A
guard would fling open the screen door, rap his Uzi against the steel frame of
the bunk beds, and shout something indecipherable—at least, to English-speaking
Tom and Jim and Japanese-speaking Hideaki. Whatever the guard grunted, it didn't sound like a cheery “Good morning.”
Slowly and groggily, all the volunteers shambled out of their respective quarters and shuffled down various paths to the kibbutz dining hall. There, they tried to gulp down as many cups of coffee and/or tea as possible before the tractors pulled up. Then, everyone climbed aboard the carts hitched to the tractors for the bumpy ride to the orchards.
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| Tom shows off his armpits while Jim and the others wait for the tractor to tow them to the orchards. |
The sun was barely up, the air still relatively cool, and for a while, being in the orchards was almost pleasant. That didn't last long. Picking fruit was hot, sweaty, repetitive work. After a few days of getting used to the work, Tom and Jim tried to break the monotony. They became sports announcers. Tom excelled at the play-by-play; Jim provided color commentary.
"She's
moving well through that peach tree, Jim. I’ve never seen her pick so fast."
"She’s
definitely in the zone, Tom. She just might set a record today."
"And
check out Martyn! He just passed three unripe peaches and bagged two ripe ones
in less than five seconds.”
“It’s
all in the technique, Tom: Look, decide, pick, move on. Absolutely
tremendous."
They
got plenty of laughs from the volunteers. Some of the permanent members were
amused, too; others, not so much. Occasionally, an underlying tension between some
of the members and the volunteers would surface. For those members, this work was their
livelihood, whereas they felt the volunteers were unserious, there strictly for a vacation of sorts. Tom and Jim's antics probably didn't dispel these impressions.
Apparently, however, field bosses also thought Tom and Jim were pretty good workers. At some point the boys were promoted—or reassigned to shut them up?—to the cherry pickers, machines that allowed them to maneuver to the tops of the trees to reach the highest fruit. They both loved operating these machines and the feeling that they were attaining a certain level of recognition from the permanent members and making a more significant contribution to the work of the kibbutz.
Jim loved the view once the cherry picker
was fully extended. In the distance was the Jerusalem skyline, encompassing the
ancient and the modern. Especially inspiring was the view of the Old City,
dominated by the golden Dome of the Rock and the Tower of David. One
day one of the field bosses yelled at him to stop staring and start picking,
but on another day Jim looked down and saw, in a field next to the orchards,
that same boss facing the skyline as the sun climbed higher over the horizon,
arms extended as if to embrace it.
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| In the orchard. The kibbutz had apple, peach, and plum orchards. |
And then there was the day Jim ran his cherry picker into a mud patch. It took several members and a tractor to pull him out. All Jim could do was stand in the basket and listen to the cursing below as they hauled the picker onto solid ground. Jim was afraid he’d be demoted, but the next morning and most mornings after that, he was assigned one of the cherry pickers.
At
eight o’clock, it was back to the tractors and the dining room for breakfast. The
main entrees were fried eggs and mystery meat. The boys ate with gusto—even after they learned the mystery meat was liver.
There
was even an occasional game of football (soccer). The German and English
volunteers played on a field outside the smelly chicken coop. They were kind
enough to let Tom and Jim join them, even though neither of them had ever
played soccer. Nobody expected them to be good, which was probably fortunate.
 |
| Soccer by the chicken coop. Notice Wolly, a volunteer from Germany, still laughing at Jim's (lack of) soccer skills. |
After
dinner, some volunteers often head to the Mitzpeh, the snack bar. “Mitzpeh”
translates to “The Lookout,” which was entirely appropriate, as the Mitzpeh was
located in a pine grove overlooking the valley between Jerusalem and Bethlehem.
There, the volunteers would drink Maccabee beer, talk, laugh, and gossip. The
view of flickering lights in the distance, the cool night breeze, and
conversations with young volunteers from around the world made these evening
gatherings memorable for both Tom and Jim.
Friday
nights were special on the kibbutz. Although Ramat Rachel was more nationalistic than religious, the members and volunteers observed the Sabbath meal. Everyone
wore their “nice” clothes, and every table in the dining room was set with a
tablecloth, tableware, a candle, and a small cup of wine. Instead of
buffet-style, members served dinner to each table. And after a few songs (the
boys weren’t sure if they were religious or nationalistic in nature), the cups
of wine were raised, cries of Shabbat Shalom filled the room, and everyone
enjoyed an unusually hearty dinner of soup, salad, chicken, and vegetables.
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| Masquerade dance in the bomb shelter. |
Now and then, usually while gazing out over the valley from the Mitzpeh, Tom and Jim would talk about moving on. They’d been traveling for months, and they still intended to achieve their Overland goals.
But they'd found something on the kibbutz:
Was
it time to go, they asked themselves?
Not
yet, they decided.
###
That was Then. Click on the video for the Overlanders' Now reflections on a day in the life on Kibbutz Ramat Rachel.