Friday, May 4, 2007
A Long Way to Go
My knees, ankles and feet hurt from a week of living and training in the elements... Blisters, red boots, thorns and blood have become the norm...Its nice to return to a place where I can eat at a table with utensils (let-alone hot food)...I jump at any opportunity I have to read-newspapers, magazines books, essays...anything to stimulate my mind...I'm not as strong as I thought as was...You have to learn how to crawl, and crawl and crawl some more, before you can begin to even think about walking...I have a long way to go...
Friday, April 6, 2007
Tzanchanim
[Another Disclaimer: This Post will not be very insightful. I will not share any incredibly interesting, or groundbreaking observations. It is merely a way for me to update anyone who cares about my day to existence....so Aba and Ima, enjoy]
I finally found some time to update my blog. The last time I posted, I was working the fields, planting tomatoes. That was over a month ago...and I am FAR away from planting tomatoes.
where do I start? I guess, the best place to start is Shushan Purim, in the beginning of march. I was in Jerusalem having a great Purim. There was learning and drinking and singing and drinking, and drinking... At around 8:30 PM, I answered my cell phone as I had one leg out the door to go see a concert in town. It was a man who only identified himself as "Shachar". Shachar asked who he was speaking with, verified some information and then gave me some news.
(Now, with your permission I need to backtrack for a moment. During the past war with Hezbollah, after learning about my friend who was killed in Lebanon, I decided that I needed to serve in the army as a paratrooper. Since that moment, I had been doing everything possible to see that dream realized. I wanted to be a paratrooper in the Israeli Defense Forces, and I wanted to enlist as soon as possible. I spoke to dozens of people in the army and Israeli Government...and had come to the realization that I would not be able to join as a paratrooper in March [the soonest draft date for the paratroopers was the middle of March]. I accepted that reality, and began to think about the next few months until the next draft date for the paratroopers [August]. Perhaps I would even study at a yeshiva, something I had always thought about doing...)
Back to Shachar. Shachar works for the enlistment office of the army. He had received a call from someone else in the army (one of the many people I had been in contact with), and informed me that if I still had interest in joining the paratroopers, I could taker the Gibush (physical test) the following day. If I decided to take the test, and if I passed, my draft date would be the following week, March 15.
I need to remind you, that this news came to me, while I was drunk (the drinking had begun a few days earlier with Purim outside of Jerusalem and continued in Jerusalem for Shushan Purim), and already accepting the fact that I would not be getting into the army until August at the earliest. Shachar recognized that this was a big decision for me, and thus, gave me 20 minutes to think about it, and then call him with an answer. I spoke with my parents and within a few minutes I knew I could not give up the opportunity. I told Shachar I wanted to take the Gibush, and he told me to be at Tel Hashomer (a main army base north of Tel Aviv) at 8:30 AM, (less than 12 hours from then). I luckily had sneakers in the backpack I had on (the rest of my clothing was at my Kibbutz) and I got ready to take the gibush.
The Gibush began the following day, and consisted of two parts. First, a 2K run, and then the second part which began early in the morning the following day. I arrived at the base at 8:15, and waited at the gate to be let in. Almost all of the other Gibush participants had already been in the army for a few months by then, in a mandatory army prep program for new immigrants. So as I was let into the base by a soldier (2 hours later), I immediately noticed that I was one of the only people there in civilian clothes. I was given an olive green uniform and joined the rest of the soldiers. Thus began my introduction to army life: Lines, bureaucracy, formations, cleaning, "start your timers....3 minutes, go!", dirty old blankets, tents, 18 year old kids...
I ran well for the first part of the test. Most of the kids who were ahead of me were Ethiopians, so I knew I was doing fine. After the run, they made us do stupid chores and had us get everything ready for the morning: Stretchers, sand bags, water...we went to sleep around 9:30, knowing that we would be awakened around 3 AM for the hardest part of the Gibush. By then around 20%-25% had already been asked to leave due to their times on the 2K run.
