Prepping for España.

Before departing from the Arava, we went to the Dead Sea twice in the past week, which was at once thrilling and depressing. The Dead Sea is a fraction of its previous size, drained by a number of different factors including the evaporation pools for its mineral wealth, the sucking out of the water from the water table, and the damming/depletion of the Jordan River, its main tributary. This aspect of its fractional size was best captured by one stretch of the road in which we raced along northward for many kilometers, looking out toward where (ostensibly) the Dead Sea is.

This area, now a relatively barren wasteland of sand, earth, tumbleweed (in mobile and rooted form), and uncovered rocks, was once covered by the Dead Sea, a bright blue body that you can almost see off in the distance. Reminiscent of the water and unguarded beachfronts that were once there remain many signs dotting the roadside at even intervals telling you in 3 languages "Danger! Risk of Drowning!", even though there isn't a drop of water in sight. Sad.

At any rate, I haven't gone "swimming" (i.e. bobbing) in the Sea yet, as it is quite cold and windy this time of year. I did wade in it, though, and was thoroughly mesmerized by how everything in sight was covered in salt crystals. The water felt slimy and smelled a bit funny. The shore was crunchy (covered in salt-mineral plates). After I came out and my feet dried (I had nowhere to wash my feet with fresh water), they were covered in thin sheets of salt that looked like layers of dead skin. Yum. But, the water is a magical cure-all for many skin ailments, so I look forward to my "bath" in it in March.

As for now, we are prepping back at the kibbutz for our imminent departure to Spain (early Sunday AM), on the tail end of Chanukah celebrations. I celebrated Chanukah with the family at the farm, which was funny given that a giant pile of greasy foods was one of the least helpful things I could do for my cold, which still hasn't gone away completely. Various friends and family came to spend the holidays at the family's house, including the patriarch's Orthodox sister and her family, which includes 8 children (and probably more on the way). All in all, there was a highpoint of 15 children in the house, very few of whom spoke any English. Needless to say, it was an interesting time.

Again, it was absolutely gorgeous out in the Arava Desert at that farm, but I am happy to be done. Not only did it seem that was there something inherently damaging to health about working in those greenhouses, but also the more time I spent there, the more questions and subsequent uncomfortableness I had about what it means to be doing industrial-style agriculture in "Israel", even if you are doing it "organically" and enthusiastic about the idea of sustainability.

With the length history of moshavim (moshavs) being rooted in the idea of community = families working together = farming, this one family actively made a decision to move out to the desert community where they are so as to be farmers. This led me to wonder, what do you expect for life as a farmer here? What do you imagine yourself signing on to?

More importantly, what does it mean to be a farmer in a country where:
1. land is of constant dispute
(Although these disputes are perhaps more highly profiled and radicalized in Israel-Palestine than other places, the controversy of the simple idea of people's right to land and to autonomy is a significant reality in most modern states where the state [and many peoples] haven't made amends with their repressive pasts and stealing of land from indigenous and/or peasant populations.)
2. water scarcity and universal droughts are a simple fact of life
(Yet the country continues to pursue much economic development through being a produce-exporter...), and
3. export agriculture (as it is in many many places) is a business not of working with your hands in the earth but profiting off cheap labor (as in, devalued hard work from usually foreign people and/or national minorities) and subsidies?

To be honest, I'm not really sure what it means. But I know it was weird to be in a segregated community of the (Israeli Jewish) owners and the (foreign, usually Thai) workers contained within a small space where it is unavoidable to notice and gawk at. Both groups were of about the same numerical proportion but of radically different aspect in terms of their actual rights, claims to property, living conditions and membership to the local community and the state.

Again, this was a learning experience in which there were no right or wrong answers, but simply a recognition and observation of the way it is at this very moment, and other ways in which I imagine it could be.

In short, Wwoofing in Israel has been far different than what I imagined it to be, but I've certainly seen and contemplated a lot as a result. I'm sure that as time goes on I will be processing all of it even more. In the meantime, it's time to get packed for Spain...!

Back in the desert.

We are spending our last bit of time here (prior to Spain departure on Dec. 20th) in a new farm in the Arava Desert, super close to the Jordanian border and about 40 minutes south of the Dead Sea. It is incredibly gorgeous here; when the far-off haze clears you can see in every direction and have a wonderful view of the steep, multi-colored rocks and cliffs, reminiscent of red Arizona rocks, that make up the Jordanian mountains (apparently called the Mountains of Edon in Hebrew).

