The Jews of Domeville

Coming Home

2010-05-20T10:42:00.000-07:00

I have been gone from my home for nine months. I think to myself, what is home and I no longer have an answer to this question. Tom Waits once said, "Wherever, I lay my head is home" which has a drifter connotation. But in the truest sense, I am my own home, as I carry my internal sense of peace and security.

This is an ending of sorts. But life has many endings.

This is also a beginning. Life has many beginnings. I once was a seed and I planted myself deep in the soil of Israel. But the ground must be ready to receive you. I struggled and I grew, but so slowly. My tendrils unfurled, cautiously now; fearing that they would not receive either the sun or the rain that they would need to grow.

So I transplanted myself in Thailand, to challenge myself even more. There was too much sun and my tendrils withered. There was too little water and my roots shrank. I shook all growth from my body, in order to sustain myself. Like an Israeli transplant, I sought protection with thorns. I grew strong in harsh conditions. However, when the rains came at last, I was ready to receive them. The frogs gathered around to rejoice, and sing throughout the night to herald the first rain.

I was a seed and I went to plant myself, to see what fruits I would bear. Let us not name the fruit; let us not dissect it, for it quality and taste. Let us not discuss its value. It is not about the yield; it is about the path.

Life has many endings. I was a seed, but I have grown. I was a seed which grew into a tree, which bore fruits and these fruits fell to the ground. So that the ground will remember it.

Life has many beginnings. I am a seed. I will plant myself, perhaps in Boston. Wherever I lay my head is home. May the soil be ready to receive me.

Playing in Pai

2010-05-13T07:20:00.000-07:00

It was 40 degrees celsius in the shade. The heat was so powerful it drove most of the country inside. Except for me. I was volunteering on a permaculture site, called Panya Project in the north of Thailand. For more than a month, it was a happy home for me. If you are interested in intentional communities, mud building, mud ovens, nurseries and fruit forests, it might be a happy home for you as well.

However, at this moment in time, I was roasting despite the cover of mango trees and there were not enough coconut shakes to cool me down. I sought relief in a renowned artist community called Pai.

This was to be my last adventure in Thailand and I was rapidly running out of funds. The farm is near Mamelay Market, in Mae-Tang. From Mamelay Market, one can take an air-conditioned bus for 150 baht. I decided to put my complete trust in Thai people, and their hospitality. Instead, I hitchhiked to Pai. Thailand is filled with two types of vehicles: motorbikes and flat bed trucks. My first consisted of a Thai family, who picked me up and let me jump in their trunk. They dropped me off at a bus station near a fruit stand. I waited twenty minutes or more, in the noon sun while a mild panic arose with in me. I watched many buses pass by me, but I was determined to test my ability to hitchhike on my own. Eventually, I was picked up by a car with two men, I hesitated once I stepped inside. Despite, our language limitations, they were beyond friendly to me, as we made our treacherous way up to Pai.

The rode to Pai is not for those with fear in their heart. It winds and curves, and there is competition between the two lanes. I held my breath with each passing truck. After two hours, my ride dropped me off in the center of town. I did not feel picky about where to stay, so I walked to the first guest house, Duang on the main road. The guest house was plain but cheap. My room was 100 baht per night, which fit my budget exactly.

I had arrived in Pai, after Songkran which is the Water Festival or New Year. The town had an empty feeling, like a revelry after all the guests have gone and left their mess behind. I walked about the small village, hidden in the mountainside during the middle of the day. I discovered, I had not flown from the heat but walked directly back into it. The paved road, and lack of trees in the center of town is not welcoming for a mid day stroll.

For a brief moment, I was worried that Pai might be another tourist town. While it was surrounded by lushness, there were the usual clothing, jewelry and other miscellaneous Thai goods, that can be found throughout the country. I had also overhead unsettling exchange between two Westerners. Upon meeting each other, one exclaimed to the other, "Wait, didn't we meet each other in Kao San Ro," which is another tourist street in Bangkok. I was worried that all us Westerners were simply following each other all over Thailand, without really interacting with the country. I retired to my guesthouse, to improve my outlook and wait out the heat.

Around sunset, I re-emerged from my guest house and watched from a rickety bridge as the sun descended over the river. On the bridge, I met a lovely woman from Chile. We struck an immediate friendship and together we explored all that Pai has to offer.

That night, we dined on twenty baht pad Thai noodles on the side of the road. And later still, we enjoyed some Thai beer, while sharing stories. Later still, I left my new friend to explore bars on my own. I fell in with a group of Israelis boys, fresh out of the army and bent on exploring the East. One of them taught me how to drive a automatic bike and for this I am forever grateful.

Pai confirmed for me something that I have suspected for a long time. It is not wise to visit waterfalls in Thailand during the dry seasons. You will only end up seeing trickle falls at best, and dry rock beds at worst. Together, my Chilean friend and I rented a manual motorbike, luckily I had learned to drive it the night before, and we rode up and down those dangerously winding roads. The beautiful view of the country side still made it worth the while.

At night time, we sought out the many bars, hoping for some good music. We stumbled across too many empty bars, playing reggae music, even though their flyers had promised live jams. I went to the Bee Bop club two nights in a row, to hear a seven player blues and reggae ensemble. On my last night, we visited the Edible Jazz, where we met a variety of locals and traveling westerners. The atmosphere was so friendly that it made me want to spend just one more night in Pai.

Alas, it was not to be. I took a non air-conditioned bus ride back to the Mamelay Market, which I do not recommend. From there I hitchhiked back to the farm…But that is another story altogether.

Scenes of Love

2010-04-05T02:34:00.001-07:00

There is so much love, spilling out of every corner of my life and my memory bank. I would like to share them with you as a show of gratitude. It could be endless..so let me say I have just begun...

*Rachel giving me a reiki lesson on her balcony, during a rain storm only an hour before she leaves for Vietnam and she is not done packing. She is in the moment and she offers herself completely.