We awoke at around 3 AM and for the next 6 hours, were subjected to some serious physical activity. The first hour and a half was the toughest, and I caught myself second guessing my desire to be there. Up and down, up an down, up and down hills with 15 Kilos on your back. Crawling, sprinting, marching and push ups...Then at around 730 AM the officer in charge of us stopped the test to give all who were interested the opportunity to say the Shema before it got too late. It was at that moment, exhausted and sweaty, that I realized how incredibly fortunate I was. After two thousand years of exile, I have the honor of serving in a Jewish army to protect my homeland. For two thousand years, we were not so fortunate to have an army to protect our lives and our ability to say Shema where ever we were.
I finished the test a little while later, made and while most of the soldiers boarded buses to go back to their bases, I gave back my uniform, changed into my civilian clothes and made my way back home. A few days later, I was invited to join the paratroopers, and on March 15, I began my army service.
I took a longer Gibush a few to days later to be considered for the special units, and I fortunately was accepted. I have been serving in the a special unit in the Tzanchanim for the past month.
I am sitting in Jerusalem right now. I was let off my base this morning. I need to nap. Shabbat Shalom
I finally found some time to update my blog. The last time I posted, I was working the fields, planting tomatoes. That was over a month ago...and I am FAR away from planting tomatoes.
where do I start? I guess, the best place to start is Shushan Purim, in the beginning of march. I was in Jerusalem having a great Purim. There was learning and drinking and singing and drinking, and drinking... At around 8:30 PM, I answered my cell phone as I had one leg out the door to go see a concert in town. It was a man who only identified himself as "Shachar". Shachar asked who he was speaking with, verified some information and then gave me some news.
(Now, with your permission I need to backtrack for a moment. During the past war with Hezbollah, after learning about my friend who was killed in Lebanon, I decided that I needed to serve in the army as a paratrooper. Since that moment, I had been doing everything possible to see that dream realized. I wanted to be a paratrooper in the Israeli Defense Forces, and I wanted to enlist as soon as possible. I spoke to dozens of people in the army and Israeli Government...and had come to the realization that I would not be able to join as a paratrooper in March [the soonest draft date for the paratroopers was the middle of March]. I accepted that reality, and began to think about the next few months until the next draft date for the paratroopers [August]. Perhaps I would even study at a yeshiva, something I had always thought about doing...)
Back to Shachar. Shachar works for the enlistment office of the army. He had received a call from someone else in the army (one of the many people I had been in contact with), and informed me that if I still had interest in joining the paratroopers, I could taker the Gibush (physical test) the following day. If I decided to take the test, and if I passed, my draft date would be the following week, March 15.
I need to remind you, that this news came to me, while I was drunk (the drinking had begun a few days earlier with Purim outside of Jerusalem and continued in Jerusalem for Shushan Purim), and already accepting the fact that I would not be getting into the army until August at the earliest. Shachar recognized that this was a big decision for me, and thus, gave me 20 minutes to think about it, and then call him with an answer. I spoke with my parents and within a few minutes I knew I could not give up the opportunity. I told Shachar I wanted to take the Gibush, and he told me to be at Tel Hashomer (a main army base north of Tel Aviv) at 8:30 AM, (less than 12 hours from then). I luckily had sneakers in the backpack I had on (the rest of my clothing was at my Kibbutz) and I got ready to take the gibush.
The Gibush began the following day, and consisted of two parts. First, a 2K run, and then the second part which began early in the morning the following day. I arrived at the base at 8:15, and waited at the gate to be let in. Almost all of the other Gibush participants had already been in the army for a few months by then, in a mandatory army prep program for new immigrants. So as I was let into the base by a soldier (2 hours later), I immediately noticed that I was one of the only people there in civilian clothes. I was given an olive green uniform and joined the rest of the soldiers. Thus began my introduction to army life: Lines, bureaucracy, formations, cleaning, "start your timers....3 minutes, go!", dirty old blankets, tents, 18 year old kids...
I ran well for the first part of the test. Most of the kids who were ahead of me were Ethiopians, so I knew I was doing fine. After the run, they made us do stupid chores and had us get everything ready for the morning: Stretchers, sand bags, water...we went to sleep around 9:30, knowing that we would be awakened around 3 AM for the hardest part of the Gibush. By then around 20%-25% had already been asked to leave due to their times on the 2K run.