The small moshav of Idan has about 65 families, 90-95% of whom make their living off of agriculture. And then each of those families has Thai migrant workers who help tend the fields. So, in this small moshav "of ~65 families", there are actually about twice the number of people you would expect. Our family is 6 people (4 of them small children 6 or younger), but for their land they have 7 Thai workers. Apparently the vast majority of the families are the same. The dynamic of what is, in essence, two separate communities: the Israeli owners (who also work long hours in the field) and the foreign labor, is really weird to me. Again, I need to sit down and do some research.

As you drive down from the main highway onto the side road leading directly into the Moshav, it looks sort of like you may be crossing into Mars, as the earth is rather red and a mix of clay and sand, and there are giant nylon & net greenhouses arranged in little colonies that extend for kilometers in either direction. Each little house contains from 10-30 dunums of land, and an impressive array of crops underneath.

Our family's main source of income are the organic tomatoes they grow for export, largely sold in Europe and apparently also in the U.S. for a pretty penny. They also have a net house full of mango trees, 150 free-range hens (they had 500, but 350 were stolen), a shit ton of zucchini (the likes of which would make Barbara Kingsolver cry for mercy), and a small garden area within one of their net houses where they grow most of their own produce. Their entire farm is organic and self-titled as "sustainable". How is long-distance international export sustainable you may ask? Good question, and that is what I asked myself.

At the moment they are producing the tomatoes as such because it's what can bring in the cash, but their larger vision is to increase their 30-goat herd to a 200 herd and make small, boutique goat cheese to sell in Israel. Their idea of sustainability is to diversify the production of their produce and sell it at local markets in southern Israel, as well as possibly in a CSA-type way to nearby families, not along vast trade routes extending by airplane and ship throughout this hemisphere (this was a relief for me to find out). They also want to become no longer dependent on foreign labor, but their idea of how to escape that cycle has not been elaborated in words.

At any rate, our job is to work with the vast quantities of tomato plants, 6 hours a day, starting at 6am with a break for breakfast at 8am. This past week we were clipping the lower leaves of tomato plants off the main stem so that the bottom clusters of tomato could get more air and sunshine. Snip snip snip in many directions and then on to next plant. Never in my life have I seen so many tomatoes. It's actually quite tiring and hard work (being on your knees, leaning over, doing repetitive motions, etc.), and led me to the definitive conclusion that given the choice, I don't think I will ever actively pursue a factory-type job.

Now we have a nice early weekend rest because the family had to run some errands for the weekend (normally volunteers work on Fridays, i.e. 6 days/week). It's a good thing, though, because I have developed some awful confluence of the jet lag from my brief, weeklong Thanksgiving jaunt to San Francisco and some sort of cold and sore throat. In short, I have slept through the vast majority of the past 22 hours. So, it's good we have time off, because I really need to rest, even though curling up in bed is definitely not my preferred activity given the wide variety of choices I have such as going for a walk in the beautiful desert, mountain biking through said desert and nearby badlands, horseback riding on a cute Arabian chestnut mare through the desert, or borrowing the family car with Noam to drive somewhere like maybe the Dead Sea.

But, there is always tomorrow!

The era of EVOO*

(* EVOO = Extra virgin olive oil)...is now coming to an end.

We have finished at the EVOO farm, and we are currently trying to figure out our next steps (Dead Sea? Negev Desert again? Jerusalem?). We spent some time in Tel Aviv, which was my first time in a big city (!). Despite the bad rap, Tel Aviv is actually a pretty nice city, once you get past the crumbling Bauhaus upon Bauhaus structure, the expensiveness, and the fact that Yafo is nicer. More on this later.

But, overall, a good time was had. We are returning to Tzippori on Saturday to collect our belongings, buy EVOO and associated products (including pickled olives that I made!), and briefly visit Nazareth.

My search for good reading material continues, not that I dislike reading fiction, but because I would like to be reading some history and sociology in addition. So, if anyone has any suggestions for good printed reading material about the history of the militarization of Israel and/or an objective account of the current status of the occupation, please send my way!

Rain rain went away..

...hopefully it will come back some other days.

This past week we had obscene (for Israel) rainfalls for several days, which put everyone in a surprisingly good mood. After the brief wet reprieve, we are back to the regularly-scheduled sunshine, and all of the plants in the garden are happily reaching upward toward the sun with newly-moist roots.