*Sabrina cooking me an all vegan breakfast banquet the morning before my departure. She is not vegan, neither is John. There is a pure offering of food out of love for me. It was my last meal in Boston.

*Jumping up and down with a small thai girl in a bookstore in Bangkok. We chase each other around corners and play peekaboo around chairs. When I leave, she becomes sad. She is sad because this moment is over and we cannot return to it. I have been there. I say to her, "Only happiness." For now, we have had the moment.

*Carola giving me a ride to the ferry in between her workshop hours. She gets a flat tire, yet still she rests with me for a while, waiting on the dock. Patiently.

*Anna playing on her violin, flowing with the music, playing a song about carrots. She is inspired by carrots! I am inspired by her.

*Angela riding with me on the back of my bike to the waterfall that wasn't and the wat, or temple that had not begun. We sing Janis Joplin and the Little Mermaid intermingling the two.

*Arbel, anywhere, anytime on the farm playing his flute.

*My ex-boyfriend's family treating me like family. I thank his aunt for all this love. She answers me "You are family." Yes, I am loved.

*Four small boys interlocking their arms, sharing secrets. They are too young to be worried about appearances, personal space or being macho.

*Jody throwing Adriana into the water to teach her how to swim. Adriana is only five years old and so small. I worry that she will drown, but Jody knows how to show her how to swim. Fear is not the way, thus she waits for her lovingly each time she throws her into the waves and waits for her to re-emerge. The love is knowing she will return, that Adriana knows this too.

*Cooking in the kitchen with Israeli volunteers, making them dance to oldies music and teaching them the real meaning of the lyrics. Being inspired by them, their stories, being inspired by seasonal foods, finding a way to putting houbeza into everything.

*Learning so many different ways to make tahina. Can you add the following: dijon mustard, chocolate, advocado, soy sauce, gigner, garam malasa. The answer is always yes. Maybe not at the same time. These are lessons for you to learn though.

*My ex-boyfriend's father doing his glida dance. His wriggle of delight in a restaurant chair, as he orders his forbidden desserts. "Yesh glida?" he asks the waitress, as he wriggles with anticipation. His absolute joy in the moment.

*My ex-boyfriend's mother packing me three sandwiches for my flight to Thailand. She asks me which bread do I prefer: Whole wheat or a bagel? My eyes glaze over with the word bagel. Yes, I nod. Bagel please. She purses lips, and frowns no. Lama lo? "I cannot give you enough vegetables with a bagel sandwich." She declares. Shes does not understand my laughter.

*My father upon hearing that I was going to Thailand, exclaimed "Think of all the Thai food that you will eat." There is no worry, no note of concern in his voice. Instead, he comes from a place of knowing that I will be okay.

*Melissa, an expert in love. Giving me rides, taking care of my fat cat, my objects, my possessions until I return. Offering me nightly, a never ending smile and her beloved hummus and crackers.

*Julie constantly offering me food, her leftovers. My husband is not hungry she claims, while giving me full bags of fresh vegetables.

*Abe and Andrew playing chess anywhere, anytime on the farm. They are determined, so committed, so absorbed by the game. I can see them as two old men, never growing old of this game or their friendship. Their chess playing is beautiful to me, as an extension of their love, their friendship.

*Planting row upon row of seedlings with Tayla and Leila. Talking about love and sex, and everything in between. So much laughter in those moments. Thank you.

*Lice-combings with an individual who shall remain unmentioned. Despite all her fear, offering to comb out my long and weedy locks. It was a lovely spa night and olive oil is so good for your hair.

*May Kadee sharing her bed with me, when I arrive in Bangkok at five in the morning, and she does not have a room for me. Instead she offers me her bedroom, her bed to a stranger.

*Marissa making all my juices when I was sick. Giving me pills, writing down times and amounts, endlessly, patiently. Reading to me in bed, as my fever wains.

*Robin...lending me her car. If only her parents knew! So much trust for a new driver. Trying to charm my driving instructor, when she was instructed to be silent.

*Robin driving to JP, on cold and wintery nights, in order to sit next to silently for hours grading papers while I type out papers ignoring her.

*Ei's smile is pure love. If you knew him, you would know this to be true.

*Abe expertly running all our farm Shabbat dinners. So efficiently, without getting stressed, making his own dishes that he learned from his mother, helping others with their dishes.

*Tremping across Israel. Strangers offering rides to strangers, as mitzvahs, as good deed. Driving out of their way to help, offering suggestions on how to get where you are going. Or simply not talking at all. But the offer remains the same.

*Taking 2 bus rides, 2 plan rides, 1 angry cab, 1 twelve hour overnight bus and 1 four hour ferry to meet your love.

* Taking 1 five hour ferry, 1 twelve hour overnight bus, 1 tuk tuk, 1 motorbike ride to another twelve hour overnight bus, 1 two hour hot and packed truck ride through Thai mountains to meet myself on a farm.

*There is more. There is always more love...

The Nature of Love

2010-04-05T02:03:00.000-07:00

We are now entering into the second phase of my journey, which we can call :Jew in Thailand or more accurately Falling Down the Rabbit Hole. How I arrived in Thailand, and the many adventures that I have had since February I would love to share with you. But I am in the now of this moment. And this moment is beautiful and it will not last. So let me share what I have learned thus far, since leaving the safety and security of my world in Boston...

"What is love?" my friend asks me as we are walking along a dirt road at night. I cannot answer her fully. I only know what it is to be in love, I offer her, the common symptoms of tingling and excitement. We both know that love is more than the smallness of these emotions and yet with all our intellect, we cannot puzzle it out. We have no words for it.

Since this night, many words, or definitions have been offered to me about the nature of love. My former lover, suggested that love is a state of being. I shared this with my friend, delighted to have a simple answer to such a complicated question. I chew on this concept for days. Until I can answer, yes, I am in a loving state of being with Israel, with barren hilltops, with the farm, with my basil plants, with my lover. Yet, still there is a disconnect, a gap from love.

