At the top of the invitation list for any think-tank event on the Middle East these days is that huge great big elephant that likes to sit in the room as everyone think-tanks away. And so it was the other night at the Foreign Policy Centre: “How to Deliver Equality for Israel’s Arab Minorities!” The elephant was the Second Intifada and there was no bitterness from the Israeli speaker and there was no culpability from the Palestinian. Everyone happily agreed that there was no elephant in the room. Even the elephant nodded agreement to that.
The FPC likes to do events with an angle, so this one concerned itself with Israeli Arabs, i.e. Arabic citizens of Israel rather than the occupants of the West Bank and Gaza. Mr. Shmuel Ben-Tovim, an economist of the Israeli Embassy represented the Israelis, while Ms Aida Touma-Sliman of the campaign Women Against Violence represented the Palestinians. He was very cerebral, while she came right to the point and said, “We’re treated like shit!”
I was only 19 when I was on Kibbutz Yagur, near Haifa. I knew nothing of politics, but discovered some when I was sent along to a seminar about the conflict. The Israeli speaker was very cerebral and the Palestinian man came right to the point and said, “We’re treated like shit!” That was 1986. So here I am in the year 2009 and I can’t help feeling a sense of déjà vu. I’ve spent the last twenty years hearing Jews be cerebral and Palestinians be pissed off. The only difference between then and now is that then, the Arabs had jobs, and now, they don’t.
What strikes me is how much physical change has happened in the passing years, as compared to the absence of change in the dialogue. In 1986 the whole of Israel was in a building boom, with Palestinians pouring concrete into shuttering from one end of the country to the other. They had jobs and the Israelis were happy to employ them. But always when people from abroad asked about the conflict, the Israelis would be cerebral and the Palestinians would come right to the point: “We’re treated like shit!” Meanwhile the demon of Palestinian violence bubbled away in the background with the stabbings and bombings not being so frequent as to make Israel any more dangerous than New York of the time, but making the Israelis feel unsafe in their own country; making them regret opening the borders in 1967.
Incrementally, over the years, Palestinian rights were removed from them as Israeli frustration gave way to impatience, and antagonism to hate, and eventually hate gave way to simply ignoring the fact that the Palestinians even exist. Today, the lives of Palestinians are a hell behind concrete walls, while Israel has become the silicon valley of the eastern hemisphere. High tech jobs are denied to the Palestinians on security grounds. Asian builders were brought in during the Second Intifada and have been continuing to come in since. When Palestinians bid for a contract alongside the Asians, the contract is awarded to the foreigners, but the Israelis are telling the truth when they insist that the process was transparent; we can see exactly what’s going on. The Israelis no longer wish to share their economy with the people who suicide bombed them. Arguments of human rights were arguments of the left and the Labor Party barely exists anymore. In the land of the co-operative Kibbutzim, where a nation was built through the passionate belief in the state, there is no longer such as thing as a left-wing movement.
Yet against such a dramatic change in circumstances between these two communities the complete absence of change in the way they speak about each other is striking. To this day, the Israelis are cerebral while the Palestinians come straight to the point: “We’re treated like shit!” Nothing appears to have changed in this regard. I find this to be weird.
Imagine a play by Kafka where two protagonists, in their youth, have their feet cast in unbreakable concrete forcing them to spend the rest of their lives together. The play opens with them having an argument over something or other, then the play jumps forward by forty or fifty years and these two are now old men. The whole world has changed around them but they are still having exactly the same argument, and it hasn’t progressed at all. It is exactly as it was when the play opened and they were teenagers. It’s a haunting and nightmarish idea; perhaps more Alice in Wonderland than Kafka, but it is the situation that exists between these two communities. Dramatic change has happened in the circumstances between these two communities, but zero change has happened in the attitude and dialogue between each other. Very strange.
However, there was one exchange that struck me as insightful, when Mr. Ben-Tovim said that Palestinians get less resources of the Israeli state because they don’t understand the culture of how to apply for it; they don’t know how to speak to westerners to win them over. This caused great offence to Ms Touma-Sliman who then dominated the proceedings for a period to inform the room that, “We are treated like shit!” Mr Ben-Tovim replied that Palestinian parliamentarians in the Knesset call for the destruction of Israel. Ms Touma-Sliman responded by telling us that, “We’re treated like shit!” Was Mr Ben-Tovim trying to tell us that things could change in Israel if the Palestinians simply changed the record? If he was then it’s not the direction that everyone else is going in to pursue a peace deal.
Imagine yourself trying to speak to those two men with their feet cast in concrete. You and I know that the conflict is massively self-destructive, surely it just needs someone to come in from the outside and bang some heads together? Surely this is just an argument about land, so it can be solved if we just mark out who owns what? However, you also know that these two grey-haired old men with their feet cast in concrete have been having the same argument since their youth, without that argument progressing. Is there anything that you could possibly do to change that? And if there’s nothing you can do to change that, then is it the case that the heart of this conflict is not to do with land but to do with dialogue and the lack of any change in the dialogue over the years? If that is the case, then it’s not the direction that everyone else is going in to pursue a peace deal.

Sometimes, when you don’t have a life the envy of millions, or the skill at masquerading the mundane as miraculous, there is not much to say.

I am not currently travelling the globe posting jaw dropping pictures of Amsterdam at night or of the croc I wrestled to death in Africa, or talking about the amazing sex life I have with lovers from the capital city of every god damn country in the globe…or whatever the fuck it is that all these genius’ on other blogs are out there writing about.

And given that I don’t have the same gift as some for concocting posts out of every day scenarios, like driving to the shops, and making it funny, then there really is very little chance of turning a week of diarrhoea and then a weekend of 40 degree heat into anything all that entertaining.

It was so fucking hot here yesterday that we spent the entire day indoors. I could give a detailed account of that because I know exactly what every wall looks like, every nook, every cranny, every speck of dust sand dirt that can be seen from laying flat on the floor in a desperate bid to cool down while your one year old son climbs dangerously up the side of the bookshelf but you are too ass buggered by the sinfully hot heat to even tell him to get down, instead saying, “wow, good climbing mate, see if you can get to the top” because you are so mind numbingly bored and tired and hot that you can’t even think of any fruitless child friendly banter anymore.

But I figured that would just reveal how my life pales in comparison to the exotic and erotic genius of the blogging world and that would be a pain too brutal for me to bear, so in a futile attempt to avoid the catastrophe of being ordinary I thought I would list all the places I have ever been really, really fucking hot:

1. Kibbutz Afikim, Isreal. Because I am really interesting like that, I go live on kibbutz in the middle of Israel when I am 19yrs old then I come home and write Sociology papers citing them as interesting case studies of failed experiments in socialism. This earns me a pithy little fucking Pass mark, perhaps because I fail to comment on the whole ‘religious’ aspect of the community (religious? Israel?…c’mon…) given I was so obsessed with radical politics and hippy communes at the time…

But anyway, point is – hottest fucking place on earth. It would be, like, 40 degrees all day long, and then drop to a cool 38 degrees at night. Being pesky little Western volunteers we were given little relief from the heat, expected to rise from our fan forced oven sleeping quarters at 6am and work till 5pm – you don’t get something for nothing in those parts, and by something I mean a small bit of foam to sleep on and a oil drenched salad leaf to munch on – without working your ass off for it first.

But lucky for me I was there because of my Israeli boyfriend, so on those hots nights I would sneak out of the servants, I mean volunteer, quarters, and go sleep in his nice cool apartment (yes, he had his own apartment. On a kibbutz. Like I said, failed experiment in communal living).

There was a 50 metre swimming pool on this particular kibbutz and one afternoon after working in the banana fields all day we all rushed down the pool, not even stopping at the edge to peel our clothes off before plonking straight in, only to find that the water was warm! Warm water. In a 50 metre pool. That’s how fucking hot it gets in those desert countries. Here we were, dripping in sweat, seeking some sweet, fresh relief from the prickling hot humidity that was strangling our throats, only to find that the water was fucking warm. Suffice to say, there were no Israelis down at the pool that day.

2. Pula, Croatia. Living out the back of an artist’s co-op on the fabulous Adriatic Croatian coast. Because I’m cool like that. You know, interesting, glamorous. The life of a well heeled traveller and all that. (Look, it hasn’t all been a suburban nightmare. I mean, it may have started off that way, and I may be back in one now, but I’ll have you know, through some ostentatious and conspicuous flaunting of it, that I have been to some very, very cool, I mean hot, places).

And the coast of Croatia was certainly one of them.

It was so hot we wouldn’t leave the house to go for a swim until 9pm at night. We would have melted into the sidewalk if we had of tried to walk to the beach any earlier. so hot that we would wake up, have a shot of grappa in our coffee, get stoned and then sit around in our underpants all day – did I say glamorous? Well, I meant something else.

And while it might sound like the life of a junkie, really it wasn’t, we only lived like sloths in that week long fucking heat wave that had people dying, literally dying, in some parts of the country.

And as for drinking alcohol first thing in the morning, well the bloody Croats do that shit all the time. All day long in fact, sneaky, sneaky little shots of grappa –one for good health, one to keep a cold away, one for the sore tooth, one for lunch time, one for the old mate Miho that died in the war – there’s always a reason for grappa and its never frowned upon, the stuff is seen as the all purpose magic elixir of life.

3. Cessnock, NSW. See its not all glamour. Sometimes your roots pull down hard. This is where I spent Christmas of 2002 at my Bro’s place.

Cessnock is basically considered the redneck wonderland of the Hunter Valley region. But to be fair to my Bro, who is not a redneck, we were out on his little subdivided property block and so technically out of bounds of the ‘racist’ dragnet that cloaked the town centre.

But this little block in the country had not a tree in sight and the heat that day was off the scale. We had both sides of the family present at this little Christmas shindig, so things were already awkward and uncomfortable enough without having to scurry and scramble amongst ourselves for any speck of shade we could find. Man, we would have beat the dogs out of their kennels if we could have fit in them ourselves.

Instead most of us settled for pulling our plastic chairs into the shade cast from the wall of the house. Come midday things got pretty grim, and with the sun directly above us, and our chairs pressed flush against the wall, we were forced to take shelter in the measly few inches of shadow that fell.

