Meet Bob Lang, settler spokesperson in Efrat
Return to and depart Jerusalem for the north via Jordan Valley / West Bank
Bet Alpha ancient synagogue
Kinneret Courtyard: Cradle of the Kibbutzim
Meeting with Rabbi Mikva’s family and other members of Kibbutz Ein Dor
Today was another day of history, albeit mostly that of a different era. We began with a visit to Kefar Ezion, a settlement created after multiple failed attempts by a group of Jews who legally purchased their rocky hilltop well before the establishment of Israel as a state. They were driven out, returned with greater numbers, had a few good years, and then defended their homes almost to the last person when Jordanian military and Palestinian irregulars laid siege. The evacuated children of that second attempt kept the memories alive, and returned a third time after the 1967 war to establish a (so far successful) community. A memorial museum has been created on the site of that doomed second attempt, with a movie highlighting the bravery of the settlers and the tragedy surrounding them. The actual bunker where the women and wounded took shelter (before grenades and bombs killed them) is preserved in all its chipped-concrete-and-twisted-rebar glory, with dramatic lighting and marble tablets engraved with their names. There is also a collection of artwork, ranging from impressionist paintings to a functional-looking menorah crafted out of ammunition shells.
I have to say that the Hollywood styling of the film probably made me less sympathetic to those early settlers. I understand that they legally paid for their land, rather than squatting as did some later settlers. Their ownership was never in dispute, but only the propriety of setting up a Jewish settlement in Palestinian lands. I confess some reservation about the wisdom of repeatedly inserting oneself and one’s family into a situation where it has been made violently clear that you are not welcome. Perhaps it has to do with the wounded psyche of a people repeatedly subjected to pogroms and evictions, and who thus perhaps had a need to stand their ground – “Here we make our stand.” In any case, where I personally might have put greater value on my safety and that of my family, they sacrificed all to maintain their settlement.
Despite the disaster, the next generation of settlers has successfully built a very modern suburban settlement on the adjoining Judean hills, complete with grocery stores and medical centers. We visited the home of their spokesman, a quick-talking former New Yorker who gave us the nickel tour of the Efrat settlement, a history lesson on the ever-moving boundaries in the Israel/Palestine area, and let us use the bathroom in his bomb shelter. He showed us where the security barrier was to be built (as soon as the government found the funds to continue the project) and talked about what good neighbors his small town where with the Arab municipality just up the slope. He also told us about the two suicide bombers who had blown themselves up in his neighborhood, one of whom had been employed in the town. It is not as clear to me how the land for that town was acquired, since our host had a gift for verbal dexterity. He made a point of mentioning that his town and their Arab neighbors shared some utilities, and that the cultivated fields which in some places came right up to the buildings were not being claimed as part of the community. He also stated clearly that he was in favor of a single state encompassing Israel and Palestine, and that his extended community had ensured the placement of several caravans (or manufactured homes, to us Americans) on an adjacent hillside to sidestep a ban on further settlement construction. He regards the settlement as a suburb of Jerusalem, and stressed repeatedly the high demand for additional housing. He also seems to believe that the Israeli/Palestinian relationship is deteriorating, and that the settlers and their Arab counterparts used to work together much more effectively before they had “peace.”
As we drove away from Efrat, I had the nagging suspicion that I had been “managed.” We drove by one of the synagogues, but never got the chance to ask why the windows were covered with plywood. We heard about how many people want to move to the settlement and how high the cost of real estate had been driven by the building freeze – and yet, I saw several of what looked suspiciously like “for sale” signs. Our host offered several anecdotes to suggest violent Palestinian response to Israeli overtures, and clearly referenced the positive relationship Israel had enjoyed with the US “up until 2 years ago,” which seemed to follow the party line a bit too closely. I wish we could have spoken to someone on the Arab side of things.
We drove north, back up through Jerusalem and along the Jordan river towards the Galilee. Green hills and abundant vegetation were a welcome site, and (after a quick stop along the highway for falafel and a chance to ogle a camel) we pulled into Kinneret. The compound sits almost on the shores of the Sea of Galilee and dates back to the beginning of the kibbutzim (or collective farm) movement. We were greeted by a lovely elderly lady who was a child of this era. Jehudit was a business-like octogenarian who told us stories of how proud her father had been to work with his hands, and how she had been taught as a child never to cry or be weak. She spoke disdainfully of “salon communists” who came to the kibbutz but weren’t ready to work hard; her parents and their contemporaries were trying to create a new kind of Jew, she said, who would dedicate themselves to work and the community. She didn’t like to have her photograph taken because she didn’t like standing out from others in her community. She was, however, very proud of her hands and the knobs and scars which proved their lifetime of hard work.
Our bus climbed into the hills as the sun set, depositing us at Kibbutz Ein Dor in time for a late dinner in their community dining room. Several of the older members of this kibbutz are originally from the US, and we were regaled with stories and warm hospitality. Michael opened his heart to us about the impact of his experience during and after the US/Viet Nam conflict, the Dodgers, and parenting children who were being raised at a collective “children’s house” elsewhere on the kibbutz. Aryet was simultaneously charming and inspirational as he told stories of his time on Normandy beach, his days with the underground Jewish army smuggling Holocaust survivors by boat into then-Palestine, and his significant contributions to the science of growing cotton. As I walked back from the dining hall to the kibbutz’ bunk houses tonight, I could see Orion shining in the sky. The friendly giant who had watched through my bedroom window since childhood gazed down at me, and the roses and daffodils blooming along the path smelled like home. There are orchards in this region which grow a dozen kinds of fruit, and an assortment of friendly mutts happily escort us around the grounds. I can understand how, especially after the Shoah, this place must have felt like heaven.
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