This is long overdue. Apologies.
I'm now in Turda, Romania, where I've connected with the Rațiu Center for Democracy. Their aim is to continue the dream of the late Ion Rațiu by promoting democracy and cultural heritage in Romania. I, however, have been hired to work on a private endeavor. Indrei Rațiu, son of Ion, is building a traditional Romanian home on the outskirts of Petreștii de Jos, a tiny village nestled in the foothills of the Apuseni.
I make the daily trip to the site with Ion Pop and Grigore, my Romanian building mentors. They speak absolutely no English, so my language-learning skills are being tested. After a week or so, I've picked up a decent bit, but Grigore has a mild lisp, and both of them come from Maramureș, a region of Romania with a unique dialect. Good tutors for plastering, not standardized Romanian.
I spent the month of September in the Czech Republic. I was fed and sheltered by a British couple living outside the town of Vlčeves. In exchange, I contributed to their "experiment" in sustainable living. Beyond prep-work for the winter (splitting wood and plastering the kitchen), my stay was seasonally well-timed. Apples galore. Six trees yield an excessive amount, and experimentation was encouraged. Pie, cider, juice, sauce, syrup, bread, danish. Once moving to pastries, I admittedly became far less interested in apples as a main ingredient. Enter butter.
The Czech woods are truly serene. Spruce with the occasional pine, oak, and birch. Eerily quiet, very little birdsong. The occasional drumming woodpecker. Forest floor covered in thick, spongy islands of moss. And bursting through the carpet, mushrooms! Mushroom picking is THE tradition of the Czech Republic, besides beer (more on that later). Chanterelle, bolete, hedgehog, parasol, cauliflower, honey fungus, blusher, puffball. As well as the inedibles: death cap, destroying angel, fly agaric, panther (all aptly named, I'd say). Foraging for fungi is easier than you think. The boletes come close to hiding if leaves have fallen, but most others are begging to be seen. So it's really just a matter of identification. That and gently pulling each one from the ground, wiping the dirt aside, dropping in the basket, all while avoiding the galumphing Bunbury.
I'm sorry, did I not mention the dog? Named after the town of Bunbury in Western Australia, she is a pure-bred Ridgeback approaching one year. Strong enough to take down a lion (they were bred to do just that in South Africa), she also happens to have an excess of youthful energy. Perhaps the lack of an outlet is more accurate. She was often my lone companion in the woods. Whenever I knelt to collect from a patch of delicate, blossoming shroomery, she understood that to mean, "Josh wants to play! I know, I'll crash through the woods with a pine cone in my mouth!" So instead of tackling a lion somewhere on a distant continent, that lion was in Eastern Europe, wearing glasses, holding a basket of mushrooms.
I was also thrilled to learn about wild edibles. Sorrel, ground elder, stinging nettle. All grew pervasively around the house and were a staple in our diet. I encourage anyone with the inclination: identify what you pull from the ground to make way for "food," because you might be working too hard. Much of what we consider unwanted (or to use that dreadful term, a "weed") has been cultivated for centuries.
Disclaimer: Do be careful. Don't go munching your way across the neighbor's front yard. As with mushrooms, some plants are deadly poisonous.
Working with a local Czech, I helped build a Lincoln Log-style weekend home (kitsch, I think it's called). Each piece was labeled according to the assembly process, like a 3D puzzle. Essentially a toy house. Only these logs were a bit bigger. Massive, in fact. It was a good thing they provided me with a beer at 9:30 in the morning. Otherwise I don't know how I would've been able to lift such heavy pieces of wood. Apparently I looked dangerously parched and sober just one hour later: round two. A third beer came with lunch. Borscht, potato dumplings, slice of pig fat lightly marbled with a bit of meat (gotta keep the protein content low). More heavy lifting and drinking in the afternoon. And to end the day, some home-distilled apricot spirits. Good evidence to support the fact that the Czech Republic leads the world in beer consumption per capita. Look it up.
Don't worry. They did pay me for the work, in Czech korun (crowns) and some Ukrainian alcohol. It looks the color of whiskey, and has a chili pepper floating inside. I have yet to open it. I'm waiting for that perfect situation where the one thing you really need is a bottle of unidentified drunkenness.
Prior to the Czech Republic, I visited parts of Latvia, Lithuania, Poland, and Ukraine. Remnants of Soviet-era building projects and statues, potatoes, cabbage, pork; at first glance, these seem to unify Eastern Europe. But by no means can such a diverse land be reduced to any sort of list.