We awoke at around 3 AM and for the next 6 hours, were subjected to some serious physical activity. The first hour and a half was the toughest, and I caught myself second guessing my desire to be there. Up and down, up an down, up and down hills with 15 Kilos on your back. Crawling, sprinting, marching and push ups...Then at around 730 AM the officer in charge of us stopped the test to give all who were interested the opportunity to say the Shema before it got too late. It was at that moment, exhausted and sweaty, that I realized how incredibly fortunate I was. After two thousand years of exile, I have the honor of serving in a Jewish army to protect my homeland. For two thousand years, we were not so fortunate to have an army to protect our lives and our ability to say Shema where ever we were.
I finished the test a little while later, made and while most of the soldiers boarded buses to go back to their bases, I gave back my uniform, changed into my civilian clothes and made my way back home. A few days later, I was invited to join the paratroopers, and on March 15, I began my army service.
I took a longer Gibush a few to days later to be considered for the special units, and I fortunately was accepted. I have been serving in the a special unit in the Tzanchanim for the past month.
I am sitting in Jerusalem right now. I was let off my base this morning. I need to nap. Shabbat Shalom
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Tomato Planting
For the past few days we have been planting tomato plants.
[First and foremost...I am pretty sure that the vegetable I am discussing is spelled without an "e", but the spellcheck has corrected my spelling and has informed me that it has an "e"....Still, I am going with my gut, and spelling it "tomato". If this is incorrect, please see the disclaimer about my poor spelling and grammar at the top of this blog.]
[Now I realise that in the singular it is spelled with an "e", and in the plural with an "e"...I think.]
Detailed explanation-
They are an inch or two long and they come in trays of around 400. Tray after tray, we load the plants into a machine that is connected to a tractor. The trays sit on shelves that are connected to the machine. The machine has 6 seats, one per person. Each person plants a single line of tomatoes. Two lines of tomatoes on each "row". Each "row" is a bit under a meter in width (thus, on each pass of the field 3 rows are completed). On the field we are working on, there are around 70 rows, which are each 800 meters long. It takes about 45 minute to make one pass (...you do the math). So, the tractor moves slowly as the machine on the back does a few things. First a line is plowed into the row, then a plant is dropped, then two wheels drag dirt over the plowed line, in order to cover the plant. Additionally the irrigation hose is strung along in order to place it in between the lines of plants, on on each row. For the past month I had been preparing the irrigation tubes for the tomatoes (now they are being put to use). The person who is sitting, needs to constantly throw new plants into a rotating disk. The disk has 6 holes which open at the top of the disk. As the plow moves, the disk does as well, and the person continues to load the empty holes. Then people follow the tractor and fill in the areas which, forever reason did not get a plant. Each plant needs to be 30 centimeters away from each other. Also, the person sitting will sometimes get help throwing the plants into the disk, if there are enough people. As you hopefully can tell, it is a big production and very intense. Today we finished our first field (there are 5 total fields). Today we worked from 730 AM till 4 PM. Yesterday and the day before, we worked from 730 Am-10 PM.
Results-
I sit writing this blog with hands that are stained from dirt and tomato plants. The plants themselves cause my hands to be yellow, and the soil gives off a nice silver look. I have spent a while, everyday, trying to clean my hands, but no matter how hard I try they are still stained and dirty. When I say dirty, I am not sure if you really understand what I mean. There is dirt under my fingernails that refuses to leave. You can see the lines of my hands because the dirt and stains have found their way into the cracks. I have a bunch of cuts one my hand from cutting tubes over the past month, and they are not healing because dirt has settled into the open wounds. All in all, My hands look like I am a field worker. Its funny how here, on Kibbutz, nobody thinks twice if your hands look like mine. I don't think that is the case in my previous line of work.
It is beginning to get dark outside. The sky is grey and cloudy, but it is no longer raining. It has been raining all day, which is good for the tomato plants. Ive been told that if it rains more next week, it isn't good for the leaves of the plants.
Oh yeah, by the way, the tomato plants smell like beautiful, organic, fresh picked tomatoes..It's a wonderful smell.
[First and foremost...I am pretty sure that the vegetable I am discussing is spelled without an "e", but the spellcheck has corrected my spelling and has informed me that it has an "e"....Still, I am going with my gut, and spelling it "tomato". If this is incorrect, please see the disclaimer about my poor spelling and grammar at the top of this blog.]