Still I search. I walk many nights, along many dirt paths. Love is fleeting. It is not a constant state of being. Months pass. I am in a hall listening to a lecture given by a Swami about Detachment. I learn that people are not objects, we do not own them. I listen to this teacher describe Unconditional Love. This is a love without wants and needs. In this way, one can be hurt, disapointed and angry, since our expectations are not met. But there is still love. Love flows always, and if we perceive it to end, it was not love. Only an illusion of wants and needs. This is the fleeting aspect.

Weeks pass, and now I am hurt, disapointed and angry. There is a moment, so large which clouds out everything and I am detached from all love. This is a passing cloud. There are other moments, small at first, but increasing. In these moments fo clarity, I remain absolutely still and I understand, truly understand the nature of love.

Let me share with you now, which I know to be the nature of love. I have found that I am love. I am part of the whole and the whole is love. Love is not connected to a single partner, which lets one into a state of love. One always choose to be in a state of love, if one lets the clouds pass. Thus one enters into a state of grace, a state of being with the universe which is loving and accepting.

I could not have answered from friend's question, at the beginning of the path, with the words I had then. The words I had then were restricting, contracting, hoarding. Before, I measured love into cups marked more and less, yours and mine.

But now, in a state of grace, memories from my former life flow over me. Like a movie screen, before my eyes, are filled with all the guestures of love that I have been shown. The heart feels full, but I know there is so much more to offer and receive. I will share these with you in my next posting.

The End of Eco and the Beginning of Myself

2010-01-29T01:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Friends (and followers)

I am at the very intersection of edge. The very point of discomfort, growth and ultimate change. There are so many experiences, I did not yet manage to record in this space. Some are in my journal and some are only in my heart waiting to be released on my paper. I wish to share with my you the many lessons I learned on the farm and on the road. But now is not the time.

There were nine of us. Nine different people joined together in one group, filled with both love and conflict. Now I am to bear witness, as they leave me one by one. Most of their journeys here on the farm are over, while mine is being directed towards a new and uncharted course.

Last night, eight of us crawled into a cave. We lit candles upon our descent and when the moment was right we blew out our candles, held hands and simply sat with our energies. Eight bodies, eight breaths, but with one spirit, one dynamic flowing body of energy that we have created. Something from nothing. This is what Israel has taught me. How to be my own designer, create my own path, how to open my heart to love and return all the love that I have stored there.

I tell you now, my prayer, in the Western Wall. I am not sure if this is proper, but it is important for me, since it manifested in many ways. I wrote "Let me open my heart to Israel." My heart has opened to Israel and in Israel. And I feel everything now. I feel joy at remembering hiking from the base of the ocean in Haifa to the top of the university. I feel immense sadness at my interactions with Arab children in the Old City, when I was shot at symbolically three times in one day. I felt awe in the stillness of the Negev desert, where I was surrounded by stars, only stars. No sounds. Then I felt fear at the immensity of the universe the endless possibilities.

I have learned this lesson before, opening my heart. It means you feel everything more. I have fallen in love with Israel, the people, their direct character and their amazing hospitality. I have also fallen in love in Israel, and I have learned to release this love.

The story of the Jews of Domeville is ending. We are disbanding one by one. Leaving in cabs in the middle of night, leaving in pairs, or some are staying behind. I will be nesting here, giving the farm my love for two more weeks. I want create and nurture this space for the next group of Ecos, who will also create their own group energy from nothing.

I will write more, mostly from memory. There will be new stories, new farms, and new loves and I will share these in another format. A new name.

Love,
Danielle

First Field Trip: My Love Affair with Mud Begins

2009-12-09T11:03:00.000-08:00

October 20th, 2009

I am writing in my journal with reggae music playing the background. Our group is relaxing in a large common room. We are all impressed with the beauty of this space, especially after camping for the past three nights. Each window is unique, all the glasses are different shapes and sizes. Some are surrounded mosiacs. Later I learn that the windows were found first, and the holes were then created to mold to the frames. (So permaculture). There is a beautiful kitchen bar, which is made out of mud and there are entire rows of matching colored bottles. Inside the kitchen, dinner is being prepared by two of our group members. It feels like home, and we are nesting. We are at Yesh Mayin. Something that was created out of nothing.

On the first day of the filed trip, we inevitably got a late start and then spent many sleepy hours on a rented bus. We lunched at Nimrod Fortress and then we wandered around the complex for two hours. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, Uncle Avvie carried around an egg the entire day in his hand. I think he wanted to see if it was hot enough to cook an egg. This is my most prominent memory. It was a hot day (how I miss them) as we hiked down a spiky terrain in order to see the Banias. The terrain was hard for me to navigate and sadly I was the slowest of the group to me make my way down. Yes, I was returning to the Banias, with some hesitation in my heart. It had been such a strong private connection to the land that I did not want to share it with the group energy, which can be overwhelming at times.

We reached the Banias Springs quite late. Uncle Avvie promptly dropped his egg, which caused some of the group members to blame Pan. For we were now at Pan's Grotto, and perhaps he has a great disdain for eggs or for fools who carry them around all day. We explored the site quickly, not lingering at each remaining monument, as I had done only a week or so before. We arrived too late to hike to the other side where the Falls lie. Instead, we grumbled a bit, although I was mostly relieved and then clambored aboard the bus to Kibbutz Tsivon, near Klil (sp?) where we would be camping for the next few nights.

In the morning, I woke early with my commrade the infamous Ben Bokser, who is reknowned through New York and Israel. It was my first time cooking over a camp fire and I was nervous. In addition, I was now cooking for ten or more people. Things were tricky to say the least. I started the fire, which was no easy feat. Some members of the group scrambled for more wood to keep the flames going. Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, pan-fried taters, and an Israeli salad, which turned out to be tayim meod. I was quite proud of myself.

After breakfast, we hiked the Yehudiya Waterfall trail. First, we saw a destroyed Syrian village, which was built in the 3rd century and destroyed in this century. Israel never fails to remind me of humanity's capacity to create and then destroy.
We hiked for two hours before we reached a large waterfal. The water was briskly cold but we dived in anyway.As a group, we swam over to where the the two waters met. It was a great moment of peace and cleansing.

