by Edeet Ravel
15. The beautifully produced edition was Italian, with illustrations by Libico Maraja (1912–1983). The text had been translated into Hebrew, but Naftali paraphrased and toned down the story.
16. The reference is to a general assembly (in Hebrew, sih.a, the common term for “conversation”). At one time pivotal to the functioning of the commune, these weekly meetings were initially governed by only rudimentary rules of order and had no quorum requirements. The kibbutz Secretary served as chair; when the presiding Secretary’s tenure was up, the nomination committee approached members who were considered desirable. Candidates, if there were more than one, were presented at the Meeting and often listed reasons they did not think they’d be suitable; the most reluctant candidates were usually the ones chosen. The system is much more variable today,* but according to Nissim, the one topic everyone still votes on is membership: whom to accept for a trial period, who has passed the trial period, who must leave.
Committees (a kibbutz of four hundred members may have as many as thirty committees) have always handled specific issues as they arose; members who are not happy with the committee’s decision, or committees who do not feel they are up to dealing with a given situation, can ask the Secretary to bring the matter to the meeting. In the early days, meetings were frequently stormy, but as the years passed the emphasis moved from ideology to efficiency.
* Sorry it’s taken me so long to answer. My role as Secretary means I’m up to my ears in work.
Regarding your question: even on the most privatized kibbutzim there is still a sih.a at least three or four times a year because the kibbutz is a collective and there are decisions which for legal reasons must be reached at a members’ meeting. The alternative to the sih.a is different on different kibbutzim—some have a “council” of 30 members who reach decisions on collective issues; others continue to grant the main committees (Economic and Social Secretariat) the role of acting managers; and yet others allow the people who hold the positions to make decisions on their own.
At our kibbutz we have a sih.a about once a month and 30 out of 300 members show up. There is no voting during the sih.a, the voting is by a ballot box which is placed in the Dining Hall on the Friday and the Sunday after the meeting. At Galron, for example, the issues are divided into the type that are voted on during the meeting by a show of hands; those that take place during the meeting but by a ballot box in the Dining Hall; and those that are voted on by open ballot in the days following the meeting. In short, the kibbutzim are struggling with direct democracy.
All the best,
Rakefet
17. In biblical poetry, the inflected dodi means “my beloved” (see Song of Songs, 2:8). In general use, however, dod is “uncle” and dodi is “my uncle.” Naftali’s use of doda (“aunt” in ordinary usage, but borrowed here from the poem) as a pet-name is idiosyncratic. I did find a blog, however, in which an Israeli woman recalled that doda was a common pet-name among her fellow conscripts when she was in training.
18. Interview with a founder, from Snarey (1982–1983), “The Social and Moral Development of Kibbutz Founders and Sabras: A Longitudinal and Cross-sectional Cross-cultural Study,” Doctoral dissertation, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA (Gut-mann Library No. Sn19; Pusey Library No. HU90.11684.50), 224.
19. The Hebrew word for gizzards is kurkevan, but in colloquial Modern Hebrew the word is more commonly used to refer to bellybuttons. Because of this linguistic overlap, Dori thinks the cooked gizzards from the Kitchen are bovine navels. This may be a widespread misconception among Israeli children, especially since the Modern Hebrew slang for “bellybutton,” pupik (from Yiddish), is also used to refer to the dish.
20. Eldar members took turns patrolling the border of the settlement; all were trained to use a rifle, though the ability to aim of many members was uncertain. The Night Guard was a second guard who was stationed at the Infants’ House and who checked on the Children’s Houses at regular intervals. Night Guards at Eldar were equipped with a walkie-talkie connected to loudspeakers inside the Houses. At times, if a baby was sick or a parent insisted, the roster manager assigned Night Guard duty to the parent concerned, but as a rule, assignations were arranged in accordance with kibbutz principles.
21.
Novelist55:
Did anyone on yr kibbutz call their parents by
their first names?
Nissim73:
No.
Novelist55:
My brother told me they tried in the begin-
ning to get the kids to use first names, at least
on Shomer kibbutzim. But the kids switched
to abba [father/dad] and ima [mother/mom]
as soon as they understood what the words
meant. So the parents stopped trying. In my
brother’s group everyone switched except him.
He only switched once he got to Canada.
Nissim73:
Do you have an eBay account by any chance?
22. The line was changed for the sake of rhyme; a literal rendition would read: “We struck him/And he began to cry.” This once-popular street song was sung to the tune of the “Mexican Hat Dance.” Contributors to internet chat rooms recall several versions; in some it is “Moishe” or “Yankele” who either gets hit or eats ice cream/an egg/an omelette. In other versions, after “Abdallah” receives the blows, he is taken to a National Health Clinic, where his underpants are removed. Eldar children would have picked up the racist version from visiting children, Combat Pioneer soldiers posted at Eldar, Israeli volunteers, and/or resident city children.
