The People

There are two things in the Arava that have inspired the very deep relationship I have cultivated with this place: the people and the land. I have created strong friendships which continue to develop and have established meaningful bonds with some amazing people from all walks of life. These include (among others) Orit and Ido – who make awesome lunches and have a washing machine that works, Peter and Reuvat – who add a whole new dimension to the concept of ‘hachnasat orchim’ (the mitzvah of having guests over in one’s home), Naomi – who makes great hot drinks and is always interested in what’s going on in my life, Hagit – who stated explicitly from the outset that I should be Israeli and not wait patiently for an invitation to come over and Ofrit K – who is so enthusiastic about Ashira’s impending arrival (as are her twin girls, who Ashira met three years ago and has remained in touch with).

One of the aspects missing for me in the Arava has always been religion. This place is not exactly overflowing with Torah-observant people; in fact, around here I am regarded as somewhat of a religious phenomenon. (Gotta love it!) That is to say that people don’t really know where to place me on the spectrum of Jewish observance. So what a wonderful surprise it was for me to discover that there is a group of five religious families who have come to live in the Arava. I have already met some of them at school and at the home of Nadav (a colleague from work) and his wife Hadas and it has certainly made me more at ease, especially regarding spending Shabbat in the Arava.

And so it happened that this past weekend, the abysmal weather in this country prevented me from travelling up to Gush Etzion last Thursday afternoon. The area was covered in snow and as a result, many of the roads were closed. I was bitterly disappointed and immediately needed to put into place a plan B for Shabbat. Enter Harav Bloi and his wonderful wife Chani who - as you would expect in the middle of the back of beyond (loosely translated into South African as ‘the boendoe’) – run a Chabbad House situated on Sapir (the settlement which houses the Shittim School where I work). I met Chani three years ago at the Shittim primary school where she works as the school councillor. She and her husband were the only religious people I came into contact with in the area when I was on the teacher exchange progarm. 

I ate Friday night dinner and Shabbat lunch with the Bloi's and was made to feel extremely welcome in their home. They have ten children, all of whom were at home on the weekend, although three of them study away from the Arava during the week. I was exposed to many interesting and thought-provoking insights about parashat Shmot which was discussed in detail as many of the children shared what they had learnt by Skype during the week. Yes, that’s right. They are educated through a distance education system set up by Chabad for those families living in remote countries/areas who don’t have access to regular Chabad schools. Quite amazing!

The first time I came to the Arava, an area so remote and cut off from mainstream city life in Israel, there was no supermarket. During one of my visits two years later, a large, functional supermarket had been built on Moshav Ein Yahav.

The first time I came to the Arava, there were no religious people in this area other than the rabbi and his family. Three years later, there are an additional five families living happily in what is ostensibly an extremely secular community.  Wonders never cease! I have a place; I feel at home.

Twinning Ceremony at the Acacia School

Bet Sefer Shittim (the Acacia School) in the Central Arava region is the local school for the children in the region. It consists of both a primary and secondary school and I am privileged to be able to work as an English teacher in both.

In the secondary school, I have been warmly accepted as a member of the English department. The teachers in this department are: Nadav (who only teaches one class as he is the principal), Denise, Gila, Glynn and Pinchas. On Monday 5 January, I attended a very meaningful ceremony in Year 7, organised by Denise and Glynn - a twinning ceremony between each of the children in the class, and a child who never got to have a bar/batmitzah because he/she was killed during the Holocaust. 

In Melbourne, such a vast majority of the Jewish community are descendants of Holocaust survivors. Yom Hashoah is a not just a day when we remember people in general who were murdered by the Nazis but rather, a day when families remember their lost ones. In contrast, growing up in South Africa, I and most of my friends were fairly removed from the events of the Holocaust and the memorial day for this terrible period in our history did not touch most of us personally. So it is in the Arava. Most of the children here do not have a personal connection with the Holocaust. However, it is part of the national fabric of the country and of the Jewish people and as such, it is important for them to learn about it.