We had lunch while the boys splashed in the water trying to catch fish. The women of the group dried off on rocks and were amused by the boys' antics. Who knew there were so a variety of unsuccessful methods to catch fish, Avvie tried to spear them, Nadav threw rocks in the water, while two of the boys captured a small one in their shirt.

And now onto to something completely different. I have a confession. I have fallen, deeply, madly, passionately in love with mud. It was so unexpected and it happened so fast. At Kibbutz Tsivon, on our last day, we were shown how to make mud or cobb to insulate a communual building. There are various ways, however this method included clay, sand and straw and of course water. We mixed all the ingredients on a large tarp, and stomped on them until they were mixed. It reminded me of wine making, and just as intoxicating. From them mud, E. and I created a mud goddess in between two beams. It was an immenseley satisfying moment for me. I had created something, from nothing, with my hands.

This something from nothing, was how Yesh Mayin (sp??) was founded. There is a MOshav in Nahalal, where one young woman was inspired to turn her family's defunct farm into a permaculture space (building, learning, experimenting). More mud buildings, the love affair grew. From an old warehouse hangar, she created, with the help of many friends and strangers a beautiful salon. It is from this space that I write, that I rest, that I watch my friends in the candlenight laugh and enjoy dinner. Something from nothing is the essence of permaculture, nothing is wasted, everything is used. All the resources you need existed already in your community, in you space. It is also a very Israeli mentality, the image of the country that was built on a desert, which remains true on many levels.

Haifa, Kinneret and Banias: My first taste of the North

2009-11-07T01:53:00.000-08:00

I am far behind with my blog. However, I am committed to keeping the narrative flow of my adventures. So I must write about the beginning of October and the beginning of my experiences with the North of Israel.

Most of the Eco's journeyed to Haifa for the International Film Festival. It should go without saying that none of us saw a film during our stay in Haifa. We had a slow start, since we were overwhelmed with a myriad of choices during the week of Sukkot. There were festivals being held all over Israel: a Beer Festival in Jerusalem, Zorba the Buddha Festival in the Negev and a theater festival elsewhere. You get the idea. I had my heart set on Haifa, mostly due to my over romanticized notion of it, fostered by reading the Exodus. (Thanks Alicia). We arrived in Haifa around 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday. I desperately wanted to go to a hostel called Port Inn, near the Old German Colony and I had to fight the group who wanted to camp on the beach. The hostel was located at the end of a dark stretch of a street with no visible life. Once settled inside my room, my fellow roommate used the shower and flooded the entire room. Discouraged, I went downstairs and joined my fellow Eco's who had made friends with some Americans and a Swiss (International Spy?!) The backyard to the Port Inn is really quite enchanting and we bought cheap beers from the front desk and enjoyed the atmosphere and the company (betah). After a bit, we got restless and explored Ben Gurion street which was filled with mostly high-end restaurants. We settled on a bar across the street called Eli's which had an amazing blues singer. It was a singular moment of pure pleasure of just being. Surrounded by good friends and good music.

After the first night in Haifa, I became distracted. I ran into a friend. He invited me along for an adventure near the Kinneret. First, as a group, we went to the Bahai gardens in Haifa. I was mostly listening to the tour guide...It is a dedication to a martyr named Bab, or gate. Most of the above sentence is true. While the gardens were beautiful and lush, I felt oddly disconnected from them. They were too controlled, too planned, too damned geometric for my taste. But the view of the city was worth it all. Later, we separated and the two of us drove to Tiberias for dinner, yummy egpplant wrapped around cheese... and we camped on the beach of the Kinneret. I jumped into the Sea of Galilee, as the sun was setting and Tiberias winked golden lights at light from across the water. In short, my heart was full of beauty. Until a group of 20 Argentinian teenagers stomped into our section of the beach and with military efficiency set up 5 tents in 10 minutes. I spent a couple of anxious minutes worrying about their proximity, Would they keep us up all night with their noise? What the hell did they need a grocery cart for? How did they get it here? In the end, they were sweet kids who did not bother us at all.

The next day, after a morning dip in the Kinneret (all days should begin like this) We drove Northwards and settled on a hiking trail which promised waterfalls. We hiked up a mild trail, which was filled with more lush greenery then I had seen thus far in Israel. We stopped for a few hours, on the rooftop of an old Syrian bunker. Beneath us were happy families, some with dogs who were also resting. My attention was absorbed by a group of young boys who were making an elaborate lunch, complete with couscous. Just marveling at Israeli efficiency and wondering if these cooking/camping skills are something they learned from their military service. While we were engrossed in conversation, we were approached by a woman holding two small coffee cups. She offered them to us silently and then left. We were touched by this small gesture. After we leisurely enjoyed the coffee, I handed the cups back to the woman. I thanked her but I had to ask her why she choose to give us coffee. She said simply "We had extra coffee and you were in the best position to enjoy it." It is these small moments that touch me most in Israel.

We drove aimlessly for the rest of the day amongst the mountains in the Golan. We found many all-day hiking sites, unfortunately there were no sleeping camp sites. It was also not the best region to explore at night, we were hesitant to crash outside with so strong a military presence and so many signs, for grenades. We ended up resting at a more conventional family campground with not so lush gardens. In the morning we explored Banias Falls, and then walked for more than an hour to get to the Springs. The beauty of this area is impressive. The path between the Falls and Springs is covered with Figless Fig trees and a large variety of other water-loving plants. There were signs everywhere which forbade (asur, asur, asur!) people from bathing, or eating in the cold waters. Naturally, all along the path, legions of families frolicked with their lunches in the streams.

This day marks the begininng of a large moment for me. It was where my heart opened in Israel and to Israel. Meaning I was prepared to receive whatever lay ahead of me on my path. As of yet, I am still unsure of what this may bring me. But these are larger questions for another blog.

