Sayed Kashua is an excellent Israeli-Arab author. (I was with him on a panel during a festival in Jerusalem earlier this year.)

Please read, Kashua’s column, published in Ha’aretz:

‘"Not everything will be ready," the contractor said, "but you can definitely move back home."
"Home," I thought to myself the night before the move. What is home, exactly? Does the term have a meaning beyond the physical one? And if not, why do I miss home? Three weeks had passed since the renovation started, and so overwhelming was the sense of excitement at going back that I barely got any sleep on the last night in our temporary residence.
"You go to work, and I'll take the kids to school," I told my wife on the morning of the longed-for return. "By the end of the day we will be back in our home, our sweet home. I'm in charge of the move, all right?"
Two Arab workers from a company that specializes in cleaning renovated houses toiled in the rooms. I felt uncomfortable at having Arabs cleaning my place, but I just nodded and told the contractor who is supervising the renovation that everything was packed and in the car, and that as soon as he gives the go-ahead I will start taking in the suitcases and bags.
Besides the cleaners, the installer of the banister was also supposed to come. "Two hours of work," the contractor said. "He won't interfere with the cleaners, and the cleaners won't interfere with him."
The banister guy arrived exactly on time, with an earring in his ear and a genetically engineered cleft in his bottom. "Sayed," the contractor said as he introduced me. The man nodded and smiled. "Great, Sayed, there might be sparks. I want you to follow me with a brush and fix up after me."
"No," the contractor said, embarrassed. "He's the owner." "Ah," the installer said, and got to work.’

(Read the complete column here.)

What’s home?

I would say: home is where you put your suitcase in a closet till you start your next trip.