We've now been working at the aforementioned Rish Lakish on and off for about 2 weeks, and it's pretty amazing here. The only downside is the fierce allergy attacks we are both having due to the indoor mustiness and abundant cat/dog dander. The work is wonderful, the place is beautiful, the fresh olive oil is delicious and nutritious (on our first day here we witnessed and tasted the season's first oil!), the food is tasty, and the company is entertaining and thought-provoking. Up the hill from us is the archeological site of Sepphoris dating back to over 2000 years ago and spanning ruins of civilizations throughout that entire time period. Across the street are horses and playful dogs. We have access to a computer & internet (although it works at a snail's pace and has a 512 MB...not GB.. harddrive...). We drink herbal tea every day. IN short, life is good (minus the allergies).

The only problem is that I can't motivate myself to spend time on the computer so as to stay on top of world happenings and all e-contact! I will try harder...in the meantime, it's off to sample olive tree leaf tea, which is supposed to be good for allergies.

27 kilos of bread and 40 pomegranates later...

We have left Ezuz.

Although it was an absolutely beautiful place, it was time to move on. My intestinal track needed some more vegetables in my life, and my legs haven't looked as bruised (from moving all the rocks for the stone terrace with a dolly) since I played rugby my freshman year of college. Although physically rewarding, the work was pretty difficult and required more work (~7-8 hours) than the typical Wwoofing amount (~4-6 hours).

So, off we go to a new place. We've been stationed in the parental kibbutz for a few days, but today we head off so as to start working tomorrow in Tzippori (the blue dot on the map).


View wwoof wwoof in a larger map

Tzippori is a hilarious counterpoint to Ezuz, in that is relatively lush, green, bourgeois, and we will be doing very different work. The family-owned organic olive orchards (see link here, in Hebrew only, but if you poke around you can find photos: http://rishlakish.com/ ) have a big grindstone press and do their own expelling and production of olive oil. Additionally, they have a small vegetable garden and a cafe they run on the weekends. They used straw bale mud building to refashion an old industrial chicken coop into the beautiful building that now houses the expeller and the cafe, and they sometimes have demonstrations or field trips for kids.

Work should be interesting and fun; I am interested in learning more about the production of olives and related products, and what this family thinks about what it means to be an Israeli (rather than Palestinian) producer. I am curious about how they actually bought the fields and property. The matriarch of the family is a Welsh woman-Israeli by marriage, and the couple has lived and farmed in many places including Venezuela.

Our last family (and the other volunteer that worked with us in Ezuz for a week) had very, how we say, "interesting" opinions about Arab and Palestinian work, Russians, Thai migrant workers, and the role of women in society. I'm encountering more and more stereotypes as I continue to be here, many of which make me pretty uncomfortable in their assumptions. I guess that means all the more fodder for thought and analysis.

There is a huge population of Thai migrant workers that form the core of the agricultural workers, positions that from my undrestanding were often filled by Palestinians prior to the 1st Intifada. It is accepted as given that the migrant workers are here, and yet there are no possibilities for citizenship given the stated aims of the Israeli state to propagate and settle a sort of ethno-racially/religiously homogeneous state. Likewise, the huge populations of migrant care-takers, often Filipina or Nepali, have a perpetual state of accepted-presence, rejected-settlement.

I'm super curious about the patterns and attitudes of migration here, both on a policy and a social level, especially for non-Jewish/non-Aliyah and non-Arab populations. It's pretty easy to assume what sort of treatment both of those populations generally receive, but the additional intricacies of the not-wanted and not-not-wanted peoples are such a grey area. My guess is that there must be a guestworker visa policy, but I haven't had a chance to research that or its terminology. At any rate, if anyone has any good resources or reading with regards to that, send it my way!

So, off we go to Tzippori to see what else we have in store.

However, as a final parting note, for your viewing pleasure here is a little video that Noam and I made of riding in the aforementioned "jalopy" (see last photo in the previous post) down to the terraces where we worked in Ezuz. Enjoy:

A non-sensical photo essay.

(Water tower at Noam's kibbutz,

one of our daily sights for my week there.)

(Spiky trees. My first encounter with the

dangerous ecology of Israel. Other encounter

have included: giant spider, lizards, mysterious

biting fish, houseflies that look harmless but

itch like crazy, a highly militarized state, centipedes,

scary-looking cockroaches, Noam's scorpion sighting, and

probably other things.)

(Noam in front of his old playground and
kindergarten.)