Every country has emerged from Communism in a unique way. Some more, others less. But each one has managed to maintain some form of identity and rejuvenated pride.
I must admit, I don't understand this obsession with nationalism. Within and across borders are the true regions of distinct culture and tradition. I understand the desire for stability based on well-defined political zones, but too often nationalism becomes associated with religion, ethnicity, a homeland, superiority.
And yes, I'm thinking beyond Eastern Europe.
The conflict that is Israel and Palestine has long been on my mind, but not in writing. Perhaps because I was flooded with information and perspective while in the West Bank and needed time to digest. Or maybe I was having trouble accepting the fact that much of what I was taught to believe growing up was utterly wrong, in every sense of the word. Alas! Confined to my thoughts no more.
My travel in the West Bank was not the first time I had doubts about the Jewish State of Israel. Even before birthright, I was well prepared for the brainwashing and bias that was sure to come. But only after spending time in both Israel and the West Bank, with natives (I hesitate to use the word), immigrants, fellow travelers, and ex-pats; after continuing to meet educated people in Eastern Europe who felt strongly about the situation; after reading a good deal of relevant literature; only now has my ever-evolving understanding taken true form.
While on the kibbutz, my stance was already solidifying. I desperately tried to understand those in the process of making aliyah, ready to defend their future country, ready to join the Israeli Defense Forces, ready to (I kid you not) shoot some Arabs. I repeatedly developed the impression that those making aliyah were (at least in large part) running away from something entirely unrelated to the cause that is Israel. It's far easier to move towards something you support (or choose to support for subconscious and illegitimate reasons), than to face the difficulties of your past.
There was the Jamaican, adopted by an American Jewish orthodox family, seeking identity, ready to join his (also adopted) brother in the ranks of the IDF, to reclaim the land that (roughly in his words) is and has always been the homeland of his people (he was referring to Jews, not Jamaicans); the upstate New Yorker who simply didn't fit in with his liberally-minded family and community, and therefore chose to cling to the religion of one of his parents to provide some direction in his life, making his way to Israel to defend his "new" country and die the glorious death of a hero (crazy as it sounds, this is no exaggeration); the Ukrainian woman escaping the threat of human trafficking and prostitution, therefore converting to Judaism in order to make aliyah.
Sure these are extreme cases, but more frequent than you may expect. I do sympathize with the difficulties of one's past, but this is not a good reason to join a completely unrelated cause. If anything, such bizarre immigration furthers the illegitimacy of Israel. Yet the state is more than willing to accept anyone wishing to make aliyah, as long as they "prove" their Jewishness. This is not to say that the process is easy. One step of many, you must provide a letter from your Rabbi stating your Jewishness to be approved by the Jewish Agency. If you were converted or adopted, there are still more hurdles. But the bottom line is that Israel wants Jews (...or anybody that supports the cause).
I tried to understand Jews coming to Israel wishing to visit their "homeland." What does this even mean? Do we really stop and think about it? The Old Testament was assembled as late as the 8th century BC from a variety of then current religions, myths, stories (call them what you will) as political propaganda to unite a small nation. That nation would come to be known as the Israelites.
I assume that most people who consider themselves Jewish have had decent exposure to ancient history, science and all respective inconsistencies with a literal reading of the Bible. So what do we make of the many cultures that existed alongside and before these ancient Israelites? Was the land (now called Israel) simply waiting for the legendary Abraham and his people, all preceding populations acting as temporary placeholders? Were the Americas, full of native communities now long gone (or destroyed), simply waiting for a group of European settlers seeking refuge from religious persecution? Perhaps the Mohicans will someday gather their forces and lay claim to that which was once theirs, the Hudson Valley. My point is, I don't buy the "homeland" argument as justification for a Jewish State of Israel.
I spent time with many a Jew born and raised in the holy land. From what I can tell, the Israeli education system is blatantly biased in favor of a Jewish State (understandable, I suppose), but as a result, many Israelis grow up with a very isolated and close-minded view of the world. Questioning the state and its history is almost unacceptable, and extremely sensitive. With most Israelis, I was very careful in how I broached the subject, if at all. Ironic, considering that the act of inquiry and re-interpretation, in my mind, is a central tenet of Judaism and rabbinical study.
