I have now spent almost seven months living, studying, traveling and volunteering in Israel. This technologically advanced European-style country in the middle of the Middle East, a region still stuck in time in a lot of ways, seemed so foreign to me not long ago. And now it feels so comfortable, even with all its quirks.

I now live and volunteer in Holon, a small city south of Tel Aviv. At the Bat Yam beach last Saturday, the group of Israeli guys that walked over to the group of Year Coursers with a six-foot-long snake just did not faze me! Nor was I surprised by the amount of people sitting on the sand smoking flavored tobacco out of nargilas (hookahs), an instrument that to most Americans looks dangerous or illegal. It wasn’t weird for me to see men of all shapes and sizes running around the chof ha-yam (beach) in their tight underwear, and I’m not surprised that I just thought of the Hebrew word for beach instead of the English one. But coming from land-locked Dallas, Texas, I am still head-over-heels that a walk to the beach from my home now takes only a short half-hour.

The language, however, is one thing about Ha’aretz (the Land) that still manages to astonish me every day. I still can’t fathom the fact that what was a dead language just over 100 years ago is spoken by millions of people as a mother tongue and is the official language of one of the leading technological countries and one that is consistently a highlight in the news all over the world. On the other hand, I’m not amazed by how Hebrew is, at this time, a second nature for me. Of course it would be extremely difficult for me to have become fluent by in such a short time, but I do understand just about all I need to, and I definitely foresee myself asking for chamutzim while ordering a sandwich back home because I might not think of the English word for “pickles.”

One other thing about Israel that I was taken aback by as a tourist two summers ago (and still am now) is the city of Tel Aviv. It basically sprung out of nowhere and is now one of the premiere cities of the world. The days I visit Shuk HaCarmel, the food market in the middle of the city, I’m flabbergasted by the thought that walking for two minutes out of the market takes me ahead centuries to Shanken Street, an expensive shopping area. It’s even cooler that a 10-minute bus ride will take me right back in time to ancient Yaffo, another flea market where one vendor wants customers so badly that the price of a 50-shekel sheshbesh (backgammon) board can go down in minutes to five.

The things about Tel Aviv that may seem crazy to someone who has not spent much time in Israel can be summed up in my activities last night. I walked through dark alleys in an empty part of the city filled with cats (of course, everywhere in Israel is covered with stray cats) and found an Indian restaurant, where diners choose to pay whatever they feel like for an unlimited delicious buffet. No one in the restaurant cared that there were dogs running around—something that, looking back now, I think I might have been a little freaked out by at the beginning of Year Course.

It’s taken awhile, but the point in my year has come when I simply don’t feel like a tourist at all. This is my country.

Ben Degani is from Dallas, Texas, and will be attending the University of Texas next year. He enjoys hanging out with friends, playing ultimate Frisbee and listening to music.