That night we slept again along the beach of the Kinneret. We feasted on gas station burekas, hummus, bread and wine. Really, these are the feast of the gods. We indulged in a late night swim and enjoyed the solitude. No gang of Argentian youth. No families. Just the golden lights of Tiberias winking across the waters. I was slightly late getting back to the farm the next day.......It was hard for me to return to my lovely and comfortable farm after this wonderful Northern adventure. The farm welcomed me back with open arms, as it always does.

Lost in Jerusalem

2009-10-17T01:54:00.000-07:00

I am lost in Jerusalem and I plan on getting more lost, I said to a helpful stranger. I do not know at which point I entered the Old City and I cannot find myself on the map. I climbed up a strange and winding path and found myself surrounded by tourists and then found myself suddenly inside. I have not known where I am since the moment I left the house this morning. Can one be lost then, if one does not know where they are to begin with and one does not care where they are going. If yes, there is a beautiful sense of freedom to this state of being lost.

Thursday night, one of the farm workers gave Abe (Uncle Avvie, if you like) and I a ride into Jerusalem. He dropped us off near the shuk around 5:00 p.m., or rush hour. Abe planned on meeting up with his friend from home, Tamar who now lives here. I planned on going to a hostel for the night and having a solitary adventure the following day. The shuk is similar to Haymarket, except more. It is hard to put into words, it has many vendors selling many types of produce, and meat, baked goods, glida and some clothes. And it was packed full of Jews trying to buy dinner, or prepare for Shabbat dinner. Abe and I met up with Tamar, near the entrance and she immediately invited me to stay with her for the night and maybe Shabbat dinner. We followed her as she navigated her way around the shuk, as I ogled harem pants. (ten sheks!, which is about 3 dollars to look incredibly ridiculous but comfortable). When we left the shuk, she led us to a burekas (formerly known to me as knish) stand where I choose some spinach, cheese and tehina (betah) stuffing. The burekas is worth a whole paragraph but I digress from our adventures...

We walked around the central square of Jerusalem with our now heavy bags, filled with our clothes, food and bottles of wine and it is long walk to Tamar's house. We tried unsuccessfully to hail a cab. Unexpectedly, a woman pulled over and offered us a lift. Not quite a tremp, I would say. This to me sums up the whole character of Israelis thus far. We were not looking for a free ride, but out of the goodness of her heart, she offered one and we excepted it.

Tamar's apartment had a beautiful balcony which wrapped around her entire apartment and later in the evening I watched fireworks in the distance. We had a quiet night in, while Tamar and I discussed our Jewish identities. I revealed my background to her, a patrilineal Jew who was raised Catholic. While she was born into a Jewish identity, I have struggled with my identification. Maybe struggle is the wrong word. I have embraced it but I have found significant opposition to this identity throughout my life, with other people expressing their opinions about the the nature of my Jewish state.

Yesterday, in the big dome a group of Eco's and an Israeli volunteer were discussing Jewish identity (this happens frequently). The volunteer, Shahar, stated that these types of conversations were new to her. She is an Israeli, she does not need to defend, discuss or explore her Jewish identity. She just is. She is also surrounded
by other Jews, who just are as well.

In the old City, I stumbled upon the wailing wall. The soldiers at the entrance flirted with me. They asked me, "What do you want? Do you want something beautiful?" "Yes,"I answered them. "Then you have found it." They said jokingly and pointed to themselves and then to me. Such irreverence before reverence.

I was lost but now found. My first thoughts were sacrilegious ones. I remembered an old debate I had with a a college friend, who stated I was not Jewish and I could not comprehend Judaism. She had been to the Wailing Wall, she said, she knew what it was to be Jewish. At the wall, I thought to myself, am I Jewish yet? Do my arguments have more sustenance, am I now entitled to my opinions?

I am at the Wailing Wall and I think to myself, No more wailing. We are home now, aren't we? If not, when are we there? When do we reach that point? The wall spoke to me, it said "Please do not cry here anymore. Please do not stuff me with your sorrows." I put a small prayer of love inside the wall, I tried to honor it in my own way. Around me, I saw tourists from all over. Many of the older women were crying, which touched me deeply. If I cried it would be through their tears, not my own. I understood where they came from, truly I did. In the background I hear men chanting in Arabic during the noontime prayers.

After I took a bus back to Western Jerusalem. I wandered around some more until I took a sheroot back to Modi'in. From the central point of the city, I had planned on walking on hour back to the farm. I was exhausted and barefoot, with little water left. And Shabbat was approaching, there were no cars on the road. Suddenly, the farm car appeared and I magically got a ride back to the farm.

That day was the most solitary time that I had spent in six weeks. I was alone with my thoughts and I welcomed them, so I could process Jerusalem fully. Today I formed thoughts such as, "I want to get lost in Jerusalem" and "I want to have a cup of coffee in the Old City" and other wishes which lay dormant rose to the surface. Later in the zula, I reflected on my Jerusalem narrative. It is one of self-exploration overlaid with the beauty of simple moments and letting go of control. Jerusalem remains for me an internal process of self-discovery and empowering affirmation. The love that I feel in my heart interweaves and coils itself around the whole of story.

We Dream of Ravaging Abandoned Mango Orchards but Instead Go to Gazit Junction

2009-10-14T03:48:00.001-07:00

For our third weekend in Israel, six of the Ecos decided to go on adventure. We only knew that we were leaving sometime Friday morning and we had to back by Tuesday morning. The rest of the details were incredibly fuzzy. The night before Anna and I were hanging out in the Zula with two of the co-adventurers. Anna wondered aloud "What time are we going?" and I asked "Wait, where are we going?" and then another voice shouted "When are we going there?" In short, we were a mess. We only knew one thing: we wanted mangoes. A former Eco participant who has been staying on the farm had been talking about abandoned mango orchards in the North and by Week Three they had taken on mythological proportions similar to that of the promised land. This former Eco had alternative plans, so he could not lead us to this promised land.

