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.

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.

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……

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6:05 AM

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.

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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.

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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.

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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

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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.

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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…).
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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.

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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.

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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 futile