I awoke Saturday morning to the sounds of the rain falling on the mirpesset and the wind blowing our palm tree against the window screen. I love rainy mornings when you wake up warm in bed. I was supposed to meet Urian, my boss, at the entrance to the kibbutz at 6:30am. He had us scheduled for a mysterious pizza mission, the details of which he refused to divulge.
It was so cold that I got dressed in twos. I piled on two pairs of pants, two t-shirts, two sweaters, two pairs of socks, annnd a scarf and a hat (I am really not prepared for cold weather). An interesting sidenote about pants and socks... I have been working really hard at filling in the gaps in my vocabulary. Last week, I learned all the words for clothing: sharvulim (sleeves), tzahif (scarf), chagorah (belt). Now, every morning is like a very stimulating Hebrew lesson.
Anyway...
I climbed into the van which is soaked through and through with the stench of pizza dough and whose apolstery is covered in a millimeter of baking flour. I greeted Urian with a boker tov and asked him where we were going. South, he said. And south we went. We drove past Be'er Sheva into the desert. I napped (a new English word for Urian) and awoke to sunshine and the dry, clean breeze of the Negev.
There is something unreal about the desert. It is a solitary place, but not lonely. Being there is a similar feeling to sitting on a sailboat in the middle of the sea. Surrounded by nothing but what is...nature yet untouched. The desert offers you the space to feel and the quiet to think.
Three hours later we arrived. It happened that we were working a bat mitzvah party at a bedouin camel ranch. What an awesome surprise. This 13-year-old girl traded her huge party for a family camel ride and taboon pizza lunch. I thought she was really special. Two people told me I looked Israeli. That tickled me. Urian said, while laughing, that he wasn't sure it was a compliment.
We left the ranch and stopped at an oasis park. Urian smoked a cigarette and we trekked up to a lookout. I counted exactly 219 steps up to the top. From the hill we could see Mitzpe Ramon and stretches and stretches of rolling sand and stone. We drove a little farther and then stopped at the home of Urian's parents. His mama fed us dinner...fried gefilte fish balls. Her name is Rachel, she is Iraqi. His father, Willy, is Romanian. While Urian shaved I asked them to tell me the story of how they met. 57 years ago on a bus in Tel Aviv, Rachel was on her way to visit her boyfriend and Willy asked her to go on a date with him instead. They gave Urian a happy childhood.
I climbed into the van which is soaked through and through with the stench of pizza dough and whose apolstery is covered in a millimeter of baking flour. I greeted Urian with a boker tov and asked him where we were going. South, he said. And south we went. We drove past Be'er Sheva into the desert. I napped (a new English word for Urian) and awoke to sunshine and the dry, clean breeze of the Negev.
There is something unreal about the desert. It is a solitary place, but not lonely. Being there is a similar feeling to sitting on a sailboat in the middle of the sea. Surrounded by nothing but what is...nature yet untouched. The desert offers you the space to feel and the quiet to think.
Three hours later we arrived. It happened that we were working a bat mitzvah party at a bedouin camel ranch. What an awesome surprise. This 13-year-old girl traded her huge party for a family camel ride and taboon pizza lunch. I thought she was really special. Two people told me I looked Israeli. That tickled me. Urian said, while laughing, that he wasn't sure it was a compliment.
We left the ranch and stopped at an oasis park. Urian smoked a cigarette and we trekked up to a lookout. I counted exactly 219 steps up to the top. From the hill we could see Mitzpe Ramon and stretches and stretches of rolling sand and stone. We drove a little farther and then stopped at the home of Urian's parents. His mama fed us dinner...fried gefilte fish balls. Her name is Rachel, she is Iraqi. His father, Willy, is Romanian. While Urian shaved I asked them to tell me the story of how they met. 57 years ago on a bus in Tel Aviv, Rachel was on her way to visit her boyfriend and Willy asked her to go on a date with him instead. They gave Urian a happy childhood.
Next, we drove to Ra'anana to work another bar mitzvah at night. This one was more typical but the coolest thing about it was that the family choreographed and performed a step-dance routine as a gift to Amir, the Bar Mitzvah. They dribbled basketballs to keep the beat. It was pretty stupendous.
As we drove home in a happy silence it started to rain again. Everything full circle.
With undying love for betzek, zaytim, tiras, batzal, petriot, and Shachar's borscht,
I humbly remain,
J. Michael Hess Webber
As we drove home in a happy silence it started to rain again. Everything full circle.
With undying love for betzek, zaytim, tiras, batzal, petriot, and Shachar's borscht,
I humbly remain,
J. Michael Hess Webber
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