23. “Hallah” is a biblical word (see Ezekiel 43:27), meaning “onwards” or “further”; it may originate from the interjection HA-LA-AH. In Arabic, the highly idiomatic Yallah, which probably evolved from Ya-Allah (O God), has by coincidence (?) a similar meaning: “let’s go,” “get a move on,” “hurry up.” Modern Hebrew has adopted the Arabic idiom and expanded its usage.
24. Tiger, Tiger Burning Bright by Paul Burlin (1886–1969).
25. Landscape with Garage Lights by Stuart Davis (1894–1964).
26. Guerrillas by Joseph Hirsch (1910–1981).
27.
28. Dori is unfamiliar with the Hebrew for “prophet” (ha-navi) and confuses it with the word for “grapes” (anavim).
29. In 1961 an unusually cold and rainy winter led to shortages of vegetable crops.
30. In Modern Hebrew, the word zona is equivalent to “whore” (in biblical Hebrew the word is closer in nuance to “harlot”). According to Hebrew’s usual gender markers, the masculine of zona would be zoneh; the masculine form, however, does not exist.
31. Camp Bilu’im, a Young Judea camp for older teenagers, was named after the small Zionist movement BILU (a Hebrew acronym based on Isaiah 2:5—House of Jacob, let us go) which was founded in Russia in 1882 in response to a wave of pogroms. In colloquial Modern Hebrew bilu’im refers to enjoyable activities (derived from Job 21:13). The homonymic overlap is coincidental.
32. Dori’s account is translated from Hebrew. Since Hebrew has fewer words than English, one term often serves many purposes, and words which seem advanced for a young child (unfortunately, symbol, longing) are everyday words in Hebrew. When Dori switches to English, the text is printed in an alternative font.
33. For the banned rendition, see www.youtube.com/watch?v= d43h6tJlgUY.
34. Dimitri, just back from reserve duty, recalls:
I first heard about Petra when the army sent me to guard an archaeological expedition, but I didn’t think of going there until I heard about Meir’s trip. We considered Meir a demigod, we followed his every thought; if Meir could go, why couldn’t we?
The trip to Petra was only one of the plans floating around back then. For example, there was a plan to go to Mecca. They wanted me to join, but it was cancelled for a thousand reasons. We decided to go to Petra. We wanted to know what people are like there. Nabataean sand. Castles. It aroused our curiosity. And also the da
nger, to prove something about ourselves—the fighters of the 890 [Paratroopers Brigade]. Our military service wasn’t dangerous enough, it wasn’t life-threatening.
I met Dror, may he rest in peace, in the army. He was a guy with ambition. A good friend. Loyal. One of those healthy, well-built types, walked tall. Back then there were no jeeps. Patrols went out on foot for days, weeks, months. One day we were patrolling in the Judean desert, in the evening, and we sat next to the Cave of Horror [where Jews are believed to have taken refuge in the war against the Romans in 133–135 CE], we lit a bonfire, drank coffee, and Meir told us about Petra.
Later, when Dror and I were patrolling together in Jenin, we began to talk about the Red Rock again. On the way back we had to submit a report to the Northern Command. As it happened, there was a 1:1000-scale map lying around. Dror and I nicked it, and we began planning our trip.
I don’t remember exactly when we left, but it was around Passover 1956. I didn’t know who had gone before us, but I did know we were following in the tracks of a man and a woman.
We went out at dusk and walked all night. We came across a Bedouin tent and we bypassed it. In the morning we got to Petra. When we saw it, our eyes widened. We’d heard about it but we never imagined this.
We continued as far as we could, walking a few dozen metres behind a group of hikers. A guide was telling them about the history of the city in English. I don’t speak English but Dror understood. We took what photos we could and saw what we could. We didn’t get too close; in any case, we were in uniform. Uniform and Australian hats. I had the camera. The pictures didn’t come out that well, we weren’t great photographers. Today the photos are all over the place—Davidi [Gen. Aharon Davidi, then Paratrooper Commander] has some, and Arik [Ariel] Sharon, and other people.
We walked until 3:00 in the afternoon and then we headed back. When we got to the mountain of Ras al Naqab, we saw an eight-man patrol approaching. They were about fifty metres away and didn’t notice us.
We hid near a ditch. When they reached the path, they saw that the footprints in the sand suddenly vanished. They began to look for us and when they found us they opened fire from both sides. We killed two of them and even took loot— a small knife, an English rifle, binoculars and other things.
We had an Uzi and a Czech rifle. When they began shooting, we had to return fire. I fired first and Dror covered me. I was wounded in my hand and leg. Then I covered Dror, and he was shot in the head and died on the spot. I went over to him, took his compass, the maps, and the Uzi. Bullets were flying all around me, they hit my canteen, my grenade carrier, my hat. I tried to run. I ran along the path. I felt the blood dripping; I saw blood stains. I bandaged the wound on my hand.
Next to the path there was a ravine. I had no choice. I jumped four metres and sprained my ankle. I hid in the ravine. I had to wait for hours, until dark. They continued to look for me until nightfall.
At night I climbed out and headed back towards Petra. I skirted it and returned not by the path that we came on but through Wadi Musa [lit. Valley of Moses, then a tiny village, today a small tourist town].