There was only tank water on the property, and my parents had already drilled us, with depression era mentality, that it. must. not. be. wasted. So water fights were out too, not that anyone had the energy. In the end I had to lay down on the tiles of the bathroom floor with a wet cloth on my face. I couldn’t even drink beer. No beer! At a dysfunctional Australian family gathering! That’s how hot it was.

Ok, so it’s a short list. I guess I haven’t been that hot in that many places others than the vast, expansive, flat, flat plains of Sydney’s western suburbs. Where childhood days were spent in that dry, crackling, cook an egg on the radiator of a car kind of heat. Heat that could curl the corner of a sheet of metal. Heat that had hot air breath that would blow brittle leaves over cracked dirt and dust.

And that deserted kind of feeling, with not a soul in sight save for a dog under an awning, and no sign of life save for the slow drip, drip, drip of water from the air conditioner that has been jammed into the window fixture falling onto the concrete below.

And while there’s no doubting that place was hot, it just wasn’t that exciting, well, not exciting enough for an erotic, exotic, genius blog anyway…

Why is anyone still single?  Why is the singles “community” growing when most people agree (at least in public) that the objective is marriage?  Deena mentioned the “bitza family” ties as a possibility in her post on subconscious rejection – and research has been done on kibbutz-style living that there isn’t much intermarriage among people who grew up together.  Any real anthropologists out there?

At least one commenter said she doesn’t think the community is the reason why people stay single.  Do you have any ideas?  Theories?  Feel free to blast this blog post with your comments – you can even “e-shout” in capital letters if you like!

Do you think it’s because there are no good guys out there?  Because girls expect too much?  Guys expect too much?  Parents expect too much?  Do you think it’s fear of commitment?  Do you think it’s fear of closeness?

We have all kinds of ideas and theories, we’ve already shown you some of ours – now show us some of yours!

Remember the Palestinians before their fear and paranoia of all things Western  as well Jewish made them tools of the Arab League and later The Islamic Republic of Iran.

When the Jews/Zionists arrived in 1878 they were small in number. They were scattered and they bought the most undesirable plots of land from Arab and Turkish effendis or landlords. The Muslim Arabs eventually began to fear the disappearance of their religion and culture. The extreme freedoms and incredible materialism were not welcomed by many Arabs. They feared and perhaps rightly so that unless Islam was enforced more strictly droves of Arabs would abandon Islam. Ever since the Middle Ages Arabia, Lebanon and Syria (upper Syria) , Iraq (called Mesopotamia by the West), and Lower Syria(Called Palestine by the West) , were in suspended animation remaining in the 13th century by the non-progressive Ottoman (Turkish) Empire or the Grand Porte or the Caliphate. When the British defeated the Ottoman forces in 1917 Palestine became a mandate  of the British Empre (really a colony, the British loved colonies). This tremendously increased the fear of Muslim Arabs in exposure of their stagnant culture to Western liberated notions. The Caliph  in Constantinople was no longer in charge! Europeans were!! So the onslaught of alien yet enticing European values terrified all Arabs there. All other Arab States in North Africa were colonized already and had the roughly the same struggles. That set the stage for reaction.

Te Grand Mufti al-Husseini of Jerusalem made the first aggressive move as Arabs are wont to do, in 1920 by attacking Jews, rioting and massacring Jews. This continued into 1921.  Riots broke out in 1929 that massacred many Jews of Hebron so that they left and didn’t return until after the Six Day War victory secured Hebron once again. That is why that city/town is so important to the Jewish Settler movement.

The Grand Mufti next project was most ambitious. Immigration from of persecuted and oppressed Jews from Nazi Germany rove the immigration levels up. The Arabs were far more xenophobic that charitable. They demanded immigration cease and 3 years of massacres and riots began anew. The Grand Mufti called for all Arabs to attack Jews. When many Arabs refused to do so; his forces attacked the moderated. This action has been repeated  up to this day. That’s why moderates in Palestine and across the Arab world barely utter a sound at wonton  attacks by radicals Islamists to this day.

From 1936 to 1939 510 Jews were killed. It was a lower number than expected as by then Jews  had set up self defense militias in kibbutzim and cities. But the Arab death count was much greater. It was ARAB on ARAB violence. They also attacked the British this time. The many British were anti-semitic (towards Jews) as was the ancient prejudice still was not dismissed by science and liberalism completely. The also admired the “knights” of the desert- The Arab as written about by Lawrence of Arabia.  By 1939 the British issued a White Paper restricting and later ending all immigration by Jews from Germany and later German occupied Europe. This gave the British the marvelous opportunity of the Brits becoming partners in the genocide of 6 million Jews with  Nazi Germany. The Jews were refused  admittance in most countries in such LARGE numbers. Still the Jews tried many deals to secure release of doomed  European Jews going well in World War 2. The British arefused wartime releases as well. So then began the smuggling-Jews-to-save-lives operation by Zionist organizations and Palestinian Jews

What did the Grand Mufti al-Husseini do when World War 2 began? His intense hated and fear of Jews made him write off his fear of Europeans so he joined the Nazi Government as a  visiting dignitary and later as a ss commander. Frequently he would call for the extermination of the Jews. He met with Hitler and they admired bloodthirstiness. in each other.

After the War al-Husseini restarted the war against the Jews minus the 6 million of course.

Attacks began AGAIN in 1946 and were in full war mode by 1947. Rich Arabs (moderate)  fearing more attacks by the Grand Mufti  as well as the Jews all left.

 The United Nations set a Bi-National state in Resolution 181. This 2 state solution probably would have resembled the Bi-National Federation in Bosnia today if the Arabs accepted it. They would not.

Instead they called for the liquidation of the Jewish part. Seeing the Jews would NOW set up an independent state, the Grand Mufti asked the Arab League to “drive the Jews into the sea” . Iraq, Lebanon. Syria, Egypt,  TransJordan, and the Arab Palestinians. rallied to the death cause. Rumors, fears and warnings impelled most  Arab Palestinians to leave the theatre of war.

To the shock of the world especially the Arabs the Hagannah, (really  bunch of  militias) defeated all 5 Arab Armies and set up the current Jewish state. The intense hatred and xenophobia of the Jews brought into concrete reality the most feared thing  the Grand Mufti al-Husseini he could imagine a Jewish country in Muslim Umma lands not under any Islamic dhimmi (2nd class caste rules of the Muslim era).

Jews now could look into the eyes of Muslim Arabs as equals. as warriors in what Muslims deemed was their holy sacred part of the Planet Earth!!!!

It wasn’t til much later that the Arab refugees of war were given an identity and therefore country called Palestine. It was a great strategy by Yasir Arafat 1964.They took the name from the British who like Europeans use the latin word invented by the Romans upon the destruction of Judea in the 1st century. The Brits need  it to differentiate it from Syria which became French Syria and Lebanon. Today the Palestinians insist there was always an Arab nation of Palestine. They have even invented a backstory of a prosperous  peaceful country. Of course the major telling point to the contrary  is the word Palestine being of Latin origin. So when Palestinians pronounce it  they say Filistine or Falestine as P is not in the Arab language.

“Art too has a chance if the museums open themselves to the electrician who makes the fuse-board and the metal worker who makes the screw. Wonderful things happen outside art and the galleries should be open to these things”

Pese a que mucha gente concibe la creación artística como una forma de espectáculo producido en las grandes urbes e  integrado como un engranaje más dentro de una maquinaria de naturaleza económica, política y/o turística, dicha perturbadora visión resulta, cuanto menos, incompleta. La relación entre lo artístico y lo social emerge inevitablemente para reivindicar el arte como el contexto idóneo en el que articular un discurso social y antropológico que resulte inspirador para todo aquel que  lo sepa o quiera entender. Dicho discurso social subyacente en muchas obras de arte se ve en ocasiones contaminado, ensombrecido o difuminado por lecturas ideológicas de diverso calado que impiden que el mensaje sea transmitido correctamente y sin tergiversaciones. Muchas veces esos filtros ideológicos se encuentran en el público, quien puede rechazar o aborrecer una obra de arte por no sintonizar con su canon estético o por ignorar ciertas fronteras que el espectador no esta dispuesto a sobrepasar.

Sin embargo no son estos los filtros que nos interesan a la hora de explicar la obra del artista israelí Avital Geva, sino aquellos provenientes del  artista en la realización de su obra. Admitiendo que la individualidad del artista y la autonomía de su arte son considerados bienes a proteger en sí mismos, Geva propone alterar estos principios aparentemente inmutables para sustituirlos por la idea de colaboración. Dicha colaboración entendida en su sentido más amplio, entre gente de distintos ámbitos y disciplinas (no únicamente del campo artístico) servirá para crear sistemas de organización alternativos a los dominantes hoy en día. Una vez que se limita convenientemente el ego del artista/creador el arte tiene la potencialidad de convertirse en un canal de unión ya que posibilita la creación de potentes sinergias para la colaboración.

No cabe duda de que este enfoque tan conceptual y político del arte proviene del hecho de que Geva aún viva y trabaje en el kibbutz de Ein Shemer, que lo vio nacer en 1941. Los kibbutz son esencialmente comunas agrícolas que ideológicamente suponen el máximo exponente de la utopía comunitaria. Surgieron sobretodo en base a las ideas de retorno a la tierra de Aarón David Gordon y el Sionismo Socialista de Dov Ber Borojov y Sirkin. Gordon, inspirado a su vez por Tolstoi, insistía en que un pueblo no puede ser libre si no produce su sustento por sí mismo, empezando por la producción agrícola, con lo que la redención del pueblo judío, debía pasar necesariamente, no por la formación de un Estado o el retorno a la tierra de Israel, sino sobre todo, por el retorno a la actividad agrícola. Con estas ideas neo-marxistas en la cabeza, el joven Geva cursó estudios de arte en Tel Aviv, donde organizó manifestaciones políticas y realizó obras de arte públicas con estiércol, llegándose a convertir en uno de los puntales del arte conceptual israelí de los ‘70. Para una de sus obras llegó a conectar el Museo de Israel en Jerusalén con su kibbutz mediante una serie de señales de carretera.