(Noam's sister's beautiful house in the North.)


(The first carob tree I ever met, and the first
fresh carob I ever ate, also at Tal's kibbutz)

(Walking around in Tal's kibbutz.)


(The 3 year-old twin nephews. Unbelievably
cute and precocious.)

(My first encounter with the Mediterranean

and a dog who decided to befriend me.)

(Cyclists taking over the road on Yom Kippur!

That road is a highway. See below...)

(On the highway!!)

(My second meal out. The spread is everything

left over from AFTER we ate. I was made to order

meat...unsuspecting that I would end up with

half a lamb on my plate..)

(Driving down to the Kinneret, only fresh water

lake in Israel, and right smack next to (in?) the occupied

Golan.)

(The delicious, gorgeous Kinneret toward sunset.)

(Ruins of a Syrian village in the Golan...very

recent "ruins"..)

(Hiking in the Golan, past aforementioned ruins

and the multitude of fenced areas that have

landmines left over from the war when Israel

annexed the Golan.)

(The icy cold waterfall we hiked to

and swam in.)

(Moon rising in the Golan.)

(Our terraces in Ezuz where we work! These are the

kinds of terraces we are working to make. Incredibly

hard work, but rewarding also: building stone walls in the

desert (only rains 2-6 times a year)

in a flood valley to irrigate the newly planted orchards,

based on ancient Nebatean methods of irrigation.

(Our goat and donkey and chicken family!)

(Our restored train cabin home,

and some of the daily fresh bread

we eat...every day.)

(A view from my favorite place to sit outside

our cabin, under the palm frond porch and on

the giant swing bench.)

(Homemade goat cheese from the family's goats,

and fresh promegrantes picked from their tree.

Best snacks.)

(A view looking down toward the flood valley.

The valley is about a 12 minute walk from our cabin.

We usually ride on a bulldozer there.)

(Our favorite goat, Hamudah, which means cutie.

She has the biggest underbite you'll ever see...)

(My impression of Hamudah..)

(Noam's impression of Hamudah...whose is better?)

(Happily milking Sita.)

(The family's cabin and all of their preserves.)

(Blues, the family dog, is father to a

litter of 8 adorable puppies next door.)

(Tal and her family visiting us and camels

that live about one 1km down the road from us

in the Han, an outdoor tourist camp attraction site.)

(Jalopy, definition of.

Also file under...believe it or not: this car actually

works.

And can be seen flying down a super rock path

to the flood valley. With several kids riding the top

like a rollercoaster. Except, you don't normally see

the rusty steel frame of a rollercoaster moving as you

hold on to the "door handle" to avoid falling out the "door".

I can now say I have ridden in a jalopy.)

Ezuz.

We are here in our 15-family village, and it's pretty remote but beautiful - about an hour drive from the nearest city (1.5+ hours on bus). Our family's residences are comprised of about 7 (?) different train cabooses that have been derailed and transformed into living and working spaces scattered throughout a plot of land. Also on that plot of land are lots of fruit trees (peach, pomegranate, olive, fig), porches, a covering over most of the area that offers shade made out of nets and thatched with palm fronds, a small stall area for the chickens, goats and donkeys, a trellis for grape and other vines, a toolshed, a small garden with mostly tomatoes, compost, a small herb garden, a tire swing, lots of kid-sized bikes, a wagon, a bulldozer (that we ride down to the terraced orchards), two cars, a playhouse, and an area for hay. Woof.

About a 12 minute walk away down the hill and into the desert is the dry riverbed where Avi (farm patriarch) is building his massive terraced orchards according to the methods used by ancient Nabatians (spelling?), which basically consists of orchards (beautiful beautiful orchards) on large expanses of land in the riverbed with elaborate stone walls filled with mud and straw mixture and covered in concrete. The idea is that the stone walls (there are about 3 fields right now, we're working on building the fourth) help hold the water when there is flood water from the 2-6 rainfalls a year, so that the water can actually seep into the soil and hydrate it rather than just keep rushing down the riverbed. It's all trial and error but it looks pretty impressive. Again, pictures will be coming when there is adequate time! Our work is to help care for the animals (not very hard...feeding and milking (goats only) twice a day), but principally to help build the orchards with Avi during the day. We've only done a day or two of work with him so far, but it's pretty strenuous.

