: that little spark, the fire that is beginning to burn and grow. There’s only one thing in the world that can do that to a Jew. In our everyday lives, we find that spark of love, a love greater than ourselves that has spanned the centuries. No matter how many Hitlers come into this earth or anything that comes our way, they can never extinguish the great fire. We will continuously sing of our Israel, our Jerusalem, of our beloved Zion. And we will never go into the darkness again.