DAY 6

At long last we reached Kibbutz Kefar Ha-Choresh (Village in the Woods), and were met by the sister of one of our professors. Herself a resident, she spoke with us about the history of her kibbutz and kibbutzim in general. Kibbutz Kefar Ha-Choresh was established in the 1930's by a group of young zionists. During the War of Independance they lived in bunkers for two years, but their community was added to and rejeuvenated by Holocaust survivors (mostly from Budapest) who came after World War II. Kibbutzim face a myriad of problems today as they struggle for their survival and identity in a rapidly changing nation: lower entrance rates, evolving morals and morale, and an erosion of the communal spirit upon which the kibbutzim were founded. Despite these difficulties, our experiences of life at Kefar Ha-Choresh were shaped and enriched by the dedication and graciousness of our hosts.

Tuesday, 12 January

After breakfast we bid a fond farewell to the Mount Zion Hotel and packed up the bus, which seemed to be suffering from the same syndrome as our suitcases-- as time progressed it got harder and harder to stuff everything in. We drove a littel until we reached our destination: a TALI elementary school in one of Jerusalem's suburbs.

After my roommate Betty and I had dropped our bags off in our room (a lovely blue and white cabin with two beds, wicker chairs and a dresser, a bathroom, kitchenette and TV), I went outside. Earlier, there had been rifle shots and fireworks to mark the end of another day of Ramadan. Later I had heard the sound of Israeli music; now the sweet, slow notes of a jazz composition filtered through an open window. I sat under the night sky, looking up at the stars, smoking a cigarette. Despite Father Greg's best efforts at instruction earlier that evening, Orion's Belt was still the only constellation I could recognize.

There are two tracks in the Israeli education system: religious and secular. Within the secular schools, however, if the students' parents are in agreement, they may choose a certain specialization. TALI schools are schools in which parents have decided that their children should learn more about Judaism. These schools enjoy the strong support of the conservative movement in America.

We arrived to find the doors of the school building locked (a security precaution taken after a terrorist attempt in the 1970's), but were soon greeted and shown into a faculty room. The principal, a very professional and gracious woman, described the school for us as community based, autonomous, focused on integrating students with special needs, and dedicated to enriching students' understanding of Judaism. The specialization in Judaism evolved from students' dialogue with Arab children in neighboring villages, children in the Orthodox population, and children in the diaspora. From these efforts at communication, the students were confronted with peers who seemed to know a great deal about their respective faiths, but found that they themselves were unable to answer many of the questions put to them. The focus on Judaism arose out of the need to educate students about their own faith so that they can make informed decisions about themselves as well as enter into dialogue with students from other traditions.

After an enjoyable and informative visit, we departed the TALI school and drove to a lookout point where we could view Jerusalem from the south (Mount Scopus had been from the north, and the Mount of Olives from the east). To the far right rose the mountains of Moab; straight ahead lay the Mount of Olives and the Kidron Valley. Boarding the bus again, we drove northwest past the Valley of the Cross, so named because pious tradition holds that the Cross of Jesus was made from trees in this valley which now houses a monastery. We eventually passed the Supreme Court, and driving further, left behind us the city of Jerusalem.

Continuing on our way, we passed the village of Abu Gosh, which was built by Crusaders on the traditional site of Emmaus. Many of its modern citizens being employed as tax collectors, they found themselves less than popular with their own people, and thus Abu Gosh bears the distinciton of being the only Arab village to be loyal to Israel during the War of Independance.

After stopping at a kibbutz for lunch, we drove along the Mediterranean coast on a road which, during the war, was used to run water and medical supplies to Jerusalem until a wadi which could be used as an alternative route was discovered. At intervals along the way we saw rusting and abandoned army vehicles. Once manned by soldiers (Yitzhak Rabin among them), they now stand as silent memorials to the many runners who never reached their destination.

Passing rows of cypress trees planted as wind breakers, we finally arrived at Neot Kedumim. Situated in the lowlands in the Modiin region where the Maccabees were born, it is a place of gently rolling hills and valleys grown thick with olive and sycamore trees. Neot Kedumim is a biblical garden--its 625 acres are filled with the plants and herbs found in Scripture. We met our guide and began a tour which pointed out many of the trees and types of plants with whose names we are so familiar, yet had never actually seen. Some of the trees and plants had signs in front of them with Scripture quotes or Hebrew proverbs. One of them, to my great amusement, bore the phrase "There are three kinds of virgins: a virgin woman, virgin soil, and a virgin sycamore."