The family is two boys and two girls ranging in age from 6 to 13, mother (Tamar), father (Avi), 4 goats and a billy goat (more on them later), about 7 chickens and 2 roosters, 2 small donkeys, 2 cats, and a dog. Most of the family (human members, donkeys, and Blues - the dog) are all on a trek in the desert right now, leaving Noam and I in charge of the animals, a few side projects, and keeping everything under control while they're gone.

Again, so many challenges! In so many ways. But yet again, it's so beautiful - and I appreciate how much time I have to think and learn. Pictures will be much more illustrative than words for a lot of this, I think. But to sum up the past 5 days....milking goats is pretty great.

Arrived.

I safely arrived a week ago, and I can definitively now say that I have experienced jetlag, although I have since recovered. The time difference is 7 hours from East Coast time, however, we just had a very early daylight savings time so it is now only 6 hours difference until November.

This past week has been chock full of a whirlwind of meeting family and travel et al. I've done much sleeping, asking lots of questions, experiencing culture shock, and feeling confused. I've never really had to deal with being in a place where I don't know the language (all my previous travel having taken place in Latin America where most people speak Spanish and the United States where everyone speaks English), so this has been a fascinating (yet frustrating at times) experience for me. There is a lot of inner turmoil (in my head) about what it means to be here, and what Israel is, but I also am cognizant of allowing myself to experience whatever comes my way. It has been incredibly challenging but also incredibly incredibly beautiful thus far.

A brief rundown of the past few days:

last Thursday = lots of sweating, meeting a neat Spanish Red Cross worker on the plane, arrival in the evening, feeling tired, settling in to the room that Noam's family got for us across the kibbutz, delicious delicious hummus and pita.

Friday = meeting the grandparents, seeing some parts of the kibbutz, going to Caesaria (ruins) by the sea, getting treated to a delicious seafood meal.

Saturday = walking around, realizing I can see the West Bank from the kibbutz and talking about it, driving north with Noam's parents to his sister's house and meeting her family (husband, twin 3-year old sons and 5-year old daughter), eating fresh carob from a beautiful carob tree, talking about life and values, struggling with language with the Hebrew-only kids, and feeling shocked for a lack of a better word.

Sunday = Lots more talking, sleeping, first experience with the Mediterranean Sea and then a rushed drive back to get home before dark (and rock-throwing zealous Jews) because it was the start of Yom Kippur.

Monday = Yom Kippur, so everything (and I mean everything) was closed down. Went for a bike ride down the middle of the highway toward the beach and walked around near a cotton field then felt excited about watching television only to remember that pretty much all tv and radio stations were not running.

Tuesday = Driving north to the Kinneret (only fresh water lake in Israel, also on the border with the Israeli-occupied Syrian Golan Heights, also where Jesus walked on water etc), being treated to a ridiculous lunch at a tasty Arab restaurant along the way, seeing the out of place tropical agriculture (bananas...mangos...things that require tons of water that is a scarce commodity in the area), and setting up camp along the banks across from Tiberias.

Wednesday = My first experience with seeing the diversity of Israeli hitchikers, driving into the Golan, seeing remnants of Syrian villages right next to an Israeli base, seeing lots of areas still closed off because of landmines, going on a hike to two beautiful waterfalls, getting a little sick from so much sun, laughing at my first Bithright group sighting, coming back to the kibbutz and lots of conversations about the IDF.

I'll try my best to update later with more details and a few photographs (I've taken a gazillion thus far), but we're in a bit of a rush to catch the train south so we can then catch a ride (or the bus) with our farmer to Ezuz (the red letter A on that map). Ezuz is really tiny agricultural village near the border with Egypt where we'll be working with goats and terraced orchards at least for the next week, hopefully for much longer depending on how it goes.


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New prepping

I think I have officially moved into the next, comfortably dorky phase of my life where all future decisions are predicated by the creation of a new list and/or spreadsheet.

In other words, I have entered packing mode! My flight to Tel Aviv-Yafo leaves in 11 days, and I am mildly frantically trying to pack in all that I can into the next 9 days before I leave Providence. Of course, there are about some 600 odd papers, lists, spreadsheets and other things floating around the internet and my various homes.

But, for those (is there anyone really?) following these things, I will depart from this here coast on Sept 23rd for Israel. The plan is to be there until December 20th, when we head to Spain. We return to Israel on March 21st, and back to Boston on April 24th. And from there on out, as the Guatemalans say, saaaaaaaber.

I will periodically update this blog again as I live, love, and learn. Comments, thoughts, and virtual hugs are always appreciated!