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...!
18 December 2009
11 December 2009
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 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!
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