Among the plants we saw was a wild blackberry bush, which tradition says is the burning bush from which God spoke to Moses, and the jujube. Most likely used for the crown of thorns, jujube is mentioned in Jotham's parable in the book of Judges to symbolize a mock king because, due to its extensive root system, nothing can grow in its shade.

Reaching the threshing floor, or goran, our guide explained that farmers spent six months of the year here, as fully half of their diet was composed of bread made from either wheat or barley. Since barley is harvested at Passover, the farm owner would clean the threshing floor and prepare a month beforehand. When the barley had been harvested, it was brought to the floor and threshed by oxen (substituted by Elaine for our demonstration) dragging a sledge to break up the sheaths. Winnowing was then done with a pitchfork, the barley being tossed up in the air so the chaff could blow away and the seeds fall to the ground. The seeds could then be collected and seived with varying degrees of fineness; women traditionally spent over three hours every morning grinding the seeds into flour.

Continuing with our tour we saw and learned about almond trees, associated with divinity in biblical imagery because it is the first tree to bloom-- first flowers appear, then leaves, and last the fruit. In the Bible, Aaron's staff blooms overnight as a sign of his election by God to the priesthood, and Jeremiah, a mere youth when called by God to be His prophet, sees the branch of an almond tree to remind us that although he was young, it is God who hastens the bloom. Accordingly, the menorah has four almond shaped calyxes with knobs and flowers.

It is said that when Sarah was ready to give birth, her face shone "like an olive". What might seem to be an odd phrase suddenly became amazingly clear as we saw for the first time that on the back of olive leaves there are silvery fibres, so that when the leaves are turned a certain way the whole tree shimmers.

The oil from olives was used for medicine, anointing kings and priests, light, and perfume (Esther sat in scented olive oil for six months!). Olives are first pressed, the pressing floor leading down into a resevoir used as a collecting vat. The word "meshuach", or "messiah", means "he who is anointed with oil"; the emblem of Israel is a menorah flanked by two olive shoots over the words "Not by might and not by strength, but by My Spirit."

Walking further we passed by some myrtle bushes, a fragrant plant used to symbolize joy and prosperity, and hyssop. Hyssop is really wild oregano, and is thought of as a "lowly plant" symbolic of humility. Its absorbant leaves were used to sprinkle the blood of the sacrificial lamb on the doorposts of the Israelites' houses, and it was with hyssop soaked in wine that the soldiers reached up to wet Jesus' lips as He hung on the Cross. Its delicate white flowers brought to life the words of the psalmist: "Cleanse me with hyssop and I shall be clean; wash me and I shall be whiter than snow."

Our path led us to a rocky shelter where we sat looking out over the Dale of the Song of Songs, a valley filled with the plants and flowers mentioned in that book of sacred poetry. Neot Kedumim is situated in the ancient Via Maris between Mesopotamia and Egypt, right at the southwestern end of the fertile crescent. In the distance we saw the skyline of Tel Aviv; from where we sat the sound of Israeli gunfire as the troops practiced shooting mingled with the azam calling Moslems to prayer. The midrashic verse posted there proclaimed: "The Book and the sword came down intertwined from heaven."

Neot Kedumim, looking out over the Dale of the Song of Songs

Leaving the shelter, we walked along until we came to a sycamore tree. These trees are associated with the prophet Amos, who was a "dresser of sycamores," and in the gospels the fact that Zaccheus climbs one serves as a foreshadowing of his salvation--though the sycamore tree itself may die, it rejeuvenates when it senses water, and its boughs grow back quickly when cut.

Our last stop at Neot Kedumim was a re-creation of an ancient cistern. Built on the side of a hill so that rain rushing down can be easily collected, water is channeled into a bell-shaped reseviour. When empty, cisterns were sometimes used as prisons-- as Joseph of amazing technicolor dreamcoat fame can tell you.

After our departure from Neot Kedumim, we travelled along the main highway to Tel Aviv and then took the road to Haifa, exiting around Caesarea to head east towards Afula and then, finally, on to the kibbutz which would be our home for the next few days. Along the way we passed rows of orange trees, vineyards, and lines of cypress; at intervals the rocky ground gave way to sand and a glimpse of the Mediterranean Sea. Happily, our weather was mild, but one of our professors told me about a type of wind called "hamseen", from "hamsa" which is Arabic for "five", so named because it lasts for five days. Beofre the advent of modern conveniences like air-conditioning, announcements would come via rafio to warn of the approach of this amazingly strong, hot, dry wind, advising women to throw buckets of water on the ground to create some moisture in the air.

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