We just returned from horseback riding on the beach. It was easily the most incredible experience I’ve ever had in my life. So as to avoid clichés, I will describe it.

Horses surrounded us upon our arrival, and our positions in the ring determined our mates.

I mounted a whitish blonde horse with light blue eyes who had eyed me like a cute boy on the lunch line. She looked like a cross between a horse and a unicorn (and an albhino, according to one member of our group).

And so we rode, first through the forest and then onto the sand dunes, the horses unified in pace, but the riders not yet in tune with their new counterparts.

Josh’s horse truly must have had a distaste for him, as mid-sand dune the horse sat down and went into what must be an animal’s horse’s version of fetal pose. Josh tumbled off, Audrey Hepburn glasses skewing to the side and tan shorts meshing with the color of the sand as he made contact. We died laughing.

After he remounted, we rode onwards, starting to feel the horses’ energies. There was a swamp, and we had to lift our feet and place them on top of the horses as they fearlessly plunged into the waters, magnificently carrying their riders through the water.

Horses are determined creatures; neither sand nor swamp present obstacles. They yearn to hurtle as we yearn to fly.

But the sand dunes were deep, and while riding up one of the cliffs of sand, poor Lisa’s horse sunk. “We lost Lisa!” the rabbi yelled crazily from aboard his hyper horse.

The horse is like its owner, they say.

Someone managed to retrieve Lisa from the pseudo quicksand, and we rode onwards. The reins became the messengers between person and horse, connecting our spirits, each guiding the other from its pull on the blue-and-white ropes.

It astonished me how quickly those of my compatriots who had never ridden before bonded with their animals, whipping through the sand whooping as if they were the cowboys on which Westerns were based.

Then we hit the line that separates the heavens from the earth.

The bloated sun, mustard gold and yellow, sat above the miles of brushed dunes. I could only assume that onward lay the ocean.

I started to sing “Maria” from West Side Story, only realizing halfway into the song what it was that I was singing. My horse turned its head towards me curiously, translucent blue eyes brightening and white ears perking up. It was listening to me sing. It amazed me how singing transcended human boundaries and affected all life forms. I guess we all have souls.

My friends and I sprinted past one another, sand spinning into the air like a wheel of fortune wheel. We hit the next row of dunes.

And then there it was: the ocean. An expanse of blue laid out like fields upon fields of ripe blackberries, bursting with the gloriousness of G-d’s essence.

I couldn’t decide who couldn’t wait to get to the beach first, us or the horses.

“Onward!” The rabbi yelled.

“Arriba!” I added victoriously.

Arthur also screamed something at his horse, but it was in Russian so I didn’t quite get it. But it didn’t matter because the horse did.

We all fled towards the ocean, aching to sniff salt and embrace the waters as if we were about to devour the blackberries in several bites, aching to feel the tart juice bursting in our mouths.

As we crossed the last dune that separated us from the flat beach, the sun was setting. Streaks of dark and hot pink flew out of the sun like candied soda out of an old silver fountain.

The horses became energized by the setting, as did we. Isabella (a variant of my Spanish name) pulled on the reins and kicked the sand with her feet. She wanted to run.

So I dug my feet tight into the sides of the horse, took my fear and bit down into it like it was a hot dog from a Hebrew national stand in Central Park, and bellowed “A delante, arriba!”

She didn’t even need it, her feet instantly starting like a wind up doll wound to its tightest setting  suddenly being let go.

We hurtled along the beach in concert with the other fearless riders of the group. Isabella didn’t like being behind, and the faster the other horses ran, the faster she sped, head down and feet beating the sand like a churn whipping butter.

To the right the sun sank lower and lower, as if it too was being pulled by reins, but hers attached to the ocean instead of a horse.

As Isabella went faster and faster, my flip flops flew off, one, and then several seconds later, the other. But I didn’t care. My stirrups flew off, and there wasn’t a prayer of getting them back on so I just dug my feet harder, held on tighter to the reins, and let my giddiness spill out from my head and feet like rockets. I let myself trust the horse and trust my own capabilities to ride in tune with her motions. I flew through the salty air. Any type of feeling had ceased; I was one with the horse and the land and the sky and the sea, just another piece of G-d’s puzzle.