Sin embargo, tras quejarse del exceso de retórica y la falta de acción y pragmatismo de sus colegas, en 1978 Geva llegó a la conclusión de que el concepto tradicional del arte que manejaba era totalmente incapaz de solventar los problemas de la sociedad. Esto le hizo alejarse de los circuitos tradicionales del arte, y abandonar su carrera artística por completo. Durante varios años boicoteó exposiciones y museos, para crear posteriormente, bajo el patronazgo de la institución educativa Mevo’ot Iron la obra cumbre de su carrera, el Greenhouse Project, al que viene  dedicando  la mayor parte de su vida hasta la actualidad. Debido a la realización de este proyecto de índole profundamente social, son muchos los que dudan si Geva encaja efectivamente dentro de la definición de artista, a lo que el propio autor alegó que si bien es cierto que él no se considera a sí mismo un artista en la actualidad (puesto que considera más importante la educación y el medio ambiente), toda la inspiración para iniciar y llevar a cabo este proyecto fue fruto de una evolución en su actividad como artista, y que por lo tanto el  Greenhouse Project debe considerarse como una auténtica creación artística ya que recoge la propia esencia de su modo de entender el tratamiento de las ideas y materiales en el arte.

Through the sense of partaking in the agricultural processes explored, I have opened up to the notion of seasonal time that I connect to a type of spiral, a cycle that also moves forward.

El proyecto en sí consiste en un auténtico invernadero experimental en funcionamiento instalado en el kibbutz de Ein Shemer que pretende hacer realidad una entidad utópica. Es a la vez un centro de estudios, un laboratorio, un punto de encuentro y un foro en el que desarrollar ideas que servirán como motor para la cultura del mañana. Se trata en definitiva, de un espacio agradable y socialmente útil, que a la vez debe considerarse como una gigantesca pieza de arte hiper conceptual que reflexiona sobre temáticas tan relevantes en Oriente Medio como son la tierra y el medio ambiente.En sus instalaciones grupos de especialistas en distintos ámbitos científicos, como la física, la ingeniería agrícola o industrial o la microbiología, trabajan codo con codo grupos de artistas y de jóvenes provenientes de otros kibbutz con el fin de lograr identificar los problemas dentro de la complejidad de los procesos sociales actuales. La realización de estos proyectos de investigación permiten atraer la financiación necesaria para mantener el proyecto funcionando, junto con una pequeña aportación del Ministerio de Educación israelí y algunas donaciones a título individual. Esto permite la incorporación de participantes provenientes de suburbios urbanos y áreas marginales, con el fin de que desarrollen su talento en un entorno lo más propicio posible. En el interior de este invernadero se han  llegado a realizar investigaciones sobre la cría de diferentes especies de peces, el reciclado de agua, el uso de la energía solar, el empleo de fertilizantes en las cosechas… En un entorno tan especial como este, los investigadores pueden combinar teoría y práctica con el fin de encontrar, a través de su trabajo, las soluciones a los problemas sociales, medioambientales y comunitarios más graves a los que se enfrenta nuestra sociedad. Todos los proyectos y prototipos experimentales desarrollados tienen una aplicación práctica en nuestro día a día y se  basan en la premisa de llegar a soluciones de alta tecnología y calidad a través de unos recursos cada vez más escasos.

La vertiente social del proyecto es tanto o mas importante que la cuestión medioambiental. El kibbutz Ein Shemer, donde se encuentra la obra de Geva se encuentra en la localidad de Wadi Ara, poblada mayoritariamente por árabes israelíes. En una zona tan conflictiva como esta la contribución del Greenhouse Project para la convivencia resulta sorprendentemente efectiva. Los gestores no se entretienen en hablar del conflicto ni de las bondades de la coexistencia y de la tolerancia, sino que esta se pone en práctica directamente a través de proyectos de participación conjunta entre niños árabes y judíos. También se pretende integrar a jóvenes con autismo, a los que se les otorga unas nociones básicas de jardinería con el fin de que puedan vender en el kibbutz las plantas que cultivan.

“In The Greenhouse, we don’t speak about coexistence, but we are doing it. Arab and Jewish kids work together and through their mutual projects, they create something good. The children, who are young, don’t know about the conflict and they don’t care about it really…”
Noam Geva, hijo de Avital Geva y guía de The Greenhouse

La presencia de una réplica del Greenhouse Project (o Hamama, en hebreo) representando a Israel en la Biennale di Venezia de 1993 supuso un rotundo éxito. La propuesta de Geva de convertir el pabellón israelí en un invernadero experimental de 1.700 metros cuadrados en medio de un contexto artístico fue visto por muchos como el retorno de un modelo de artista comprometido con una ideología/utopía y con una misión eminentemente social, cosa que no se había visto durante la postmodernista década anterior. La obra también servía como una romántica y nostálgica seña de identidad del laborismo cooperativista sionista de Israel en un año caracterizado en lo económico por un acelerado proceso de privatizaciones de acuerdo con una ideología neoliberal predominante, y en lo político por la firma de los Acuerdos de Oslo entre el estado de Israel y la Autoridad Nacional Palestina.

Aunque la descontextualización de la  obra dentro de un entorno artístico la privaba de muchas de sus funciones, los asistentes pudieron comprobar la existencia de un cosmos orgánico, capaz de unir cultura y naturaleza, dentro del invernadero. Además de una plantación de una variedad de trigo cuyos efectos terapéuticos están siendo estudiados, había plantas creciendo en tuberías huecas que habían sido recicladas como maceteros y cuyas flores y frutos colgaban en cascada en un notable espectáculo estético. Toda la flora era regada por un mecanismo de goteo instalado en el techo especialmente diseñado para el ahorro de agua. Las instalaciones también contaban con un pequeño estanque con cinco variedades de carpas, las cuales además de constituir una excelente fuente de proteínas servían para eliminar cualquier larva de mosquito en el agua, lo que ayudaba a prevenir las enfermedades y plagas provocadas por estos insectos.

La participación del invernadero de Geva en la Biennale atrajo la atención de numerosos agentes políticos y económicos de Europa y Japón, quienes le intentaron convencer para crear invernaderos de este tipo fuera de Israel. El artista se opuso en todo momento, ya que en su opinión es necesario que el mantenimiento de su obra sea un proceso lento, rutinario y reposado con el fin de lograr un correcto equilibrio entre todos los componentes del proyecto. Por ello un cargo como mero administrador burocrático de “franquicias” de su obra era una idea que no le atraía en absoluto al no ser compatible con el concepto que el artista tenía en mente. Además los gestores de un colegio de San Diego llegaron a visitar el invernadero en Israel, con el fin de implementar ciertas ideas para el sistema alternativo de educación High Tech High de California. 

“My ability to take part in the agricultural and biological processes in the Greenhouse involves a quasi-naive concentration on them as the only way to study them. Thus I find new types of aesthetics, language, in other words – art that is revealed through practice… The research I am currently interested pertains to the plankton layer, a plant nourished by the process of photosynthesis. The nets that are hanged on top of the pond become a potential colony the moment they will be washed by water. That algae inhere the potent appearance of such places in which time has left its mark; places that embrace tiny life forms, (green) evidence of the sun’s constant presence and the traces of time that has already passed, and that is passing right now, from here onward… “

Este Greenhouse Project plantea un desafío dentro de los rígidos y cerrados circuitos interdisciplinares del mundo del arte, ya que actúa fuera de los convencionalismos del mercado artístico y de las estructuras academicistas. Esta obra no constituye un bien intercambiable ni valorable cuantitativamente; tampoco creará valor para un potencial inversor especulativo. Su intención es otra, el redefinir (o más bien borrar) la frontera entre el arte y la vida y la distinción entre el trabajo del artista “sofisticado” y el del granjero.

Esta es precisamente la idea que el artista quiere transmitir en las escasas obras que expone anualmente. En 2005, por ejemplo, Geva formó parte de la exposición Here Comes the Sun celebrada en el Magasin 3 del Stockholm Konsthall. Su obra Biofilters and Communities consistía en pequeñas plantaciones de trigo durante distintas etapas de su crecimiento, desde unos diminutos brotes hasta el momento de la recogida. La obra revela una noción primitiva y cíclica del tiempo expresada a través de las labores agrícolas necesarias en cada momento del año. La obra artística y botánica de Geva se complementaba con Alga Pool,  una verde capa de plankton en un estanque. Estos microorganismos actúan como filtros biológicos, purificando el agua y mejorando la coexistencia entre los peces y las plantas que conviven en este ecosistema.

Es posible que espíritu social de la obra de Geva haya sido recogido en la actualidad en diversos ámbitos artísticos, entre los que vale la pena señalar la obra desempeñada por el colectivo danés SUPERFLEX, cuyos trabajos siempre adoptan la forma de maquetas que, cuando se amplían y se instalan en su sitio, poseen una función práctica y un propósito social. Al igual que las de Geva, sus obras plantean un modo muy pragmático de  de promover la reflexión sobre las actuales estructuras político-económicas, realizando una ayuda al desarrollo entendiéndola como un proyecto artístico.

Author: Anita Diamant

I loved the Red Tent but did not enjoy Last Days of Dogtown. However, I’m back to loving Diamant after reading Day After Night. It is the story of several Jewish women who survived the Holocaust in several ways all over Europe. The story is set in the Atlit compound where illegal immigrants to Palastine were detained by the British in 1945. Each of the women in the camp are facing their grief and survivor’s guilt in a variety of ways. It is a beautiful story, well written, about the bonds women form to survive trauma. A+++

El Mina, port of Gaza City, main port of the Gaza Strip
(click for enlargement)

Fish market
(click for enlargement)

This is not the last in my series of dispatches about my recent journey to Palestine and Israel. I am home in Cambridge Massachusetts, and this is the moment to write and post a report (before I become enmeshed in my quotidian existence).

Photos

Blog

Print version of the report

Dear God, when I am wrong, please make me willing to see my mistake. And when I am right – please make me tolerable to live with.

—Desmund Tutu, his prayer as paraphrased by Uri Avnery

I begin with gratitude: gratitude to all those who have supported my 5th journey to The Land of Discord and Possibility. Those who have noticed, commented, prayed, criticized, contributed money, offered leads, taken action; and especially those who have followed my voluminous dispatches thru my website and blog. Without you I am enfeebled, a stay-at-home elderly recluse, retired to the land of imagining what I might have done, if-only-I-had-the-time. Gratitude to the Palestinians and Israelis who expedited my photography, providing leads, background, context, introductions, insights, analysis, friendship, housing, food, and, yes, love. And gratitude for the simple good fortune to live such a free spirited life—thanks to community, family, some mysterious, congenital, rebellious quirk, and muses.