We set out fairly early in the morning for some type of hiking excursion in the North. I was fairly in the dark and I relied on others to secure rides for our trip. We all met up at a reservation near Kibbutz Gazit, near Ein Hod, around 2:00 p.m. The site was majestic, it was a relief to be surrounded by tall mountains instead of a rocky scrabbly landscape. At 2:00 p.m. we descended as a group down the trail into the valley of the mountains. For some reason, we believed there might be a spring, even though we are at the end of the dry season (there is no water). We ran into a slew of bikers, who thought we were crazy Americans and assured us there was no spring. Now we had to climb back up with limited water resources. By this point, I was tired and dehydrated, until we stumbled upon a couple of Pomegranate trees. We dove into them and I felt reinvigorated enough to scout out the land. Still hoping for water, I climbed down a path towards a dried up stream and we found our a nice respite from the heat under a canopy of trees. We hesitated sightly, worrying about the mosquitoes which the mud might attract. That night we had an amazing time beneath the stars, sheltered beneath the trees and surrounded by wandering cows.

We slept together in a row of sleeping bags, a line of former strangers, now a sort of patchwork family. In the middle of the night, I heard all types of noises. Cows crunching sticks, Hebrew music blaring from the kibbutz and wait was that the baying hyenas? I felt fear from the tips of my fingers through to the bottom of my toes. A paralyzing fear. Hyenas! Why were we camping openly in this precarious spot? My friend next to me was awake, and we determined that we both terrified. He turned to Anna, whose eyes were wide with fear. All three of us clung to our fear. What should we do, could we run away, or stay and wait for the onslaught. We decided to wake up E, who is the more rational group member. We theorized that if he was not afraid, then we should also abandon our fear. Anna woke him up "Hey, are you afraid? "Of what." "Hyenas" "Hyenas, that's beautiful!" he exclaimed, Once he was fully awake, he was slightly angry with us but laughed at us until we were no longer scared. We joked about who would be eaten first and debated the dangers of city life versus the wild. If only there was magic button that would rescue us, exclaimed Uncle Avvie.

The next morning, four of us walked down the long winding road from the Kibbutz to the Junction. From there, our destination was Mount Tabor and food. Mount Tabor rises from a beautiful Arab village called Shibli, where all the front gardens were covered with date, fig and lemon trees and the sidewalk walls are covered with passion flower vines. We stumbled hot and weary into a sidewalk falafel bar where we could choose eight or more condiments for our sandwich. By far, it was the best falfel I have had so far in Israel and I have consumed a lot. After lunch, armored only with a handful of figs and water we started the hike upwards. Except we did not follow an established trail in the woods, only a long winding road, where car after car passed by us. The view was amazing as we climbed. There is a monastery at the top, where I promptly thrown out for indecent clothes (taboo bare shoulders). It was very touristy but at least we had the pleasure of the view along the way. On the way down we stopped for some homemade pizza, my first in years. We tried to char with the boys who served, but we must have exhausted their English, since they told us “English no more.” But I told them that their pizza was tayim. And life was good.

We hiked back to our camping spot. Earlier in the day, we had called our wise leader Nadav, who is a nature specialist, more or less. Anna called him up and asked "Nadav, what do you know about hyenas?" After a small debate about the noises we heard, we were told that we had only heard jackals and that they were more scared of us, then we are of them. That night we slept soundly.

The next morning, I had plans to head to Tel Aviv but then I fell out of a tree. It was terrifying, and at the sane time quite stupid. The fall hurt my back so I decided to just head back to the farm and restore my energy. It is Week Five and we still we talk of those fields of mangoes that we have yet to visit, even though their season must be past. Perhaps there is an abandoned pomegranate orchard waiting to be harvested.

A Walking Tour of Chava V'Adam Ecologit.

2009-10-03T03:46:00.000-07:00

In Hebrew, Chava refers both to Eve and to the farm. However it is more customary to state Adam V’ Chava in conversation, which places the male before the female. Thus, the farm is already revolutionary.

The farm is a small piece of land, located near the city of Modi’in. City of the future. Farm of the past. The farm rests on all principles of permaculture, which involves using all parts of the whole, sustainability, local resources and minimizing waste products. All the buildings were constructed by farm workers and volunteers slowly over the years.

The front gate is covered in passion fruit vines, which I vigorously shake every time I go by. Near the gate is a small store, constructed out of mud, which sells some produce and other local products. It is reminiscent of when the farm had a CSA but the farm does not contribute to the store. A few feet from the store is a large clay baked platform which houses the only oven on the farm. The oven rests on the principles of thermo-dynamics, as of yet I have not managed to build a lasting fire in it. It is huge and slightly unpredictable but it has so far it has baked challah bread for Shabbat dinner, pumpkin bread and apple cake.

On the lower part of the farm are also two workshops; weaving and clay making. When we have more free time, we will be allowed to play in them more. They are mainly used as children’s workshops. Although we did have a dream-catcher workshop in there earlier this week.

Across from the workshop buildings is large tree where we eat all our lunches on working days. We share our lunches with the younger Israeli volunteers, who we call the Sheen Sheneem and other farm workers. Since we are still in intensive class mode, the Eco Israelis come to lunch clean and slightly lethargic after our four hour class. The others tend to come covered in mud from working on the new distillery. Our classes have just ended; soon we will be just as dirty when lunch time comes around.

The Sheen Sheneem have their own separate lodgings, in a large mud house. The office, with internet access is attached to the building, so we are often in their space. Oh I almost forgot about the recycling center, which houses all types of remnants and where Anna found some sweet harem pants yesterday. It is usually too hot to go inside during the daytime for me and too dark at night. So far I have only scored some teva sandals, which I have been lugging all over Israel.

Also downstairs is the herbal room where we will later learn how to make tinctures, creams, mosquito repellant, (!) etc. Next to the herbal room, is the community pagoda, which is also covered in passie flora and we have had all our classes with our Permaculture Instructor, Yigal.