The students were asked to find the name of a child who perished in the Holocaust and gather some basic information about this child. Each student wrote a short paragraph in English and practised it in order to be able to present it in a public forum. Public speaking is a challenging task for the best of us and how much more so in a foreign language! On the day of the ceremony, the excitement in the class was palpable. Some were nervous but all were looking forward to the experience. The proceedings began with a piece of writing read out by Glynn and one of the students. Each line began: 'At my barmitzvah ...', with the student completing the sentences with what is relevant to him and his friends in today's day and age whilst Glynn completed each sentence with what children during the Holocaust experienced at the time of their bar/batmitzvah. 

As each student read what he/she had written and by so doing, the memory of the souls of the children who perished was perpetuated. |A candle was placed infront of each student and as the words emanated, Denise lit the candle. The students were serious, the mood was sombre and it was clear to all observing that this was something these Year 7 students would remember forever. 

Towards the end of the ceremony, Denise read a story about a man who survived the Holocaust. Whilst in a concetration camp, he celebrated a birthday and was given half a loaf of bread as a gift from his family. He was so cognisant of the fact that in order to provide him with this gift, the members of his family had to go without bread themselves that he found it difficult to eat. However, they were adament that he should enjoy his birthday meal. The man made a vow that if he were to survive and have a family of his own, he would celebrate his own son's barmitzvah with an abundance of bread for his guests. And so it came to pass. 

Denise became extremely emotional during the reading and the students listened intently. When asked what they had learnt from the project as a whole, many responded that it is important to be grateful for everything that we have and also, to remember those who can't have anything anymore because they are no longer alive. The teachers and parents who attended the ceremony were clearly moved by both the content and the enthusiastic participation of the kids. Kudos to Denise and Glynn for a job well done.    

In the beginning ...

They say that one should take advantage of every opportunity that comes one's way ... which is precisely what I was doing!

It was January 2012 and I was in Israel for a month on a teacher exchange program facilitated by the Arava Australia Partnership. I was teaching at the local primary school (the Acacia School or in Hebrew, בית ספר שיטים) and was living on moshav Ein Yahav. I was on my way home, having attended a professional development session after school with some of the staff, and had stopped my hired car off the side of the road that leads to the moshav.

The phone rings. I answer it. It is Liat, one of the teachers I have just spent the last couple of hours with. The conversation goes something like this ...

Me: Hi.

Liat: Hi.

Me: How are you?

Liat: Good. How are you?

Me: Just fine. 

Liat: Oh. Good to know.

Me: Yep. I'm really good. 

Liat: Good. I just thought ...

Me: No, I'm fine.

Liat: Happy to hear.

(And then the penny drops!)

Me: Why? Did you just drive past me?

Liat: Yep.

Me: And you're wondering why I've stopped on the side of the road ...

Liat: Kind of ...

Me: You thought maybe I had a puncture or something?

Liat: Yeah. 

Me: No. Nothing like that. Everything's cool.

Liat: Oh. So ...

Me: So you're asking yourself what I'm doing here?!

Liat: Yes ...

Me: OK. I'll tell you, if you promise not to laugh.

Liat: I promise not to laugh!

Me: Well, I'm looking out of the window of my car at a tree. I've falled in love with this Acacia tree which stands all on its own, and just survives ... day after day, week after week, month after month and year after year. I'm a city girl and really don't have much connection with nature ... but I've officially adopted this tree as my own. I'll take photos of the tree so I can look at it all the time once I'm back in Australia, but whilst I'm still here, I want to see it for real.

Three seconds of deafening silence follow, during which I think to myself: You'd better get used to this, 'cause if you go back to Australia and tell this story, not only will silence follow, but they'll want to lock you up in a straight jacket. And then Liat says:

Liat: Not only won't I laugh, but the truth is, what you said really touched me. It's the kind of thing I would do!

I breath a sigh of relief ... and understand from this interaction that there are two types of people who live in the Arava: those who fall in love with trees, and those who live with those who fall in love with trees. No one thinks it's insane.

And I vowed that I would come back here, for an extended period. 

So here I am in the Arava for the next six months, fulfilling my promise - and living my dream!