Jerusalem Old City

Sheik Jarrah neighborhood in East Jerusalem, nominally Palestinian, formerly the home of the Hanoun and al-Ghawi families

Across the street, this man and his family, brutally evicted from their home, live under a tent across from his former home, now lived in by extreme Jewish Israeli settlers
(more photos)

Half way thru my recent three-month journey of discovery, I wondered, what had I discovered? In mid August while in Gaza, I listed all that I’d not photographed: Canada Park in Israel which erased an Arab village; the route and story of water from the headwaters of the Jordan River to where it disappears between the Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea; non violent resistance, in Bil’in where I’d been several times earlier and finally to Nil’in which I’d read so much about; Quakers, but how to photograph more than the Quaker Palestine Youth Program in Gaza when the Ramallah Friends School is on vacation; and most vitally—an urge I’ve felt for several years—Israel itself, Jaffa, Tel Aviv, the Mediterranean Coast, West Jerusalem, the Golan and Galilee, visiting friends, pretending to be an Israeli, feeling what they might feel, immersed in the possible cognitive dissonance of living on a land expropriated from native people.

Here I felt some resonance with my own experience in the United States—living on land stolen from American Indians, profiting from labor supplied largely by captured Africans. Yes, I had some first hand experience living a possible lie, captured by a self-serving narrative. But how to do this in Israel-Palestine?

After this dismal accounting, all that I’d hope to photograph and hadn’t yet even visited, I made another list (remembering how Rachel Corrie loved making lists), this time of what I’d at least partially achieved: 2 weeks in Bethlehem exploring its Aida refugee camp while coaching a young novice photography teacher at Al Rowwad Cultural Center in the camp; 2 weeks in Jenin, investigating its refugee camp and the wondrous Freedom Theater, while teaching photography to high school age youth at the Jenin Creative Cultural Center; several stories about hydropolitics, including a spectacular trip to one of Ramallah’s own water sources, Ein Samia village about 20 km north of Ramallah; the Popular Education  Festival in Ramallah of the Quaker Palestine Youth Program; construction by hand of a series of stone walls at the Ramallah Friends School (not as exciting as photographing the children but stones were present, children were not); the new light rail system in greater Jerusalem snapping up Palestinian land in East Jerusalem; Gaza, from finally getting a permit, living there for one month while photographing the aftermath of the vicious and possibly criminal Israeli assault to teaching photography thru the American Friends Service Committee and Al Aqsa University; exploring the coastal region from Gaza north to near Haifa, with a stop in Sderot (the Israeli town suffering extensive trauma from rockets fired by Gazan militants); two weeks in the Golan Heights and the Galilee, a long held dream to trace water; and Jerusalem’s Old City and environs, culminating in my final day’s journey when I strolled thru the Old City making hip pocket photos with my new 85 mm lens. Adding to this unexpected achievement, I discovered the family I’d read about in the Sheik Jarrah neighborhood of East Jerusalem who had been brutally evicted from their home.

The platform built for the Pope’s summer 2009 visit to Bethlehem, occupied Palestinian territories—Israel prohibited its use
(more photos)

I felt better, but not complete. Will I ever feel complete. Will I ever feel I’ve finished this project? What drives me besides a possibly inscrutable compulsion?

Perhaps, perhaps: the outrage I feel at such blatant exploitation of the holocaust and victimhood by some Jews and many supporters of Israel, the complicity of my government and my country’s media, the drive for justice, the upset I feel when with others who might be aware of this conflict but do nothing. As Martin Luther King, Jr stated, Our lives begin to end the moment we become silent about things that matter.

Also motivating me: the need to practice compassionate listening and viewing, to open my heart to a variety of perspectives and experiences, to discover opinions and facts new to me, visit new areas, meet new people, and endlessly develop my skills to photograph in that unique Mediterranean light.

Three examples of discoveries: first, in Sderot, trauma is virtually universal among the entire population. Despite the relatively low number of casualties and the relatively high degree of security, one exploding rocket multiples fear. Second, in Gaza, most people do not trust being happy. Why? Because they suspect their happiness will be short-lived. Either Israel will attack again, or Hamas will go to battle with Fatah or other political factions, or the siege will never end, or the world will continue ignoring their suffering. Third, conditions of occupation are easing in the West Bank, meaning travel is freer, checkpoints less restrictive. But as Palestinians point out, Israel could tighten restrictions in a flash, and one danger of eased conditions is encouraging people to ignore the fact that they remain occupied, without a nation of their own. They are not free.

Thru my lens, I try to open my mouth—shout loud and clear—and hope others might notice and activate as they feel the call, if they feel the call. Many calls, choose one, get to work. Again as Martin said, A man who hasn’t found something he is willing to die for is not fit to live. Harsh words from this dear gentle person of non-violence, but true. A prophet’s words are often grating, exactly because they are true. They challenge us.

Gaza City port, El Mina
(more photos)

I’m home in Cambridge Massachusetts for one month, preparing new shows. On October 17 I depart for the southeast region of the United States, a 4-5 week tour with new perspectives, experiences, discoveries, questions (latest schedule here, when available). If you’re anywhere between North Carolina and Florida, the East Coast and the Deep South and would like to organize a show, please contact David Matos at aiken_peace (at) yahoo.com, 803-215-3263 for information and to book. For the first two weeks of December I hope to be touring New England with a revised version of Bethlehem the Holy, in time for the Christmas season. I hope to see some of you on the road.

One additional note: thanks to a benefactor and many encouraging people I’m embarking on transforming one of my Gaza shows into a video, not simply a conversion from slide show to video but an entire production based on a slide show. We hope to complete this project by September 2010. I’ll let you know and may ask for your support.

Raw sewage flowing into the main fishing port, spreading to the beaches

Dates about to be harvested

As I finish my report I learned that the Obama administration instructed its ambassador to the United Nations, Susan Rice, to block further effective action of the Goldstone report which investigated possible war crimes committed by Israel and Hamas during the violence of December-January 2009 in Gaza.

Goldstone Report of the United Nations Fact Finding Mission on the Gaza Conflict

One rebuttal

In the distance, not so far away, Ashkelon, once home to many refugees now in Gaza

Excerpts from my journal during a three month journey of photographic discovery in the Land of Troubles

Photos

September 6, 2009, Sunday, Tiberias, in the Aviv hostel, my dorm room

I made a partial circuit around Lake Kinneret yesterday [September 6, 2009], from the northwest shore to the western shore. The altitude here in Tiberias feels lower, the climate hotter. The shore was steep on the eastern side of the road and gently sloped down to the water on the western. I spotted many groves of date palms (dates now being harvested, one boy roadside selling large stalks of dates) and some of bananas, plus other fruit trees. No olives that I noticed. The terrain seems a mix of sand near the water and I believe basalt in the hills, but this I observed only from a distance. Water seems plentiful, much of it devoted to irrigation. I pulled off the main road to photograph pipes and valves—too many pipes and valves to hold an audience, what to do?

I found many sites to photograph from, looking down at the huge expanse of lake. Many swimming beaches, and, being Saturday, Shabbat, filled with swimmers and campers. For lunch I stopped at a partially excavated tel (adjacent to the Gal water park, said to be the largest in Israel) and ate under a spreading eucalyptus tree. This tree, originally from Australia, proliferates thru out the region. I noticed its strong odor, its peeling bark, and remember that it is uses an excessive amount of water.

Hordes of tourists swarmed the main Christian sites on the northern shore, I felt lucky to have visited these sites earlier, either not during summer or during midweek.

Capernaum (Latin or Catholic version) parking lot

A few stops along the way:

The Orthodox version of Capernaum attracted only 2 busloads, Japanese, and seemed to have no historical sites attached to it, nor a church. I’m not sure how it justified itself, other than being a vague Orthodox presence.

Kursi national park, with its partially reconstructed Byzantine church, this site said to be where Jesus exorcized evil spirits from a man. The spirits then entered pigs driving them to commit suicide into the sea. Out of reach of my legs and lungs because of the heat was a spot higher in the hills which may have been the actual exorcism place.

Byzantine church, Kursi National Park

This site reminded me of the power of water, mountain and desert in the Jesus story. Most every part of the story is fixed to a specific site, or type of site, so terrain plays a major role in the narrative, and thus, by visiting the sites, helps reify what otherwise might be imagination—and what may be an act of imagination yet. Good fiction, an untruth pointing to a truth.

Kibbutz Ein Gev, featuring food, raising its own St Peter’s fish in ponds and beef in a factory setting. I said hello to lady cows, trying to not spook them so I could make a decent photo as they gobbled their lunch, hay. They stood in what looked like pools of excrement. Many tourists here at the restaurant, I photographed the buses lined up, most of their engines idling, spilling their evil spirits into the atmosphere, but keeping the tourists who would soon finish lunch and enter the buses cool and happy. Hundreds of tourists left the main building which housed a series of restaurants, I had to wait a few minutes for them to clear out. Lucky I did, because as I strolled thru the restaurant I was able to photograph fish in various states of dismemberment and consumption. I believe I surprised the lunchers by my request to photograph their fish.

Ein Gev was established by German and Czech pioneers in 1937, the first permanent settlement on the eastern shore, and thus under siege until “liberated” in 1967.  The surrounding area was either Syrian (says the guidebook) or Jordanian (says my reading of history). I found indicators of this period: a guard tower and a bunker, which I photographed.

Ein Gen

Receding shore line at Ein Gen

Yardenit, the exit point of the Jordan river and the current baptism center, south side of lake, hidden by hydrological apparatus. I’m not sure what occurs here, whether water enters pipes here or mechanisms control the flow. I suspect the former. I parked, wandered around, made a few photos, but none show any dramatic departure of water from the sea to the river. The river looked about the same as when it entered, maybe 4 m across, 1 or 2 deep. In the distance downriver I noticed white clothed figures, presumably pilgrims receiving blessings from the water as they are baptized. I plan to return to this site this morning to photograph more.

Yardenit

And the river entry point on the north shore, which I’d seen before, but this time I went to the west side of the river, far upstream from the actual entry point and noticed fishers, swimmers, rafters, no pilgrims, or at least no one of the usual pilgrim type. Perhaps these people are also pilgrims, with a different object of worship—pleasure.