“Parete! Parete!” a little voice yelled. I pulled on Isabella’s reins, hard. She whinnied, not wanting to stop. I looked for the sound of the voice. It was the little girl guiding our group with her father. She was blonde, (a rarity in this country, and couldn’t have been any older than six).

Yet she rode her chestnut colored horse with fearless abandon, smacking its back with a cherry whip like a ringmaster.

Isabella finally agreed to turn around and we trotted back down the beach towards the other horses. We all guided our horses to the right, where we weaved away from the ocean and through colored tents and Chilean people camping on the beach. Little boys and girls with doughey eyes peered at us from among fires and wood stacks as we walked by with heads tall, a proud army leaving a battle victorious. We walked the horses single file across a railroad bridge as the sun finally immersed into the sea. I couldn’t even comprehend the view, the sky the most exquisitely fantastic watercolor I had ever seen.

I walked Isabella off of the railroad into the dunes again, and looked back towards the rest of my group walking across the bridge. Since the sun had gone, the people had disappeared. All that was there were the silhouettes of the horses, black and elegant against the quickly darkening pink sky.

We returned back to the compound twenty minutes later. As I rode into the ring where we had begun, one of the guides said to me, “Pierdes tus zapatos!” I laughed. “Si, senor,” I said. “Pierdi mis zapatos, pero tengo my vida (I lost my shoes, but I have my life)!”

And being alive was really all that mattered.

Crippling back onto the bus, Leah was in awe. “It was the most spiritual experience I have ever had,” she said, breathless. “It was as if Hashem was calling out to me.”

I agreed.

“That is nature,” I said. “It’s God’s creation. I think because we live in New York we sometimes forget that it exists and how amazing it is.”

Murmurs of “amazing experience,” “painful love,” and “there are no words” tossed around the aisles of our big white, blue and green 80’s bus.

I think regardless of how religious or not we considered ourselves, in that short ride we had all seen a little bit of G-d.

After morning classes we loaded the bus again to Manhattan where we traded in our shoes (Ugg boots for many of us) for rented ice skates!  The girls from Canada taught us some figure skating tricks so we could impress our friends when we go back home.

After skating the trip divided up to see various spots of New York.  Some opted for Canal Street or Times Square.  I went with a group to Columbus Circle.  For many of my peers on the trip it was fun to see them on their first ride on a New York City subway.  After getting off the train and a quick coffee stop, we walked to the Plaza Hotel for a couple of quick pictures before reaching our destination… FAO Schwarz where we waited in line just to get inside.

We took pictures with the doorman, the large stuffed animals, custom-made Muppets and finally went upstairs to play on the Big piano.  After waiting in line for the group of eight-year-olds to finish up their turn on the famous toy, it was finally our turn!  We spent most of it taking pictures rather than actually trying to make music.

The adventure down Fifth Avenue continued.  We walked together in a trail of yellow coats, sequined hats, and Rivkie screaming her head off trying to make sure we didn’t leave a man behind.  We saw a decked-out Rockefeller Center, the New York Public Library, dancing snowflakes at Saks and managed to stop for another picture at Tiffany & Co.

After dinner at Kosher Delight we made our way to Times Square where we enjoyed an hour of unlimited game play at the ESPN Zone followed by a visit to the limited-time-only Charmin Bathrooms.  We arrived as they were closing, but after Rabbi Gluckin and Rivkie pleaded our case, we got to wait in line to go to the bathroom.  It was amazing!

At this point it was almost time to go back to Passaic and I was looking forward to my beauty rest.  If I learned anything today, it was that Times Square is a hot mess around New Years but some of my peers still planned on seeing the ball drop anyway. Oy!

Up Next: Bowling, Rock Climbing and Kleinfeld Bridal… oh my!

Keep reading to find out what happens when we visit the famous Kleinfeld Bridal Shop from TLC’s “Say Yes to the Dress.”  - JB

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