[Now I realise that in the singular it is spelled with an "e", and in the plural with an "e"...I think.]
Detailed explanation-
They are an inch or two long and they come in trays of around 400. Tray after tray, we load the plants into a machine that is connected to a tractor. The trays sit on shelves that are connected to the machine. The machine has 6 seats, one per person. Each person plants a single line of tomatoes. Two lines of tomatoes on each "row". Each "row" is a bit under a meter in width (thus, on each pass of the field 3 rows are completed). On the field we are working on, there are around 70 rows, which are each 800 meters long. It takes about 45 minute to make one pass (...you do the math). So, the tractor moves slowly as the machine on the back does a few things. First a line is plowed into the row, then a plant is dropped, then two wheels drag dirt over the plowed line, in order to cover the plant. Additionally the irrigation hose is strung along in order to place it in between the lines of plants, on on each row. For the past month I had been preparing the irrigation tubes for the tomatoes (now they are being put to use). The person who is sitting, needs to constantly throw new plants into a rotating disk. The disk has 6 holes which open at the top of the disk. As the plow moves, the disk does as well, and the person continues to load the empty holes. Then people follow the tractor and fill in the areas which, forever reason did not get a plant. Each plant needs to be 30 centimeters away from each other. Also, the person sitting will sometimes get help throwing the plants into the disk, if there are enough people. As you hopefully can tell, it is a big production and very intense. Today we finished our first field (there are 5 total fields). Today we worked from 730 AM till 4 PM. Yesterday and the day before, we worked from 730 Am-10 PM.
Results-
I sit writing this blog with hands that are stained from dirt and tomato plants. The plants themselves cause my hands to be yellow, and the soil gives off a nice silver look. I have spent a while, everyday, trying to clean my hands, but no matter how hard I try they are still stained and dirty. When I say dirty, I am not sure if you really understand what I mean. There is dirt under my fingernails that refuses to leave. You can see the lines of my hands because the dirt and stains have found their way into the cracks. I have a bunch of cuts one my hand from cutting tubes over the past month, and they are not healing because dirt has settled into the open wounds. All in all, My hands look like I am a field worker. Its funny how here, on Kibbutz, nobody thinks twice if your hands look like mine. I don't think that is the case in my previous line of work.
It is beginning to get dark outside. The sky is grey and cloudy, but it is no longer raining. It has been raining all day, which is good for the tomato plants. Ive been told that if it rains more next week, it isn't good for the leaves of the plants.
Oh yeah, by the way, the tomato plants smell like beautiful, organic, fresh picked tomatoes..It's a wonderful smell.
Monday, February 5, 2007
Memory
Everyday, after dinner, I make my way to the Beit Knesset. Aravit is at 8 pm, but I normally arrive a half hour early to study Parshat Hashavua on my own. Last night was no different from other nights. I entered the Beit Knesset and sat in my seat.
I realized that there was no one in the Beit Knesset besides one man sitting one row in front of me, also quietly studying Parshat Hashavua. I had noticed the man before, at the Beit Knesset, in the dining hall, around the kibbutz... He had always been a little socially awkward, a little bizarre. Suddenly, the man turned around and asked me what my name was.
"Yoni" I answered, "and yours?".
"Oded", he responded. "You are going to have to remind me a bunch of times. I'm not going to remember your name."
"Not a problem, Oded. I have an awful memory as well!", I said smiling.
Oded continued, "You know, there was a great fighter named Yoni. Yoni...Yoni...Yoni..." Oded struggled to recall the fighter's last name.
"Netanyahu", I said, finishing the name for Oded.
"Ah yes, Netanyahu. He was a great fighter....I don't have good memory. I was in an accident."
Oded closed the Chumash he had been reading, and turned his body around to face me. "Do you want to hear my story?"
I hesitated for a second, perhaps wanting to continue reading, or perhaps worried about what I was to hear.
Oded Began, "In 1970, I was at Tzomet Kibbutzim [a near-by intersection where I have been many times, hitchhiking to and from the Kibbutz]. I hailed down a passing car to get a ride, and ran across the street. I was hit by a car. I was in a coma for 3 1/2 months."