Jordan River entering Sea of Galilee

I feel that finally I’ve extended my photographic coverage of water with a more thorough treatment of the Sea, I feel less satisfied about the River. Maybe today, as I trace its route downstream, I will find better access. Further north the main site for me has been the Banias with its temple surprise.

Another surprise, delightful as always: 2 messages from ME, but cryptic. In one she linked me to an article about poverty in the USA, in French, apologizing for the French. In the other a set a photos from Paris Monde, with her top choice indicated. I wrote back my choices, and remembered to her that another article she’d sent me, from Antonio Tabucchi about beauty, either coincided or spurred my photo assignment to the class in Gaza to photograph what is beautiful to them. I am very happy to be back in relatively good touch with her.

Also KA who continues to fascinate me. Closer to my age, Jewish late coming, happily married, with her thriving business, we have communicated regularly… I like her very much, her energy and chutzpah, and wonder how we might develop if not for her happy marriage. She demonstrates to me that I am not hopelessly fixated on younger women like ME and X (who’s not written for months, very curious).

Another personal note: my stomach ailment is easing; tho thru much of yesterday my stomach was sore, feeling bloated. Skipping dinner at the Kerei Deshe hostel during Shabbat eve was a major omission from my life, but I had a small lunch yesterday and a big shuwarma last night. This morning my stomach feels fine.

Checking the guidebook for housing in or near Tiberias I learned there is much that is cheap and accessible. My first choice turned to be wise, the Aviv hotel and hostel, along the main road so I had no trouble finding it, costing 70 shekels and another 30 for breakfast. The dorm room has 3 beds, one already occupied by a young German man who’d been studying medicine for one month in Tel Aviv and will soon return to Germany to complete his training. His name is Darius.

A sturdy, handsome man with a girl friend who he’d called just before we went out to eat; he is a quick and short-term friend in the holy land. He walked from Nazareth to Tiberias, hitching for the last few km because of the heat. For the adventure, he explained, but never again, too hot. I drank 9 liters of water yesterday and carried a heavy backpack.

Very German thought I, testing one’s powers.

He chose Tel Aviv for his studies not for political reasons but first because he wanted to study outside Germany, and second in a different sort of country. He’d read little about the situation until planning his visit. Germans, he told me, suffer great guilt about the holocaust and know little other than the Israel Jewish side thru the media. The government stands with Israel. There is little pro Palestine rights activity, altho I suspect because of his relatively slight political interests he might be overlooking a sector of Germans.

Luckily we had two adjoining rooms so when he returned as I was drifting off to sleep, having turned off the air conditioner because I couldn’t find a way to control its temperature, and opened the window on the slowly cooling night air, he asked about the AC. He decided to sleep in the 2nd room, with the TV and AC on.

He borrowed my computer when I set it up at the companion hotel, also Aviv, which had free wireless. He wanted to check his email for Couch Surfer invites. This reminded me that I’d not much used this service or Hospitality Club, mainly because it would require too much travel organization, tying me down to an itinerary. Otherwise I’d use it as I did initially. And might later. I could try it for the last few days of my visit.

My turn came to use the internet. A large religious group was clearing out of the hotel, there for Shabbat, and so I settled into what I thought would be a late into the evening revision of my blog…

Elizabeth at Friends of the Earth Middle East gave me a list of suggested sites to visit in this general region: Emek Hefer, Bakal-Gharbiya, Old Gesher, Peace Island, Alumot Dam, Yardenit, Naharyim, and Beit Shean—all water-related—but as far as I know I’ve found none of them. Maybe the last one today. The names confuse me. Much better for my photography and insights if I could travel with a knowledgeable hydrological guide, like someone from Friends of the Earth. Maybe another time. I am an innocent wandering it the vast hydro desert.

September 5, 2009, Saturday, near Capernaum, in Tagbha, at the Kary Deshe Guest House, in the hallway where I have electricity (and won’t disturb my two roommates)

A few dreams: in one “Y” and I were visiting M and her new boy friend, mainly to meet him. Y and I concurred he was an odd one, sullen and depressed, not sure what M saw in him. To his credit he was young, strong, handsome, I think a recent soldier. He was virtually voiceless, ignored us. Our dog, tho, played happily with his dog.

In another I was driving alone a small van in an area where picking up passengers was accepted, even encouraged. Seeing an elderly couple waiting at an intersection with others, having room only for 3 passengers, I picked them up and one other.

Agricultural water, Beit Shean border crossing

Yesterday a short walking tour of Tsfat, mostly from where I’d parked near the main shopping district, up to what I think is the Citadel, and down to the artists’ colony and then the synagogue section. Tho high, the air felt hot and muggy. I sweated mightily. I also picked up a 100 shekel parking ticket when I’d not noticed this was a for-fee parking area, and not sure how to use the machines.

The Citadel was at what I suppose is the highest point in town, on a flat ledge, with an attempt at making it into a park. But it looked desolate, little used, inhospitable, and potentially dangerous because of its isolation. There were Arabic looking ruins (arches), and it may also have been the site of the Crusader fortress I’d read about somewhere. It offered views, but because of trees and haze, I doubt much shows. Furthermore, I lost the photos from this little jaunt because of that recurring corrupt file problem.

The problem surfaced when I spotted a young man walking in front of me wearing a large kippah and sporting dreadlocks—the proverbial Orthodox Jew—and with a t-shirt advertising Caterpillar. Would have been perfect. But the camera wouldn’t record, and then I saw the heart stopping-error message: FOR, meaning this card is not formatted. I switched cards, the camera then recorded, the man was long gone. Was this an act of god, protecting that man?

I could put together an exhibit of the photos that I didn’t make because of various technical and mental reasons.

Then down to the artists’ colony—Tsfat prides itself on being artist-friendly, and it seems to be, and counter cultural with its blend of Orthodox Jewry, art, and new age spirituality, most all of this perhaps stemming from its kabalistic origins. Some of the leading rabbis of kabala worked and died here. Originating here, the movement spread to Spain during its progressive centuries before Isabella and Ferdinand stupidly expelled Jews and Arabs. A highlight of the colony was the old mosque converted into the “General Art Gallery.”

Nearly all the art was abstract and I wondered, if we placed a random selection of some of this with a random selection of art from Windows from Gaza could people distinguish a different? And if not, what does this suggest about the power and meaning of this art?

To me, generally bored by all abstract art (unless it’s my photography), this is a sure sign of impotence. Virtually nothing here about the history of founding this country, the presence of Arabs, the occupation, and little about being Jewish—that I could see. Were I Jewish I might have reveled in depictions of my people.

One corridor in the synagogue section resembled the corridor in Hebron thru parts of the Old City, those parts with wire mesh overhead to protect Hebron’s stalwart Palestinians from the garbage and shit thrown down by Jewish settlers. So I made a photo of this and hope I can pair it with similar photos from Hebron.

I stopped at several tourist stations reciting in English a very lucid and compelling version of the Jewish narrative. At the time of partition Jews made up some 15% Tsfat, altho they’d been here for millennia, coexisting with Arabs. Then the war, the heroic Jews prevailed, driving the Arabs out, or forcing Arab leadership to order the Arabs to flee. The fighting was fierce, especially in the Citadel area, with its steep slopes and muddy terrain. But a night attack destroyed the Arab’s stronghold. So goes the narrative, paraphrasing. I’m sure had the Arabs won they’d produce a similar story about their magnificent victories. Why not? Winners create history.

So much for Tsfat. I recharged my phone with about 55 shekels, phoned the Deshe guesthouse to check availability, just slipped in since yesterday was Shabbat, today the weekend, and this is a busy time and a popular place. And I felt secure knowing for a change where I’d sleep this night. A short drive thru the mountains brought me “home.”

What to do about the parking ticket? Ask Avis if they can argue that I’m a tourist and didn’t know the rules? Ask what would happen if I didn’t pay? (The government might come to Avis who has my credit card number and I may not escape paying, with a hefty fine added.) Pay where and how?

A man I asked about the procedure explained how to buy a parking permit, easy, and how to pay, equally easy, the bank or post office. But do jurisdictions overlap so I can pay in Jerusalem? Someday also in Ramallah?

My stomach seems to have settled. No accidents yesterday, or humdila (thank god) during the night. One small thunderously loud fart this morning as I sat on the john and emitted a slight bit of goo. I skipped dinner last night, thinking, if my stomach still ails and I eat as if it is OK, I could suffer all night long. Last night was Shabbat and I’m told they offered special food, including wine. Plus I missed dining with the many Jews here, more than I’ve seen eating together in a long while.

Kids play happily, often taking rides on the luggage carts in the hallways. I hear happy sounds continually here. Also babies bawling. The beach was crowded with swimmers and sitters as I went for my cooling swim in the late afternoon. Unlike my last visit here, I shared my small room with two others, Thierry from Luxemburg who immediately explained to me how small and where his country is, as if I didn’t know, and a German man with a handsome reddish beard, a born again Christian, wearing his cross conspicuously around his neck (maybe similar to how Crusaders paraded their swords?). When I mentioned it, and asked, traveling thru the land of Jesus?, he answered yes, are you a believer?

Well friend, do you have a moment? I quickly summarized the Christian portion of my belief: Jesus was a great teacher, one among many, but not divine. I’m part of the Quaker community and we have all kinds, including Jewish Buddhist atheistic Quakers (thinking of DA) He’d asked me, to check my belief quotient, do you believe Jesus is the Son of God?

He explained that he’d been lost and now was found, hit bottom, not knowing who he was, where he was headed. And then, miraculously, god came to him and with him his son. So, like me with Martin, this good natured and well-meaning fellow has a personal relationship with Jesus. Unfortunately, he wanted to tell me all about it, like many born against, and I had to deflect his passion.

Too bad we couldn’t have a more meaningful conversation. He’s a bit like M with her strong Buddhism, possibly hard to live with. Unlike her however he seemed unwilling to hear me out. M is very good at listening, it is her profession.

Eastern shore, Sea of Galilee

Today: head south, after first north, and explore the eastern shore of the big lake. Not sure where to place my head for the night. Also, first avail myself of the Internet connection here (tho costly, $5 for one hr, $10 for 24, which shall it be?) and upload my latest subsite and blog entries. I worked feverishly last evening, for about 3 hours straight, preparing a potpourri from the first 3 days of this section of my journey. From Tel Aviv to Capernaum, more or less. Hopefully I will put up its sequel soon.

