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...!