From here, we walk along an olive tree lined path up to our domes. Along the way, we may encounter three angry geese, which are penned in near the lemon trees (and one orange tree) or bump into the three hungry donkeys. We then walk up a small incline to reach domeville. Domeville includes eight domes, structurally sound buildings required by Masa to house Eco Israeli participants. There are a slew of tents for other volunteers with wooden floors and only a flap for an opening. We have our compost toilets, kamuvan, two vinyl enclosed showers, a kitchen where we prepare breakfast and dinner. There is an outdoor shower, which is a unique experience. It is protected by a large mud bench and a couple large trees. All the Eco’s love the outdoor shower and some have never used the indoor showers (which are outside). The only problem is that is plagued by wasps during the day.

There is our zula where we spend a large majority of our non-working time. It was only recently built by the last program batch. Our domes tend to be to be too hot during our midday break, so most of my naps happen here. There is also the big dome, which is a large tent with couches, bookshelf and table and we have only begun to use and the nights get colder and it is getting darker around 5:30 p.m.

We Embrace Dominators, Dome Run and Domer Simposon. Dome de dome, de dome....

2009-09-30T12:48:00.000-07:00

Week Two

Each day here is so long. We wake up around 6:00 p.m. and manage to fit so much into one day. Yesterday afternoon, I walked with a group of men from the program, our program leader to an old Arab cistern. It was a short walk to a very narrow hole. We had to lower ourselves below with careful footing and a rope. I was the second to venture down but I panicked at the confined opening. I tried once more and gingerly lowered myself below. It was so dark and cold and wonderful. A beautiful respite place from the hot sun. The cistern was large enough below to hold six or more people. Getting back out proved not so difficult and my fears were assuaged. I have since gone back only one more time but I hope to fit in more trips while the midday period is still scorching hot.

Next was partner yoga on top of the stage over the water tank. Stacking Functions. Once I overcame my trust issues, it was great and I got a deep stretch. Next we scrambled around to get to Tel Aviv. Anna and I left with two boys from our program. We were dropped off at a bus stop where we waited over an hour and half for a bus. After several bus passing us-were they full, ignoring us, should we flag them down! We did not know. All we knew is that we were somewhere on the side of the highway and we did not know how to walk back to the farm. So we splurged on a cab ride to Tel Aviv. Flat rate of course.

This was my urban trip in Israel, and thus a monumental one. We were overwhelmed and so hungry once we got there (10:00 at night or was it even later?) We checked into the first hostel we saw, even though we talked majestically of camping on the beach. We bought gelato and each it ravenously with our fingers and walked aimlessly from restaurant to restaurant. We found good falafel and a red lager and life was good. Then we walk along the shore, sipping our beers. The water was so warm, even at that time of night.

The rest of the night was a wild series of events. We played on the crazy exercise equipment that they place in busy sections of the city. They involve using your own weight as leverage which makes it more interesting. Pictures will follow soon. Next we stumbled upon a swanky nightclub with a view of the ocean where Anna was hit upon by a German who was outraged that her boyfriend is not Jewish. Outraged. We finished the night with a late night dip in the Mediterranean. The current was strong but the water was so wonderfully warm that I could not pull myself away.

That is a sum up of only day in Israel. It helps explain why it is hard to keep up with the blog. Not every day is so action filled, especially days only on the farm. Our daily scheduled consists of morning tea, chores or nature meditation which is then followed by a group breakfast. We then have class for about four hours with Yigal, our permaculture instructor. Next is group lunch under the big tree and then we got a break for a couple of hours. What happens next we never know: maybe it a group sharing circle, Jewish studies or working on our dome gardens. We have a group dinner later and later. In between all these times, there is a lot of music and laughter. Anna plays her violin, E plays his guitar, and maybe someone is playing a drum. Off in the distance, we can sometimes hear the Israeli flute player. Such is life on the farm thus far.

I Compost, You Compost, We All Compost Together

2009-09-28T08:33:00.000-07:00

I realize that I have not discussed the farm enough in detail. Our first official day on the farm, the Eco's met with Chaim to talk about the compost toilets. Since then every conversation revolves around them in some form. It really breaks down a lot of personal barriers.

I had some natural fears about using them before I came to the farm. There are about five compost toilets on the farm and two up near our domes. Some of them are made out of mud and straw and are beautifully decorated inside. The Eco toilets are less fancy, since the farm is not allowed to build any more permanent buildings. They are made out of vinyl and wood. They generally work like a normal toilet except there is no water. After each use, we dump a large handful of mulch into the bucket. It is amazing- there really is no smell. And we get to feel smug satisfaction about being so entrenched in this system. Once the buckets are full, we rotate them out and they sit for three months. After that, they are considered compost. However, the Israeli government does not allow the farm to use them on yerakot v perot. Instead we use it only on trees.

I am writing about the compost toilets first, since they embody the whole principle of the farm and permaculture. Nothing is wasted or no excess waste is created. It also strengthens our connection to the farm and local environment. It is such a small act and yet such a large one at the same time. When we go to Tel Aviv, flush toilets now inspire guilt instead of comfort.

Last week, I visited Anna's family in a Tel Aviv highrise building. Her cousin discussed at length the water problem in Israel. He told us about each family having a cap on water usage. Also each family will incur a heavy fee, if they exceed this cap. He finished with, "Well, what else can we do" I answered provocativey" "Compost Toilets." To which, he replied with a laugh, a weird face and immediately changed the subject. Yesterday, I took a shared sheroot from Afula (near where we were camping) to Tel Aviv. A Hasidic Jew from Great Britain sat next to me. Somehow, we got on an environmental conversation and he commented about how much water is wasted each time we flush. I told him excitedly about the compost toilets on the farm. It was such a random moment, but he was really into the conversation. The others on the sheroot, not so much. It was a moment that made me realize how easy it would be to make changes from flush to compost toilets. It is especially relevant in a country such as Israel where we are at the end of the dry season and the water problem is beyond clear.

I wax poetic about our first week...