While doing this—and it confirms the important of constantly reviewing and using my photos and words—I discovered I’d not downloaded from the camera to the computer about 40 photos from end of Beny to the beginning of Caesarea. Vital photos. Searching thru my memory cards, I found the next one up for reuse contained the missing images. I only hope this is the only occurrence of this oversight. Had I not checked I’d have written over the images.

~~It is 7:15 am, people are slowly leaving their rooms and entering the halls, I hear their sounds, pleasing family sounds—a good place for a bomber to attack, I wonder if this threat once dominated experience at such guest houses and vacation spots—, so it’s probably about time to complete this entry and eat breakfast. Will I eat heartily or daintily? What will my stomach tell me?~~

Not sure yesterday morning what to do, where to stay, another night in the Tsfat guest house or move on, I ran into the old woman’s son who’d directed me thru the labyrinthine network of small Tsfat roads to the guest house the night before. He told me another section of the Beit Shalom guesthouse was across the road and operating. In fact, he expected a large group that evening. When I told him I was out of shekels for my phone he pointed me to the house phone, for shekels. Regrettably it didn’t work. He went somewhere to get something to fix it, I waited, he did not return, I decided to chance it and leave Tsfat. Good decision. We never said goodbye.

I also realized probably the reason I couldn’t contact anyone the day before was because my phone was out of shekels. I heard announcements but most were in Hebrew, and the few I understood said I’d made an error in dialing, try again. Chock one up to my ignorance and lack of awareness.

September 7, 2009, Monday, Beit She’an, in the Guest House, my room

A few dreams, one about fish. With others, maybe my family, we decided to stop to buy fresh fish. They delegated me as the buyer. I spoke with a man—we were in a country without English as the first language—with very good English, a “fish butcher,” as he cut the fish I’d ordered. He explained what he was doing. I mistakenly sliced my own big piece, not realizing he was cutting exactly what I’d ordered. A mix-up that didn’t seem to upset him. When he finished and turned to serve another customer I was confused about where my order was, not sure who or when to ask.

In a possibly related dream I was with George C, looking at photos of his wedding that Chris J had made. Very good, one in particular, that seemed to show about 5 people, including George himself at a lectern, apparently all asleep.

And the most remarkable dream of all: it was sunrise, because of the way the light worked, pools of water were brilliantly lit with a soft blue glowing light. I realized this as I slept and, tho still tired, decided to get up to make the photo from my window. I actually did wake up and rise from bed, thinking the dream was presaging what I should be photographing. It was still night. Only a dream. Later, in real life, when I was up and the sun was rising—my window faces east, over the valley, about 3 floors up—there were the pools! Not as gorgeously lit as in my dream, but good enough to try a photo or two. I should have used my telephoto lens but it was in the car and I felt too lazy (also enjoying being naked for a change) to retrieve it.

And now a twist on the story that I’d not dreamt—the sun in the sky, reflecting in the pool. So another photo to try to show this magnificent moment.

Yesterday I moved slightly further south, into the valley of the Jordan. Frequently I recalled that in 2003, my first trip here, I’d flown home over this same area, and because the sky was clear and the plane window unclouded [winter time], I could photograph the earth from above. Same region, same misleading terrain, the river looking wide—in fact, narrow, in fact, in places, not visible because covered with grasses.

No dunking pilgrims at Yardenit, the river site for immersion, said not to be the site of Jesus’ baptism, which I believe is further north, now too close to Jordan to be safe. This might disappoint Jan H who’s written regularly as we set our assignation for shortly after I return home. She’d hoped I could show white robed pilgrims in the water. I only saw what looked like carp swimming madly in the dipping area. I visited the tourist center, found some spectacular black and white photos on display by Gali Tibbon, a woman living in Jerusalem. I’ll probably use them, giving her full credit. I suspect they are much better than the ones I’d make, since I’d probably not have time to ask permission for best access. The area has been developed specifically for immersions, with a large restaurant, a walk way for observing immersions, several fenced off areas in the water for these events, and a few displays about what this means. Which is? The power of water to cleanse, purify, make whole, allow one to begin again. I suspect the German man I met at the Deshe guest house, the born again Christian, who’d hit bottom, would begin to surface if dipping into these waters, believed by some to be holy.

Yardenit

Nearby I found a grove of eucalyptus trees with a marker honoring a woman who’d walked thru the grove as a youth. They were planted in 1912 at one of the first kibbutzim to help dry the swamp. Little did those planters realize the trees would become a liability during the era of drought and general water shortage.

There are many early kibbutzim in the area, south of the lake, near the river. And as I explored them from afar, thru fences (tho I suspect most are now open), noticing the guard houses and towers, some damaged from shelling, I realized the kibbutz movement was not only agricultural in intent but political. They were an early form of the settlement, establishing facts on the ground, claiming the land, not only agriculturally, but for the building of the nation. I’d love to read a history of the kibbutz, to learn its role in the founding of the state.

In this same vein, I also visited Old Gesher, another early kibbutz, now along the frontier with Jordan. As I pulled in, not sure what I was observing, I first saw a large fairly modern building pockmarked by shelling and rifle fire. Signs in Hebrew probably explained what this was. Close by, under some trees for shade, a group of about 5 lounging soldiers with rifles. Signs indicated this is a firing zone, do not enter! About 100 meters from here was the visitor center and more soldiers. At first I thought I was at the Beit Shean border crossing, but no, as I tenderly brought out my camera and began walking (using the Lou Jones technique for asking permission to photography, step by step, with full awareness of anyone’s body language), no one seemed to notice. I learned the soldiers, probably new to their position, were on an educational excursion. The government seems to do much of this, educational preparatory trips for new soldiers. Strengthens their motivation to “keep their nation safe.”

Motion detecting fence at Old Gesher

The attendant explained that the center was closed, and to enter I’d have to make prior arrangements and join with a group. Too bad, I missed the audio video event, The Naharayim Experience. Which might be about the founding of this early kibbutz. It had been on the list Elizabeth of FoEME provided me of water resources to explore on this trip.

I could title one of my presentations: What the hell is this? I find myself uttering that phrase regularly as I see something that might be this, or might be that, but I’m not sure. At times I find out, at others, I don’t. So the words remain: What the hell is this?

Where the Jordan exits the Sea of Galilee

I stopped several times along highway 90 to photograph the river and valley, often at some peril to me. Trucks whizzing by, two of them carrying tanks, speeding cars, buses, narrow road, narrow shoulders, hot and generally difficult to stop to make photos. I might be in more danger during this leg of my 3 month journey than at some other points.

No surprise: the river was hard to find, either shrunken to a pitiful trickle or disappeared entirely beneath grasses. Even driving off road to find the elusive river usually proved futile. At one spot I thought I saw the water disappear into a pipe.

End of the Jordan River?

This attempt to find the river culminated at the Beit Shean border crossing, where at first, finding a dried up channel, thinking it was the river bed, I photographed what I thought was the river. All under the eye of a security guard. I mistakenly thought this was the crossing we’d used on my first trip in 2003, which in fact is further south, by Jericho. How mixed up I can be, hardly an astute observer and witness. And then, in the restaurant perhaps surprising guests when I asked, where’s the river?, I discovered I’d not be able to see the river because people are not allowed to walk on the bridge, and the river cannot be seen under the grasses.

Earlier often I could see what must have been historic river routes, channels, even a few striations, indicating better times for the Jordan River. But not today during a lengthy water crisis.

At about 3 pm I began thinking about where I’d stay the night, my usual pattern: the book listed nothing for Beit Shean, the nearest town. It suggested some fine sounding spots further south, Ein Gedi for one, which I’d long hoped to visit along the Dead Sea shore. But this requires a long drive. So I opted to simply drive thru Beit Shean, hoping I’d spot something I could afford. And just as I arrived there it was: the Beit She’an guest house, a huge building of stone on the main road, but surely, I thought, too expensive, something like $100 plus.

Inquiring, I learned I could book a single room, no dorms here, for 275 NIS, under $100 (more precisely, using 4 shekels to the dollar, $70 include breakfast. Dinner would be 70 shekels, too high.) I realized this morning that I’m spending money as if it is endless, neglecting the fact that I have only savings to live on until Jan next year. I might suffer later for my prodigality. Time to put on the spending breaks, begin worrying. (This trip has been unusually worry-free for me, no sleepless nights. Yet.)

The guesthouse is part of the Israel Youth Hostel Association, (IYHA), www.iyha.org.il. It has “62 high quality rooms…air conditioned with en-suite bathrooms and showers, refrigerator, TV, and a coffee corner.” Plus a pool and conference rooms. A fine place for one of my shows. I should ask Dave if he’d like to organize an Israeli tour for me.

Last evening, as the sun settled for the night, the air cooling mercifully (it is not getting hotter as I proceed southward and lower into the earth, nearer the notoriously hot and humid Jericho. In fact, cooler last night that previous nights.), I ate a low quality falafel (they’re much better in Palestine), and discovered Roman ruins. A good time to visit: the sun was not glaring, the air was cool, no one else was touring, and so perhaps this magical hour will help me construct a few good photos.

Roman ruins, Beit Shean

At a small shopping mall, as I explored, I noticed a baby clothes shop with the name, mish mish. Very odd, thought I, since this is the Arabic word for apricot. Inquiring, I learned that it’s also Hebrew for apricot. Yet another testament to the closeness of these two “separate” people—warring cousins.

Date palms near the Jordan River

For the first time I remember on this 3 month journey, except for the Tel Aviv bus station and possibly the Jerusalem bus station, I had to pass security to enter. A young smiling black man did his duty, checking my bag, but not requiring I disgorge all my metal so I could pass the metal detector without setting it off.

Anne has been most reliable as a loving appreciating correspondent. She is tracking me. She seems now to read everything I write, and soon after I post it. I’d sent to my list my most recent blog yesterday morning, the longest yet, some 5000 words, with an apology, long and not carefully edited, and by evening she’d read it and commented in her usual deep and compassionate way. As I wrote her, you are the best. Love, me. She even calls me Skipper, which only my sister Elaine uses, a true signifier of deep relationship.

