But now he'd had a taste of freedom he wanted to go away again. Even after that short time on the kibbutz he'd realised that he didn't have to spend his time trying to keep his position in the fast lanes of life. He wanted to try Israel again, give it all he had and not quit.

Now that he'd set his sights, he needed to get some money together - just enough for the plane fare and extra to spend.
An offer of a job with his previous employer came just at the right time.

After almost three months he'd saved enough to get him going. This time he'd also arranged to go with some friends. Maybe it'd make a difference if he actually knew someone, someone who'd be a buffer against the mix of people he was likely to meet.

With the travellers cheques and the plane ticket in his wallet he was on his way again. But not to a kibbutz. A moshav instead. Similar in ideals to a kibbutz in the fact that all the hardware, tractors, machinery, etc belonged to everyone, but the main difference was that each family that lived there kept almost all the money they earned from their vegetables/fruit/trade instead of it being shared out more or less equally (as would happen on a kibbutz.)
Three weeks he spent there, working like a demon from sunrise to sunset. His body easily tanning in the desert sun. But it was too much.
Once again he gave in, and once again was angry with himself. He'd felt the same as he had on the kibbutz - uncomfortable. He returned home to the same old life he wished to rid himself from.

But he didn't really regret anything, at least he'd tried. Now it was back to being unemployed, although his sights were still set on foreign shores. Working perhaps. Casual jobs in Europe.