I stared at Oded. Before I could even begin to think of how to respond, Oded continued. "I surprised everyone when I awoke from the coma. I was in a wheelchair, with legs extended for 1 1/2 years. I then was in a wheelchair with bent legs. The doctors told me I would never walk again...but you know what?" Oded began to grin, "I can run today! Not like you....you're healthy. But I can run 100 meters! I also have four children and one of them is married". The grin slowly left Oded's face, and he turned back around, facing the front of the Beit Knesset.
Now, stunned and intrigued, I scrambled to hear more about Oded. " Do any of your children live on the kibbutz?" I asked.
"Yes. Two...One...Two". Oded struggled to find the right number. "One" he said decisively. " Before my accident I was number two in my class. I was very smart. I knew everything. Now, well, now, memory is the worst thing to lose. I wrote a poem. You want to hear it?"
I did not hesitate this time. "I'd love to hear it."
Oded began to recite his poem. I struggled to understand it. My Hebrew is still not great. I know for sure that it was about himself and his memory...and something about a Gaon, Hebrew for sage.
"I really like that, Oded". I commented, not fully understanding what I had just heard.
Oded turned back around to face the front of the Beit Knesset.
It was now 7:50 PM, and Aravit was to start in ten minutes. Oded and I had been talking for 20 minutes.
"Whats your name?" Oded asked, as he turned around to face me. Knowing that he has poor memory, asking for my name again, definitely did not surprise me. I even ask people their name a few times before remembering.
"Yoni." I answered.
"You are going to have to remind me again. I'm not going to remember your name." Oded explained, again.
"That's not a problem, Oded." I answered, the same way I had answered before.
"Do you want to hear a story?" Oded asked.
"In 1970 I was at Tzomet Hakibutzim..." Oded continued to tell me about his accident and his memory loss. I sat still, not knowing what to do. Oded had know idea that we had already had this conversation. After finishing the story, he told me about the poem he had written, and recited it for me.
"You know, memory is the worst thing to lose. I was number two in my class before my accident. I was really smart. I knew everything."
Oded and I heard the Aravit prayers begin, and Oded remarked, "It's time to stop talking to each other, and begin to talk to someone else."
I cried during my recitation of the Amidah. I thanked Hashem for making me so healthy, and for helping Oded survive his accident. I thanked Hashem for my mother and father, my sisters. I asked Hashem to grant me and my family continued health and happiness.
After Aravit, Oded turned to me as we left the Beit Knesset and spoke to me, for the first time in English. "I don't want you to think that because I cant remember your name, I don't like you. I do like you. I just don't have good memory."
And with those parting words I left the Beit Knesset and walked back to my room.
I realized that there was no one in the Beit Knesset besides one man sitting one row in front of me, also quietly studying Parshat Hashavua. I had noticed the man before, at the Beit Knesset, in the dining hall, around the kibbutz... He had always been a little socially awkward, a little bizarre. Suddenly, the man turned around and asked me what my name was.
"Yoni" I answered, "and yours?".
"Oded", he responded. "You are going to have to remind me a bunch of times. I'm not going to remember your name."
"Not a problem, Oded. I have an awful memory as well!", I said smiling.
Oded continued, "You know, there was a great fighter named Yoni. Yoni...Yoni...Yoni..." Oded struggled to recall the fighter's last name.
"Netanyahu", I said, finishing the name for Oded.
"Ah yes, Netanyahu. He was a great fighter....I don't have good memory. I was in an accident."
Oded closed the Chumash he had been reading, and turned his body around to face me. "Do you want to hear my story?"
I hesitated for a second, perhaps wanting to continue reading, or perhaps worried about what I was to hear.
Oded Began, "In 1970, I was at Tzomet Kibbutzim [a near-by intersection where I have been many times, hitchhiking to and from the Kibbutz]. I hailed down a passing car to get a ride, and ran across the street. I was hit by a car. I was in a coma for 3 1/2 months."
I stared at Oded. Before I could even begin to think of how to respond, Oded continued. "I surprised everyone when I awoke from the coma. I was in a wheelchair, with legs extended for 1 1/2 years. I then was in a wheelchair with bent legs. The doctors told me I would never walk again...but you know what?" Oded began to grin, "I can run today! Not like you....you're healthy. But I can run 100 meters! I also have four children and one of them is married". The grin slowly left Oded's face, and he turned back around, facing the front of the Beit Knesset.