Jan is also surprisingly responsive. I’m enjoying our regular but brief communiqués, mostly about when to meet. My home, Wednesday after I arrive on Sunday, 6 pm for dinner, she brings the dessert.

LINKS:

History of kibbutzim

History of the Galilee

Israel Youth Hostel Association

“Joel Kovel on Naomi Klein and Durban,” August 28, 2009

Israel Still Strangles the Palestinian Economy, by Sam Bahour, Wall Street Journal Op-ed, August 20, 2009

By Dian Hasan | September 11, 2009

We continue to search for commendable and do-able “Green Ideas” that relate to travel & tourism, from all corners of the world. We deliberately use the term “Green Ideas” to avoid the confusion of all the different terminology, ie: Responsible Tourism, Sustainable Tourism, Philanthropic Tourism, Ecotourism, Environmental Tourism and all the related projects – to name a few – and categorize them as “Green Projects” for ease of understanding.

All of this essentially boils down to – borrowing the term from the Corporate World approach – the only viable method of incorporating “Green” into any business model is for it to touch 3 areas 1. Profit, 2. People, and 3. Planet.

Here’s a look at the Green Apprenticeship at Lotan Center for Creative Ecology in Israel. Aimed at teenagers and young people who want to immerse themselves in community-based and eco-based projects in Israel.

To learn more about Lotan Center for Creative Ecology and their Green Apprenticeship Program, please visit their website.

Lotan Green Apprenticeship - Building a mud igloo

Lotan Green Apprenticeship - Building the abobe domes

Lotan Green Apprenticeship - Incorporating alternative energy and the latest technology. Solar power at an adobe dome home.

Lotan Green Apprenticeship - Adobe dome under construction. A joint, community-based effort.

Lotan Green Apprenticeship - One of the completed adobe buildings.

Lotan Green Apprenticeship - Work-in-progress on the Merkazon after-school Activity Club.

Lotan Green Apprenticeship - Merkazon after-school Activity Club, completed..

Lotan Green Apprenticeship - Reading and relaxing after a day's work at the Moadome

“Hear our voice, Hashem, our G-d, spare us and have compassion on us; and accept – with compassion and favor – our prayers. Bring us back to You, Hashem, and we shall return; renew our days as of old.” (From the selichos – prayers for forgiveness)

Dear Friends,

I have attached excerpts from an article about a new development on secular kibbutzim, and these excerpts will be followed by my comments:

……………………

Synagogues Flourish in Secular Kibbutzim

Elul 6, 5769, 26 August 09 08:00

by Hillel Fendel

(Israelnationalnews.com) A few years ago, a member of Kibbutz Deganiah predicted, “There has been no synagogue here in 100 years, and there won’t be one in the next 100 years.” She was wrong.

Not only is there a synagogue in Deganiah, founded in 1910 as Israel’s first Kibbutz ever, but similar houses of worship (popularly known as “shuls”) are open and active in other secular kibbutzim in the north such as Ein Harod and Maoz Chaim, as well as in other secular communities in the region such as Tomrat.

Another example of a long shul-less kibbutz is Givat HaShloshah, founded by a long-time member who suddenly realized that she wanted to commemorate her one “Jewish” day of the year – Yom Kippur – at home. The woman waged a one-person campaign to gather together a Torah scroll, prayer books, a building – and now, a scant few years later, some 15-20 people take part in weekly Sabbath prayers.

Just ten weeks ago, at a joyous Torah scroll installation ceremony in the famously-secular Kibbutz Ein Harod, the son of one of the more active shul “members” came and asked him, “What do you need a synagogue for, anyway?” The father answered, “We went far away – too far.” The reference was to the escape from Torah Judaism by many of the early Zionist pioneers – a vacuum that is now once again being filled with spirituality.

The above story is told by Rabbi Shlomo Raanan, head of the Ayelet HaShachar (Morning Star) association that – among its many other activities – accompanies secular communities that wish to build a synagogue or otherwise enhance their connection to Judaism. Two years ago, for instance, more than 500 northern farmers took part in a “telephone chavruta (study partner)” program organized by Ayelet HaShachar on matters concerning the Shemittah (Sabbatical) year.

Though many kibbutzim were predicated on the idea that no synagogue would ever be built there, “today there are those who feel that there is a communal need for a synagogue,” Raanan told B’Sheva’s Ofrah Lax.

“First Time I Have Felt Jewish”

The founding of the synagogue in Kibbutz Maoz Chaim, a bastion of secularity since its founding in 1937 just east of Beit She’an, did not happen without some rancor. Only after two votes of the entire membership was a building approved for designation as a synagogue – and even then, only by the narrow margin of two votes. Friday night services are held regularly, and the members hope to expand to Sabbath morning services as well.

The shul’s founder told this story: “One long-time resident, a 78-year-old who immigrated from Argentina 40 years ago, told me after his first visit to the synagogue, ‘I’ve been in Israel all these years, and this was the first time I felt Jewish. I plan to come every week, and I want you to teach me the prayers.’ I told him that the whole thing was worth it just for that.”

“Just today,” Rabbi Raanan told Israel National News on Tuesday, “an eye surgeon asked us for help in starting a synagogue in Barkan, near Ariel. And we are already at work on Yom Kippur prayers in kibbutzim such as HaHotrim, Hof HaCarmel, and others that have never had synagogues.”

…Another story told by Raanan: “A few years ago, I was in Deganiah [Israel’s first kibbutz], and I asked where the synagogue was. The secretary told me, ‘For 100 years we haven’t had one, and we won’t have one in the next 100 years either.’ Two years ago, I was again in Deganiah, on Simchat Torah [the holiday commemorating the joy of Torah], and I pointed to the newly-opened synagogue and said, ‘This is our true Torah joy.’”

“The name of the game,” says Raanan, in between organizing Torah classes and other programs for those who have never enjoyed them before, “is patience and tolerance. Each place according to its own pace and requests.”

……………………………………

Last year, I shared with you excerpts from an article by Yonoson Rosenblum in the summer issue of the Jewish Observer, the magazine of Agudath Israel of America. The article cited examples of successful Torah outreach in Israel, and one of the examples is a Chareidi organization named, Ayelet HaShachar (Morning Star), which is mentioned in the above article. In addition to helping the kibbutzim to establish synagogues, Ayelet HaShachar has been placing Torah-committed couples on more than 60 kibbutzim and smaller settlements around the country. Among the kibbutzim which have benefited from the warm and dedicated outreach of these couples is Kibbutz Geva, which experienced its first Yom Kippur service two years ago. A member of the kibbutz wrote a thank you letter to the director of Ayelet HaShachar expressing appreciation “for having created for us a Mikdash Me’at (Miniature Sanctuary) in the midst of our everyday lives and secular existence, and for having made it possible for us to touch the holiness, the elevation, of this unique day – Yom Hakippurim.” The kibbutz member adds:

“The emotions during the prayers broke down all barriers, and enabled us to touch every link in the chain of our common tradition, reaching back to the roots of our common existence.”

Over two years ago, I met a group of students who had recently graduated secular Israeli high schools. They had come to my Chareidi neighborhood, Bayit Vegan, Jerusalem, in order to experience the holiness and harmony of a traditional Shabbos. I first noticed them at the Friday night service of the congregation where I was praying that night, and these visiting students joined with great enthusiasm in the singing of the joyous psalms and prayers welcoming the arrival of the Shabbos Queen. I noticed one student in this group who was singing and swaying like a chassid, and his light-filled face expressed great yearning as he sung with great fervor the ancient Hebrew words of these psalms and prayers.

As I watched him and the other students, there emerged feelings of hope in my heart. Their presence in our Jerusalem neighborhood reminded me of the prophetic promises that our people are destined to be reunited through a return to our spiritual roots. We experienced a taste of this unity that Shabbos evening, especially when we all joined together in a circle-dance, as we sang the concluding stanzas of the “Lecho Dodi” hymn which refer to the end of our humiliation in exile, the renewal of Zion, and the rejoicing of G-d with our people.

After the services were over, the students received warm Shabbos blessings from the members of the congregation. The students then began to walk to the homes of their hosts for the Friday night meal. I and the student that I noticed earlier were walking in the same direction, and I asked him where he was from. He told me that he was from a HaShomer Hatza’ir kibbutz in the north and that he was very inspired by our services. (HaShomer Hatza’ir is a leftist kibbutz movement.) He asked me about my background, so I mentioned that I am from the spiritually-searching generation of the 60’s. He told me that he was interested in this searching generation, and he began to tell me more about his own spiritual searching within Judaism; however, our conversation was interrupted when he needed to enter the home of his hosts.

When I arrived home that evening, I asked Hashem to continue to guide this student and all the other students on their homecoming journey. And I hoped that I would have the privilege of meeting them again.

The above information reminds us that beneath the surface of a turbulent Israeli society are currents of spiritual renewal. These currents are a reminder of the following Divine promise to Israel regarding the dawn of the messianic age of spiritual enlightenment:

“Never again will your sun set, and your moon will not be withdrawn; for Hashem will be unto you an eternal light, and the days of your mourning will be ended. Your people will all be righteous; they will inherit the land forever; a shoot of My planting, My handiwork in which to glory.” (Isaiah 60:20, 21)

The above passage is from the “haftorah” – portion from the Prophets – which we chanted on this past Shabbos. It is one of the haftorahs of comfort which are chanted during the period between Tisha B’Av and Rosh Hashana.

May Hashem redeem us and comfort us.

Shalom,

Yosef Ben Shlomo Hakohen

(See below)

You are invited to send a New Year contribution of any amount to help support the work of Hazon – Our Universal Vision. Contributions can be sent payable to Yosef Ben Shlomo Hakohen at the following address:

Yosef Ben Shlomo Hakohen

Sha’arei Torah 6, Apt. 1

Bayit Vegan, Jerusalem

96387, Israel

My husband’s brother in low picked us up from the airport and off we went to Netanya, my husband’s home town where his parent waited impatiently. The first initial reaction was so overwhelming, since his parents haven’t seen him in while and big excitement was in the air. We spoke and eat some good delicious fresh Hummus, fresh from the market with warm pita bread, olives bursting with freshness and aroma and colorful salads.

The next day we rented a lovely Hyundai Tuscan SUV and drove up the coastal road to Haifa to see my mom and sister. The first visit reaction was also extremely overwhelming. Nothing like it.