I walked slowly, leaning on the barrel of the rifle. All night I walked. On the patrol path I came across a smuggler on a camel. He shot at me and I shot at him. I only wanted to take his camel and ride it back but I missed him.
Before we left, we’d arranged with friends that they would wait for us near the memorial. The signal was three shots on either side. I saw them in the distance. They were sitting on the memorial. I didn’t know whether they would recognize me. I was wearing an undershirt on my head. We’d been two and I was now alone. I fired three shots and they responded. Suddenly I realized I didn’t have any bullets left. But they saw through their binoculars that it was me and they sent two people to help me.
They bandaged me, gave me water, and sent me to the hospital. On the radio it was announced that two had died on the way to Petra, then things were clarified. When I got better, I had to stand trial, but I was acquitted. In return I had to complete an officers’ training course. That was an order from Arik Sharon—he would try to get me off and in exchange I had to take a course.
The trial was a long story. Meir Har Tziyon came to testify and Aharon Davidi and Arik Sharon. They testified on my behalf, saying that patrols often go to distant areas. After that Dror’s parents sued me, how come he was killed and not me, how come I was acquitted. But I wasn’t found guilty in the civil suit either.
A few months after this, when others were killed going to Petra, it wasn’t because of anything I said. I didn’t give anyone directions or anything like that.
But after they were killed I was discharged from the army.
They simply sent me home.
I feel at one with myself regarding my trip to Petra. Though of course it does weigh a little on my conscience. But it was Dror’s idea too. It was equal, both of us. I didn’t force him to go, he went of his own free will. But all the same it weighed on me quite a lot. And I was kicked out of the army.
—Interview for Ma’ariv, 1971
35. The fifty-page dual-language Haggada was typed painstakingly over a period of several weeks and printed on a mimeograph machine. A neighbouring kibbutz helped with the Hebrew typing and translation. From the Haggada:
How is this night different from all other nights?
That on this night we, Jewish youth from America, celebrate Passover in Eldar in the Galilee.
That we have the night [Hebrew version: right] to celebrate our holiday in a conquered Arab village? [Hebrew: no question mark]
That we prophesy about our future.
Why are we celebrating our holiday in an Arab village?
One year ago, the fields we tend today were tended by others. And when we came, the desolation of their lives cried out to us through the ruins they left behind. Cried to us and reached our hearts, coloured our everyday lives. One day they were here and the next they were gone. Victims of war. So we search for justification for the right to be here.
It isn’t difficult to imagine how life must have been. Here a slipper, there a mirror, here a sack of grain, there a family portrait, a broken toy, a student’s English textbook.
Daily I walk the familiar paths
With open eyes that see not
Not only bitter but rank
Is our once-hallowed ground
And blood too stains our hands
Who said “might is right”
And “our cause is just”?
Babies’ shoes need no explaining
A civilization gone in one blow
To dream perhaps will heal the wounds
And so with shame seeing nought
We go on building.
What gives us the right to reap the fruit of trees we have not planted? On what moral grounds shall we stand when we take ourselves to court?
Because we have taken upon ourselves the task of Pioneers and because Pioneering is more than the romantic notion of coming to a clean, untouched land and planting one’s own clean, fresh seeds. Because building a homeland requires more than physical sacrifice, dirty hands and a bent back—it requires a spiritual struggle and a spiritual sacrifice. Because we must learn to translate our final ideology into the reality of a nation’s fight for existence, and if that reality should require the accomplishments of tasks which are painful to us, all the more will it strengthen us. And only we can camp on the borders.
Because once a Jewish community stood here and a Jewish community will again arise. (Indeed can it be said that Eldar itself belongs to any one nation throughout the ages of men’s existence?) For those who died in the concentration camps and the battles bequeath to us our life here.
Let the nation remember those who were cut down in Exile and did not live to see the glory of Israel—
Let the nation remember the brave sons who fell among the ghetto walls—
Let the nation remember the sons and daughters who died on the cruel waves and thorny roads o
n the way to their homeland—
Let the nation remember the best of its children, strong of heart and pure of vision, who bore arms in defence of the life of Israel, its independence and its freedom.
36. In the 1967 diary I recount a small sequel to these events:
In the middle of my nap, I heard someone walking around. I opened my eyes and sat up in bed.
Elan, I said. Shoshana untied you?
Oh yes, he answered, a long time ago.
Probably a guilty conscience.
37. From the memoirs of Yehuda Polani, quoted in Yuval Dror, The History of Kibbutz Education.
38. The image originated in an illustration of mythological figures in Ancient Greece.
39. This would be the Chubby Checkers version, currently available on YouTube.
40. The Hebrew for “horse” is sus.
41. Hebrew for cyclamen.
42. Anokhi is a biblical term for the first person pronoun “I”; it is obsolete in Modern Hebrew, other than in poetry. For the painting Dori associates with Anokhi see The Wanderer by George Grosz (1893–1959). The original hangs at the University of Rochester Memorial Art Gallery.