Now, stunned and intrigued, I scrambled to hear more about Oded. " Do any of your children live on the kibbutz?" I asked.
"Yes. Two...One...Two". Oded struggled to find the right number. "One" he said decisively. " Before my accident I was number two in my class. I was very smart. I knew everything. Now, well, now, memory is the worst thing to lose. I wrote a poem. You want to hear it?"
I did not hesitate this time. "I'd love to hear it."
Oded began to recite his poem. I struggled to understand it. My Hebrew is still not great. I know for sure that it was about himself and his memory...and something about a Gaon, Hebrew for sage.
"I really like that, Oded". I commented, not fully understanding what I had just heard.
Oded turned back around to face the front of the Beit Knesset.
It was now 7:50 PM, and Aravit was to start in ten minutes. Oded and I had been talking for 20 minutes.
"Whats your name?" Oded asked, as he turned around to face me. Knowing that he has poor memory, asking for my name again, definitely did not surprise me. I even ask people their name a few times before remembering.
"Yoni." I answered.
"You are going to have to remind me again. I'm not going to remember your name." Oded explained, again.
"That's not a problem, Oded." I answered, the same way I had answered before.
"Do you want to hear a story?" Oded asked.
"In 1970 I was at Tzomet Hakibutzim..." Oded continued to tell me about his accident and his memory loss. I sat still, not knowing what to do. Oded had know idea that we had already had this conversation. After finishing the story, he told me about the poem he had written, and recited it for me.
"You know, memory is the worst thing to lose. I was number two in my class before my accident. I was really smart. I knew everything."
Oded and I heard the Aravit prayers begin, and Oded remarked, "It's time to stop talking to each other, and begin to talk to someone else."
I cried during my recitation of the Amidah. I thanked Hashem for making me so healthy, and for helping Oded survive his accident. I thanked Hashem for my mother and father, my sisters. I asked Hashem to grant me and my family continued health and happiness.
After Aravit, Oded turned to me as we left the Beit Knesset and spoke to me, for the first time in English. "I don't want you to think that because I cant remember your name, I don't like you. I do like you. I just don't have good memory."
And with those parting words I left the Beit Knesset and walked back to my room.
Sunday, February 4, 2007
Leor
I stare off into the distance and await the inevitable light. Im not sure if it happened at once, or gradually, but the earth has been illuminated- I call it Leor.
You made it into my Blog.
A Random Day of Notes
I have been trying to get into the habit of bringing a piece of paper and pen with me to the fields of the kibbutz. I initially brought the paper and pen to write down new Hebrew words and phrases I learn. Some days, the sheet is filled with just that; other days, it is filled with other things…
This particular sheet was from a few days ago. I decided to type it up, and share it with you. You might not understand what I’m talking about……
_____________________________________________________________________________________
My eyes sting as I try to shake out the morning with
a strong cup of coffee
Each time that I look out the window, the night has moved further away
Soon the sun will rise….for now-we are in limbo: The night has disappeared, but still not day.
No longer past-but not yet future.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Terms and numbers such as:
UN RES 181, 242, 338….1956, 1967, ’73 and Baker-Hamilton
Have been replaced by:
John Deere 4890, Maxxum 5140, Massey-Furguson 390
The intellectual and legal defense of Israel that I’m used to (quoting treaties, resolutions and papers), has been replaced by the physical and tangible defense of Israel through working her land. Yesterday, I sat on the back of the Massey-Furguson, Today, it’s the Maxxum.
I walk through a field of green wheat…I always assumed wheat was brownish-tan in color. I thought about it logically…. when wheat grows, its green…and only once dried, it turns brown.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Sounds in the cilantro field:
Fighter Jets (the sound is far behind the planes)…The Muslim call to prayer coming from the territories…The faint sound of cars and trucks from the nearby road….wind
Smells of the cilantro field:
Fresh cut cilantro, something burning North-East of me
Sights from the cilantro Field:
To my South-West-The separation wall which separates Us from Them
To my East-The hills of Jordan
To my South and North- Open fields…Brown, green and every shade in between
Above-The rays of the sun shoot beams of light through the sporadic grey clouds
__________________________________________________________________________________
Every Morning Amatsyah and Eitan yell at each other. It could be my sub-par Hebrew, but I am pretty sure that they are not really fighting about anything. I guess the daily yelling is sort of a ritual to begin the long day.