Haifa is a beautiful mountainous city overlooking the bay and port. The entire city is situated up on mountain Carmel, so getting to my mom house involves driving up a winding coastal road with breathtaking views. LOVE IT !!!!!!

We saw our good friends Nava and Oz. Nava recently opened her own coffee shop in the bustling Tel Aviv. The place was busy when we visited so it made us feel good to see this kind of a reaction to her new place. The coffee shop serves more than coffee. It features delectable deserts and signature entrees.

One day we drove with relatives to the Northern Galilee and the Golan Heights. Along the way we stopped at an incredible herb and farm facility. They grow, manufacture and market almost 500 spices and medicinal herbs nationwide and worldwide. Their visitor center exhibits the ever changing of common infusions, herbal mixes and spices. Of course my taste buds woke up and I ended up buying few selections of some rice mixes and fresh herbs and teas. This is their link: http://www.derech-atavlinim.co.il/english.asp.

For all of you interested to check out their web site.

The highlight of the trip was a marvelous wedding we went to but this info is for a new post maybe in the next few days….

So the reason for me writing this to you is keep traveling and exploring different places, different cultures.

Los Rozen se reencuentran en Nir Itzjak

Als Moses vom Berg Nebo ins Tal blickte und die letzte Unterhaltung seines Lebens mit Gott hatte, sah er vor allem Steine, Wueste, Felsen, karges Land. Das sieht von weitem zwar beeindruckend aus, es gibt aber sicher lebensfreundlichere Plaetze. Im Englischen heisst es deshalb ja auch nur das “versprochene Land” (Promised Land). Die Deutschen attributieren es dagegen gleich als “Gelobtes Land”. Warum soll ma die Oednis da unten denn loben?

Wir brechen auf nach Israel ohne besondere Schnellkraft, die – selbst wenn wir sie aufbraechten – uns bei den beruechtigten Sicherheitskontrollen sowieso wieder genommen worden waere. Vom Abfragen-bis-zur-Grosseltern-Generation, Abtasten und Rucksack-Auseinander-Nehmen wollen wir am liebsten weitere Menschenansammlungen meiden und lassen uns vom Busfahrer an dem ersten Kibbutz absetzen. Ringsherum nur Sand und Dattelpalmenplantagen. Ruhe. Hitze.
Ein Pickup haelt neben uns und die tiefe Stimme einer schoenen Landarbeiterin laed uns ein. Erst in das Auto, dann in den Kibbutz, dann in ihr Leben.

Der Kibbutz Samar unweit der jordanischen Grenze, ist einer der wenigen uebriggebliebenen sozialistischen Kibbutze in Israel. Es gibt dort kein Geld, sondern eine Kuehlkammer, die immer prall gefuellt mit frischen Fruechten ist. Und einen runden Speisesaal, in dem mittags und abends gemeinsam gegessen wird. Und eine Kleiderkammer statt Markenlaeden, und gemeinsame Autos und Spielplaetze und eine Bibliothek und einen Pool! Die Rasenflaechen sind perfekt kurz geschnitten, Blumen und Palmen wachsen in den Wuestenhimmel und die Haeuser sind kugelrunde oder quadratische Bungalows. Es erinnert an einen Golfclub und an Schlumpfhausen.

Wir bekommen einen eigenen Bungalow, weil Agar – die schoene Landarbeiterin – uns offiziell als ihre Gaeste adoptiert hat. Da in den Bungalows nebenan viele auslaendische Freiwillige wohnen, nennen die Kibbutzbewohner die Ecke dort “Ghetto”, was aus juedischem Mund etwas irritierend ist. Es fuehlt sich ausserdem gar nicht wie ein Ghetto an: in der Nachbarschaft kann man naemlich entweder von einer auf freier Flaeche stehenden Couchgarnitur den Mond hinter den Bergen aufsteigen sehen oder zu einer Pizzaparty von einem ehemaligen italienischen Maffioso gehen oder in einer Haengematte eine Noblesse rauchen.

Jetzt koennte sich der eine oder andere Leser zu Recht fragen, ob wir das denn eigentlich verdient haben – so viel Glueck, so viel Sonne, so viel Pool. Und dem Leser koennen wir sagen: Ja, haben wir. Und zwar mit harter einfacher Arbeit. Gemuesschnippeln ab morgens um sechs, regelmaessiges Kuechenjacuzzi beim Toepfe-Duschen oder Sortieren am laufenden Band an der Geschirrspuelmaschine. An guten Tagen sind wir danach auf die Dattelplantage mitgekommen und haben die Palmenfruechte von einer dreissig Meter hohen Palme geholt – von einem Hebekran aus. Auf der Kuhfarm, die aber eher nach Industrie aussieht, waren wir auch. Da haben dann komischerweise immer die Kuehe, denen wir beim Kalben zugeguckt haben, Zwillinge bekommen – was sehr selten ist. Das hat zu einigen Verwirrungen in der Buchfuehrung gefuehrt, weswegen wir dort jedenfalls keine Arbeit gefunden, dafuer aber tierische Namenspaten haben.

Ab spaestens um eins nachmittags endet alle Arbeit in Samar und Eltern spielen mit ihren Kindern, Maenner bauen an ihren Schlumpfenhaeusern weiter, manche schreiben Buecher oder meditieren oder halten einfach Siesta. Zeit und Geld spielen keine Rolle in Samar, weswegen selbst die Einwohner zugeben, in einer “Blase” zu leben. Dass sie nicht wie so viele andere Kommunen in der Welt geplatzt ist, liegt sicher auch daran, dass der Staat Israel den Kibbutz zu gut einem Drittel finanziert und so die grenznahe Wueste besiedelt und die Beduinen fern haelt.

Um die Finanzierung von Samar zu rechtfertigen, eignet sich der Begriff des “Promised Land” gut. Um zu beschreiben, wie sich ein Tag dort anfuehlt, reicht er aber nicht. Oase oder Paradies waeren geeignet. “Gelobtes Land” passt noch besser.
Spaestens nach diesem lobenden Text.

After four long years of writing and editing, A Living Revolution was finally released this week. I’d hesitate to say it turned out exactly as I’d hoped but I guess it serves a purpose – though what exactly that purpose is is something author, publisher and editor have yet to agree on. Click here to read the foreword by Uri Gordon, author of the highly acclaimed Anarchy Alive!

I am at Nily’s apartment right now in Tel Aviv.  Last night we went to the wedding of Alon and Yael Rozen.  Alon was one of my former ACYPL delegates.  The wedding was on a kibbutz about 40 minutes from here.  Forget any antiquated notions you might have of a kibbutz as a small, farming community, this wedding was in a huge, flashy, impressive facility.  Once we moved inside it was a state of the art event hall in the shape of a dome.  I can’t really describe it, I will have to post  pics soon.

Oh yeah, did I mention that I sat next to the Minister of  Welfare and social Services for dinner?  Because I did.

Isaac Herzog

His father, Chaim Herzog, was the 6th President of Israel.

Living on Kibbutz Gonen in the Upper Galilee in 1977

Volunteers on Kibbutz Gonen - October 1977

Kibbutz Gonen, located in the Upper Galilee in Israel, was a medium sized communal settlement when I arrived in August 1977. I had spent the previous 2.5 months living on Givat Brenner, the largest kibbutz in Israel. I had traveled to Israel in late May of 1977, hoping to experience kibbutz life and to learn about my Jewish roots. I remember that I had met a woman while flying on the El Al plane to Tel Aviv and she had mentioned how special Gonen was.

I remember that much of the first work that I did on Gonen was working in the orchards: driving a tractor, picking fruit and working with the other volunteers 6 days a week. Sometimes we would be assigned to other job duties. One morning, we had to get up just after 3 AM to round up the turkeys for shipping to a processing plant. Other times I found myself working in the factory on the kibbutz (yes, you can find factories on many of the kibbutzim).

I also remember the daily walks I would take along the road just outside the volunteer’s shacks – the one that went through the poplar trees that were being grown on the kibbutz. Early mornings were spent in the dining room, eating a wholesome, typical Israeli breakfast before going off to work.

As a volunteer, it was almost like a virtual ‘United Nations’ living on this kibbutz. There were volunteers from so many different places and countries: German, French, American, Dutch, English, Spanish (you get the picture). My favorites were always the Dutch volunteers; they were without a doubt the nicest and most polite young people there.

My kibbutz parents were Sarah and Dodik Rottenberg. He was a general in the IDF and was well known throughout the entire country. I remember spending many afternoons over at their small house, drinking tea and learning more about Israel and the history of the modern kibbutz movement. At the time, my Hebrew was extremely limited and most of the conversations were done in English (most Israelis speak English very well).

Some of my many scattered recollections and memories of my time on Gonen included the following: the day we were riding on the truck back from the orchards when news of Elvis Presley’s death broke (August 16, 1977) and a friend from South Africa was overcome with grief; explaining the game of American baseball with a new friend from Reunion Island; getting sick from eating some of the apples that (unknown to me at the time) had been sprayed with some kind of insecticide; going to a party at night with the rest of the volunteers from the kibbutz and drinking Israeli beer; playing the game of Risk at night with some of the other volunteers, while all the time Katyusha rockets were being fired from Southern Lebanon into Northern Israel (just miles from Gonen); being given a going-away party by Beni (my kibbutz boss in the orchards) before I left Israel for Paris; and the time I suffered a deep gash in my left ring finger knuckle while working in the orchard and never got stitches for it (I still bear the scar to this day).

I lived on Gonen for almost 4 months, finally leaving for Paris with a friend that I met while living on the kibbutz. After living in Paris for a month, I returned to California in January 1978. I spent the next year going to school in Northern California, but my memories of Israel remained strong and my feelings for the place only seemed to intensify. I returned to Israel in 1979 and spent an entire year living there, seriously considering becoming an Israeli citizen. In July 1979, I returned to Kibbutz Gonen and went back to work in the orchards again, staying there for another month before moving on to Ein Zurim, a religious kibbutz just outside of Ashkelon.

My personal memories of Kibbutz Gonen remain positive to this day. Because of its medium size and remote location, it was the ideal place to experience the kibbutz way of life. To this day, some 32 years after first arriving at Gonen, I have great feelings for this place and for the people who created this kibbutz. I made good friends on Gonen and hope to return to visit someday in the future.

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