2009-09-23T13:33:00.000-07:00

We have two small mattresses and a low wooden table, a ladder, which we use to hang our dresses. The domes have about 5 or more 6 circular windows to make use of the cross ventilation. Although they are insulated, they are burning hot during the day and frosty at night. Home, sweet dome.

On the first day, new participants popped in and out of the our room. Already it had a festival like atmosphere. We heard storied of tramping across Israel, apple picking and lost underwear along the way.

A word about the food so far. Food has become a more sacred affair and we practice a moment of silence before each meal. Every meal has been delicious with some misfire dishes along the way. Breakfast is usually fairly simple: toasted oats with raisins or apples, goat’s milk (if we are lucky) Turkish coffee, teas from our garden and perhaps something random like fried sweet potatoes. I have been eating peanut butter on bread with Ceylon (date honey. Lunch is shared with the entire farm under a large tree. Dinner is held near our domes, generally under our Zula, which was built by the last generation of eco participants.

Our first night the entire group left the farm and walked along the fence to a lone fig tree. This quick trip changed my view of the landscape. When I first arrived I thought it ugly and barren. Than landscape here does not overwhelm you, but is beauty has a starkness and a simplicity. Think ugly beauty.

Sept. 10

Today I woke up at 5:30 am. and taught a small yoga class. We practice on a large wooden platform while the farm comes alive. While stretching we hear the donkeys braying, a rooster squawking and most importantly we watch the sun slowly rise before us. Sometimes the farm dogs come on stage and do a downward dog stretch next to us (one time but it funny).

On this day, we were still participating in group bonding exercises. We hiked towards Petya Modi’in where our teacher Nadav showed us the map of Israel on E’s body. We tasted our first sabra fruit off the cactus and we learned how to pluck them without getting hurt.

I wrote this journal entry form my front porch. I never get tired of the view. I get to incorporate sentences into my vocabulary like: “Today I showered outdoors beneath a pine tree, while someone was serenading me from the zula. Today I journaled from my porch while like looking at craggy hills. And most importantly today I learned tahina can be eaten with any meal, any dish.”

9-12

Last night celebrated Shabbat dinner as a group. First we discussed the menu at length on Thursday. I lost track of the number of dishes. Friday morning was late start (7:00!) Anna and I scrambled to make breakfast which was fairly informal. Afterwards we scattered to prepare for dinner. I harvested basil for the pesto. Then I went to a challah workshop. There were some negotiations , a lack of eggs and much scrambling around. I helped prepare the dough while some people sang and played on their guitars. I was reminded of the book/movie "Like Water for Chocolate" Oh what a happy challah it will grow up to be.

It was my first time participating in a Shabbat dinner preparation. Our group had fun with it, since everything was still so new to us and overall cooperation was easy. For me, the meal was special. It was held in large dome in order to accomodate 20 or more people. Something about it being held in a ten where I could watch the sun set on the craggy landscape, the rituals really came alive.

While everyone was singing, I was watching their faces. There was such a range of emotions from bored to complete apathy to exaltation and joy. I wonder what my expression betrayed to the group as I held scraps of Hebrew songs; curiosity, confusion and then maybe a hint of understanding. The significance of it and some of the singing was beautiful. For the first time I learned why the Shabbat dinner is referred to in the feminine. Our permaculture teacher shared a story of the myth of creation: there are 6 days of masculine driven energy where we work and then one day of feminine energy where we relax.

After dinner, a group of gathered on the zula where we shared drunken storied. So much laughter. Such a funny group.

Got through the first week. Much more to come on the actual farm itself.

Grow, Plant Poop: The Story of the Jews of Domeville

2009-09-23T03:34:00.000-07:00

Today marks two weeks into my journey in Israel. So much has happened within this time period, which makes me wish that I started the chronicling of this journey earlier. However, this two week space can also function as time of processing and reflection. Yesterday was my birthday so today can symbolize a new beginning.

Let’s start at the beginning. There were two girls from different backgrounds who met at work. One day, Anna shared her intention to visit Israel for five months and work on an organic farm. The details were fuzzy at best. I was at a transitional phase in my life, so I immediately jumped at the opportunity for an extended adventure.

I had studied food policies, both international and domestic at Tufts University but I had not focused on agriculture. I saw this opportunity two ways. One, to obtain a background in agriculture (which may complete my studies-but also take me in a different direction) and to explore my Jewish side. For me there was conflict with both areas. I have strong political opinions about the state of Israel and I was concerned about the nature of my visit, specifically where it aligned me politically.

I will say this much. There have been many times in my life where I have been unsure of my actions, where I have hemmed and hawed, where I have stumbled down a fear based path. My graduate studies comes to mind. The Eco-Israel program is the sole time where I did not prevaricate. I knew from the beginning that I wanted to go down this path, even though I had only a vague sense of what lay before me.

Anna and I met up at the Tel Aviv airport at 5:00 a.m. on September 8th. When I got through customs I was so relieved and wired, relying on some unknown source of energy, which was highly unsustainable. When we arrived at the farm, the official program staff were not on site yet. We were greeted by two Australians who were former Eco participants. I am so drugged with lack of sleep that I had no idea who they were. Anna and I sat on a swing in a low mud structure while we munched on granola and fruit. It was a singular moment which characterized the whole of my experiences thus far. All the previous stress and hectic planning seemed so remote in this environment (and alien). But I had gone through all those previous stressful moments to come to this one moment of bliss. A moment of sweetness and a promise of beginnings.

The first day was a blur of sleeping and meeting new participants one by one as they trudged in, dazed and overwhelmed by the farm. There are nine of, formerly ten but one left early to pursue other interests but hopes to remain connected to the farm and our lessons here. We live in about 8 wooden domes, which resemble yurts. They are simple in their inside beauty. On the outside they rise awkwardly like octagonal white structures on the landscape. They are surprisingly larger that I expected. They were sparsely decorated with tapestries and dried herbs. We have two small mattresses and a low wooden table...

Blog interrupted for a class on Yom Kippur. Shalom.