“Why haven’t you fixed the tractor yet?” Amatsyah yells.
“I’m talking to Moshe”, replies Eitan.
“So I need to wait for you to finish your conversation until I can work.” Amasyah shoots back.
“What’s your problem!?”
I cant help but notice they each have a handgun and their back right hip.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Look-alikes at the kibbutz:
There is one guy who looks like the guy in MAD magazine.
There is another guy that looks like Christopher guest (Best in Show, Waiting for Guffman…).
_____________________________________________________________________________________
A man stops me as I walk to breakfast-
Look up” He says as he points the “V” shape in the sky.
“Koranim” He tells me are the name of the birds.
The birds instinctively fly in the “V” formation in order to utilize the airflow.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Everything on the Kibbutz is simple. Simple jobs, simple routine. Unwind, wind, dig, cut, connect, disconnect, drive, weed…..Not many surprises. I guess, when you live with such uncertainty outside of your community (A mere 5 km away sits an Arab country who waged war against us a few decades ago), simplicity and routine are comforting.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Worn in pants from years prior
Out of commission tractors from back when
existence was far from assured
Metal scraps and debris remind me of history-
a time when working the land was futileSunday, January 28, 2007
Work
I've been on Kibbutz for almost 3 weeks now. I'm starting to find my "routine". I have been working in G'dash (gidulei Sadeh-field work) consistently now. I enjoy the work more than the other jobs I have done. At first I worked in the dining hall, cleaning tables, emptying trash, serving food. Not for me. Then I worked with landscaping, picking up branches and leaves and weeding. I really liked working in the sun and with my hands. Then, I was told to work in the fields because they needed "serious workers". Field work is hard. Not hard in the sense that it is difficult or challenging, but rather, physically hard. I work for around 9 hours (6:30 AM-3:30 PM), with a break for breakfast and lunch. I have been working with prepping the fields for harvest, and with the irrigation systems-moving pipes from one row to another, laying plastic tubes, cutting the tubes in order to attach a main pipe to bring the water to the tube, connecting the plastic tubes to the main pipe....and then moving on to the next row of the field. So far I have worked in the cilantro fields, the tomato fields and the dill fields. Today I worked in the dill field. I sat in the back of a plow. My job was to guide the plow so it plowed between the rows of dill. Plowing on each side of the dill plants allows for the plants to grow stronger and healthier. Sounds fairly simple...and it is. After 10-15 meters I jump off the plow in order to clear away the accumulated dill stalks. It crazy to think about how much dill I tossed to the sides of the tractor...bunches and bunches (a cluster of dill at a US supermarket costs around $3..I would estimate that I tossed the equivalent of $5635 [+/- $3] worth of dill today). It was really muddy today so by the time I went to eat breakfast, I was COVERED in mud. I am writing this post in my my once muddy clothing, which are now only dirty, for they have now dried from the days sun.
After work I have time to write, read, think and sleep. I try not to sleep during the day, because I need to get to sleep early to make sure I get enough sleep before waking up at 5:20 AM.
I like the manual labor. I feel like I am really contributing to the kibbutz, and not in a lofty intangible way. By jumping off a plow to clear away dill stalks, I am ensuring the success of the dill crop. Simple.
I received my army profile (a number which rates your physical and mental ability to serve in the army)- 97, which is the highest possible. That means that I will be able to serve in most units in the army. Now that i have a profile, my next step is to take the Gibush (physical test) to get into the paratroopers. I'm one step closer....