To describe yet another demographic, the Israeli youth involved in socialist movements would seem to represent a liberal refuge from the above. Though hopeful, I often found this not to be the case. Following high school and mandatory service in the IDF, many go on to act as leaders/guides for the younger stages of the movement, whether Israeli-born or from abroad. Though the emphasis is largely on discussion of and future experimentation with socialism (such groups helped to pioneer the kibbutz movement), there still exists a hint of Arab fear ("You're going to Palestine?!?") and pro-Israel propaganda. Only in this case, less direct. More of a practice in justification. For example, "Why are we here? Well, let's take a trip to Poland to find out."
The Holocaust, easily one of the more sensitive issues. Often when I found myself convincing others of the irrationality of the "homeland" argument, they quickly turned to the Holocaust to explain why a Jewish state is important. However, the formation of a Jewish state that seeks to cleanse itself of non-Jewish attitudes to protect a majority of its citizens is equally horrific (conceptually speaking). One such instance, Israel recently passed a bill requiring its non-Jewish citizens to swear an oath of allegiance to a "Jewish and Democratic State."
And then the question of how one defines the Jewish people. A religion? A race? A set of cultural traditions and memories? A religion, sure. For those who are not particularly religious, but claim to be Jewish, I can only see the last (or a version of) as a viable option. A race it is not. Those practicing the religion have dispersed and interbred across the world for over two millennia. Conversions to and from Judaism make it anything but a biological race.
This leaves us with the fear of losing a religion or, as you may prefer to call it, a set of traditions, beliefs, morals, spiritual guidance, etc. Again, I've tried to understand someone who fears this kind of change, but I cannot. Change is an inevitability. The moment I was old enough to think about and decide what I believed, the religion that was given to me, among other things, had already evolved.
This kind of change does not threaten to destroy the continuum that is passed down through the generations. Religion, as with life, merely adapts to time and place, context and the individual.
Yes, there are many instances throughout history and at present where such freedoms of thought and being were and are oppressed. I don't know if there is any one way to fight such evils. It is perhaps easier to identify how NOT to emerge from an oppressive past.
These were all impressions formed in Israel, before going to the West Bank. I chose to withhold, only because I hadn't yet seen the other side, where people could have been equally delusional and irrational.
From East Jerusalem, I visited Ramallah, Bethlehem, and Hebron. The fear that I should have felt, as so many warned me, was never there. I quickly found myself at Bustan Qaraaqa, a permaculture farm in Beit Sahour, one town over from Bethlehem. Run by a few expats (3 British, 1 Mexican) in their late 20s, they are truly fighting the Israeli occupation from within.
Permaculture, in their sense of the word, is a system of farming where you initially work to recreate the environment as it would be, a self-sustaining ecosystem on a local scale. Once this is established, the farm essentially cares for itself, with minimal input from the farmer.
For instance, they've planted over 800 trees in their wadi (valley), all started from seed, all species historically native to the land, 90% of which are simply nitrogen-fixers intended to replenish and stabilize long-damaged soil for the remaining 10%, which will actually provide a food source. They've also planted in such a way that will take advantage of the topography of the wadi, with taller trees along the edges and shorter down below. This will result in a canopy of greater surface area and therefore greater retention of humidity.
Water is scarce in the region, so a system of farming that maximizes water efficiency is crucial. Though it is now nearly desert, historically the region was closer to an arid forest. The reason that water is scarce now is due in part to poor and reckless farming practices which disturbed the natural environment, and therefore interrupted an ecosystem that would have retained more moisture.
The other part of the equation, however, is that the Israelis divert water to the illegal settlements being built in the West Bank. They also divert water from the Jordan River, before it even enters the West Bank from the north. Water wars, if you will. Palestinian towns often go without water for days at a time.
Bustan Qaraaqa is an attempt to farm efficiently in such harsh conditions while serving as an example for any Palestinians interested. They have almost no money and limited resources, a nice parallel to the common Palestinian farmer.
Water is one factor of many. The wall, settlements, annexation, destruction of farmland, security zones, restriction of movement; all affect daily life in the West Bank.
Israel claims that the inability to work towards peace stems from a lack of efficient leadership in Palestine, yet conditions are such that it is nearly impossible for any such leadership to arise. And Israel is largely responsible for those conditions.
People on both sides are angry, hateful, and confused. Israelis are being duped by a racist state policy, taught to demote their Arab neighbors to below-human status. Palestinians have lost their homes. They are now limited to an occupied state (West Bank), a blockaded state (Gaza), or a neighboring country such as Jordan, where they are considered third-class citizens, living in miserable conditions and lacking basic rights.
Regardless of religion, country or belief, we are all witness to an attack on the human condition.