tree hugging in the arava August 06, 2007 |
This past weekend marked a very important milestone -- I hugged my first tree.
Before you all panic and think I have become a tree hugging feral hippy, I should perhaps elucidate my story somewhat.
Last weekend, my friend Eloise, who is visiting Israel for the first time from Australia and I went to stay with my dear friend Yonatan who lives on kibbutz Ketura in the Arava desert, about 50 kilometres north of Eilat.
We left Jerusalem, along with half the city making their weekend-away trek to destinations all over the country, on a hot and humid Thursday afternoon. The journey, by bus, takes about four hours with a brief stop along the way for that all-important toilet pit-stop and coffee refill. As we got off the bus to stretch our legs, we were hit by a blast of hot, dry desert air, easily 35 degrees even though it was after 8pm at night.
We arrived at the kibbutz sometime after 9pm and after a short walk to Yonatan's house, we were exhilarated to walk into an air conditioned paradise.
Yonatan lives in a small, but well-proportioned open-plan house. While not what people would call "flash", his warm and hamishe (as my mother would say) home has all the comforts one could ask for. The three of us yakked away until the wee hours before eventually falling asleep like three kids at a slumber party.
Just a few hours later, although in kibbutz-language this was equivalent to a serious and indulgent sleep-in, one of the local kibbutz children knocked on Yonatan's door, but when no one opened up, the ingenious little tike decided to try the back door instead. Clever kid. I vaguely recall opening one eyelid and seeing a gorgeous little boy in a bright red t-shirt asking Yoni, as he called him, to help him with something. Exactly what, my brain wasn't quite up to par to comprehend.
Somehow we all managed to drift off into la la land once more and only woke up sometime around 11am. Bliss...
When we eventually left the house for lunch in the communal dining hall (chadar ochel), it was by far the hottest part of the day. With my combination of Polish and Scottish/English genes (interesting combination, I know) I quickly realised that I was not really designed for such a harsh environment. I found myself almost able to gulp heavy chunks of hot air that even managed to drain my eyeballs of fluid.
Meals on the kibbutz were a loud, somewhat frenetic affair, crowded with people who both lived and volunteered on the kibbutz. There were also a large group of teenagers visiting from Canada. The atmosphere was full of joyous energy, warmth of spirit and enthusiastic eating.
After lunch, the three of us decided to head back to the house for a bit of a siesta. After all, it had been a hard day so far! Later in the afternoon when the sun was slightly less harsh, although the temperature, in my mind at least, had not really dropped, we walked over to the pool for a refreshing dip. As I floated in the cool water, I looked around me at the breathtaking scenery. Talk about a literal oasis in the desert.
We headed back to Yonatan's in order to get ready for Shabbat. The community at Ketura is truly pluralistic, with warm and inclusive lay led services in the local synagogue, followed by a lovely Shabbat meal in the chadar ochel.
The three of us went for a walk around the kibbutz to walk off dinner and eventually came across a beautiful baobab tree. Baobabs are known for their extremely wide trunks, which store literally thousands of litres of water in order to survive the harsh drought conditions of the region.
People might remember in Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's story The Little Prince, the Little Prince was worried that baobabs (described as "trees as big as churches") would grow on his small asteroid, take up all the space and even cause it to explode. There's something ancient, regal and even a little sad about this disproportionate-looking tree, and when Eloise declared that we should all join hands in a group tree hug, I soon found myself tightly grasping my friends' hands as we created a unbroken chain around the big grandfatherly tree.
If there was one place on earth that people wouldn't blink twice at a stumbling across a trio hugging a tree in the dark, I think it would be kibbutz Ketura.
As much as I could go on and on about the stark beauty of the place, it does not begin to compare to the beauty of the people who live within it.
I cannot recall a time when so many strangers offered such warm smiles, such genuine hospitality and opened their homes to me.
People are often cynical about the kibbutz movement, which is sadly slowly dying a death in many parts of Israel, so it was utterly refreshing to see that in Ketura, the original socialistic kibbutz dream is alive and well. It was beautiful to see children actually being children, running around carefree, blissfully unaware of the congested and polluted concrete jungles most children grow up in (myself included). I can't think of a better place to bring up kids.
Kibbutz Ketura has also recently taken in two refugee families from Darfur. I saw one of the families in the dining hall for Friday night dinner and part of me wanted to cry. It may only be two small families, but those families would have most certainly been facing an otherwise unpredictable, if not incredibly precarious future had the people of Ketura not opened up their hearts to these people who have experienced the kind of horror we can only imagine in our worst nightmares.
We spent Shabbat morning enjoying a lazy brunch at Yonatan's who cooked up a mean omelette. His neighbour Randy also dropped by to join us, bringing with her a bowl of freshly sliced mango chilled over ice cubes and a jar of delicious homemade jam which had been made by another local kibbutznik.
If you are really, really blessed, you might be lucky enough to meet a Randy in your lifetime. Randy is one of those rare human beings who make you really love life. Not so long ago, she was diagnosed with an extremely aggressive form of cancer that should have killed her in a pretty short space of time. It didn't.
This incredibly brave woman who proudly shows off her bald head and refuses to feel sorry for herself - or allow others to feel pity for her for that matter - inspired me with her lust for life and unquenching desire to live each day with meaning and purpose.
As the sun set on the desert, and the Sabbath bride left us for another week, I prepared to make the inevitable journey back home to Jerusalem. As much as I love living in the Holy City, there is something about the desert landscape that makes my heart both sing with joy and ache with such a pain I cannot fathom where it comes from. It is even hard to articulate exactly what it is that I mean.
It’s as if what I see around me is as familiar as my own body. The land speaks to my soul like some ancient language that doesn’t need translating. I breathe in deeply and fill my lungs with the clean, crisp hot air. Sometimes I feel like I can inhale indefinitely here.
I hugged Yonatan goodbye and boarded the bus back to Jerusalem. Despite the cool comfort of the air conditioning, I smiled to myself as I could still feel the heat emanating from my slightly sunburnt shoulders. It was worth the discomfort, I thought to myself. At least for a couple of days, until the redness faded, I could carry the joyous weekend spent at kibbutz Ketura around with me. It was even worth the 3,000 new freckles I developed.