Tuesday, January 9, 2007
A Chance to Breath
For those who care about what I have been up to for the past 2 weeks.....but mostly for me-
On December 26th, I joined 220 other olim at JFK airport in New York. I was part of a program called Nefesh B' Nefesh, that makes Aliyah much easier for North American Jews. The program fills an EL AL plane full of future olim...what an experience. I tried to sleep on the plane...but I couldn't. The count down that remained on the screens in the plane made it more and more exciting as we got closer and closer to Israel. We decended through rain clouds untill we could see the Tel Aviv beaches. It was cold and rainy as we landed at Ben Gurion Airport. A media frenzy ensued. I gave a bunch of interviews (In my broken Hebrew, with my American accent) once I stepped off the plane to different media outlets (newspapers, radio, TV). I had the pleasure of being able to share the experience with my prents and one of my sisters. Singing, dancing, laughing and crying were all integrall parts of the welcoming ceremony. I had the honor of meeting Natan Sharansy and Danny Yatom (Kennest Member and former head of the Shin Bet). A picture of Sharansky and myself appeared in the next days Jerusalem Post (oddly enough, I bumped into Sharansky the morning that the article was published and gave him my copy).
For the next week or so, I traveled around the country. I was fortunate enough to spend my first Shabbat as an Israeli in Mitzpe Ramon, at the Ramon Inn. As much as I love Jerusalem, it was really nice to be away from the American tourists and closeminded "black hats" (sorry if that offends any of you who happen to be reading this post. Its not that I have a problem with the "black hat" part....its really more about the "closeminded" part). Motzei Shabbat I traveled to Tel Aviv to see friends and for Sylvester (AKA New Years in the States). Then back to Jerusalem to see friends and waste time amoung what seemed like 18000 Birthright trips.
This past Tuesday, I left the city to travel north to my new home, Kibbutz Sdei Eliyahu. I did not know much about the kibbutz before departing to live there. I knew that it was a Kibbutz Daati (religious) and was far away from most areas. I took the 961 bus from the Central Bus Station in Jerusalem to Beit Shaan. The ride was stunning. We traveled all the way through the shetachim/West Bank/Samaria/ occupied territories. For a while we drove paralel to the Jordanian border, past Bedouin tents, arab kids throwing rocks, army trucks, checkpoints, settelments, donkeys, arab villages and a man carrying a live goat by his hind legs (I assume the goat didnt have much of a chance for survival). American hip-hop from my IPOD became the soundtack to Roling hills and agriculture, the Jordan river and a beautiful sunset. I arrived in Beit Shaan after 2 hours and was litterally dropped on the side of the road with my 3 HUGE bags and my large backpack. 1.5 hours later, I managed to beg a taxi to take me the the kibbutz. The taxi traveled south and then turned East toward Ein Hanatziv, Tiryat Tzvi and Sdei Eliyahu. I was dropped off at the gates of my new kibbutz. Spotting a tractor in the distance I ran towards it, hoping it could assist me with my 200 lbs of baggage (Im reading a book now where the protagonist says "I wish I didnt have so much stuff, but I guess its better than not having enough". That pretty much sums up my feelings on my baggage). After speaking with a few kibbutzniks, I found the person in charged of volenteers, who welcomed me and showed my to my room. I share it with 2 others (my last place of residence was a large one bedroom appartment with 1.5 baths, a kitchen living room and a walk in closet. My personal area in this room is smaller than my walk in closet- I am not exagerating). Still, I was thrilled to be there.
I could write for hours about the kibbutz, my first day of work, the incredible food, the socialist atmosphere (I wore clothing the kibbutz gave me to work in today, and I will return it to the laundry, and recieve other clean clothing), the beautiful diversity here, the scenary (you can see Jordan, Gilboa, and even the Hermon on a clear day)...but that will all have to wait untill my next post. I'm tired from the days work and my run (gotta get into army shape). As you can see I dont want to stop writing. Its quiet on the kibbutz, nothing really to do except: work, talk, write and read (Im done working, I dont have anyone to talk to, I've read for 3 hours today, so, that leaves me with writing).
Last sentence (read: thought), then I'm really going: So far, I can tell that I have left my forner life in the states for now. I am used to bars and loud music, meetings and appointments, dramatic problems and chaos. I can already tell that there will not be much of that here. Its somewhat lonely and boring, but I think that is what I might need most in my life now. I need a chance to think about nothing and everything. A chance to look at the stars (remember stars!!!!Ahhhh, It is so nice to be away from the disgusting smog of Los Angles). A chance to BREATH.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)