i like typing tik tak tik tak

i just ate an artichoke…i think i have more emotions concerning this than the average person, actually i’m sure, and a lot of thoughts, but i don’t feel like trying to compartmentalize them into words…but i will say it’s one of my very favorite entities on the planet.  anyway, i wrote last week on one of those rare days that there wasn’t much else to do….

browsing pictures the other night, i chanced upon a photo from my cross-state visit to america last summer in which one of my best, long lost american pals and I sold organic vegetables from a stand at a farmers market while his friend, the farmer himself, ran errands.  colorful chard, mixed baby greens in bags, two types of kale, and bright pink and blazing yellow radishes were sprawled across the table before me, the fruit of labor, edible glories of the earth, waiting to be shared with its people via a bio-degradable non-plastic bags.   with genuine enthusiasm i promoted those vegetables, eager to spread the happiness they gave me.

there are only two recent times that i recall feeling fully, uninhibitedly myself.  one was during a small halloween gathering back at pratt for which i dressed up as a glittering forest fairy.  as i twirled in my raggedy, whimsical dress and waved my sparkly wings, felt almost as if i was meant to be one (i promise that no alcohol was involved, and i cannot explain that phenomenon except perhaps that it was a means of returning to the fantastical desires of childhood).  the other was that at the vegetable stand in michigan.  currently my two greatest dreams, that of planting and that of cooking, were connected to the experience yet distant, as i was only selling the raw product, but that in no way detracted from the pure joy of the experience.  i love vegetables!  i love them more than almost anything else!  vegetables enliven me like sports or art or music do for others-the allure of their colors and shapes sometimes even causing my heart to flutter.  i am filled with awe at the variety of beauty that seeps out of plain brown soil – not only does each have a unique and artfully designed look, but unlike flowers (can’t stand the things-never ever give them to me…they’re like having a fish as a pet; you just give and give and it never gives back), each possesses a taste that no other specimen can duplicate.  genius.  i’d like to devote a good chunk of my time to getting to know these beauts.  my earlier revelation of wanting little more in life than to dwell in this land, to love a family i will start, to help others, and to encounter fresh vegetables every day of my life still stands, and my envisioned path of arrival to that destiny, while still unclear, is becoming a tad less fuzzy.

that photograph tipped the scales and – at least in the mean time – put an end to my vacillation regarding the order and subject of my studies: if i would earn a government funded degree before or after culinary school, and in what subject.  i’ve come to the conclusion that i must attempt some sort of vegetable related education-either botany or agronomy or maybe even food science, i’ll decide once i figure out exactly what the difference is and in which locations i can learn each subject-and then later work my way into the culinary arts world.  in fact, the more i dwell on my passion for produce, the less important the idea of an actual restaurant and culinary career seems to me, the emphasis moving to the simple concept of a place for people to enjoy the vegetation of this earth, perhaps even in the embodiment of a home or guesthouse.

i also had questions about where i would live during my learning, leaning towards the idea of a city, probably jerusalem, where i could easily gain experience in food preparation by working in restaurants after school.  someone slightly ruined my plans by sharing with me the fact that he lives on a kibbutz in the golan which receives relatively generous snow fall every year.  now that i know of such a wonderland’s existence, it is hard for me to deny myself such an accessible luxury, even at the cost of sacrificing three years of culinary skill improvement, having to compromise by working at some cheap, badly decorated catastrophe in the north.   if i had about a billion shekels i’d put it all towards changing the humdrum gastronomical landscape of the most northern cities of israel, but for now that stereotype holds true to the character of the area.  actually, the snow is only an excuse; kibbutz life in the north simply beckons me.  the kitschy, unrealistic, iconic zionist daydreams of picking oranges that once haunted me in college have not left, and after three years in this country, i have yet to test their authenticity.  i must at least taste that lifestyle and that area, even if i end up hating the whole institution and decide to move to tel aviv.  the period in which i plan to once again embark on a higher education seems to me the perfect opportunity; i could live on a kibbutz which, according to the snow-blessed gentlemen i previously mentioned, is just a bicycle ride away from a nice little college not too far from the northern border.  i can already hear the low purr of the wheels, feel the wind slap a missed lock of hair into my face as i whiz through the air on a yellow bike with a basket in which books about the romantic secrets of vegetables, hidden within cryptic equations and deceivingly dull academic ramblings, will accompany me on my travels each morning.  i think i’ll put streamers on it.

the funny thing about attempting to shape my future is not that it may not turn out exactly how i envision it-i acknowledge that it most likely will pan out quite differently – but that i may not make it to the chance of advancing in life at all.  i hate to be a drag, but i could die today, or tomorrow, or the next, and all of this fantasy will not resemble the course of my existence in the slightest.  with hope i look forward to the future, with anticipation and excitement, but life is fragile and volatile, and what’s left of mine could all be lost in the blink of an eye.  god willing, this will not happen, but i must keep a realistic perspective underneath my optimistic outlook.  yes, quite optimistic it is.  everyone has dreams – i am no different than the rest of the human race – yet but a handful of us ever attain them in any significant magnitude.  realized dreams are the makings of the true stories eventually ending up in black and white print between colorful binding or reenacted glamorously across the silver screen.  they are engaging plots because they are uncommon, because fulfilling aspirations is a scarce happening.  yet as unusual as these instances are in reality, there is not a  human heart on the face of this planet in which the desire for the fruition of such dreams is not found.  so i am one of them, one of those humans.  the odds on one hand are against me: the vast majority of individuals drudge through often disappointing, tedious lives of compromised dreams and crushed aspirations.  on the other hand, the odds are in my favor:  i aspire only to work with vegetables, not to become a rock star.  what a funny little westernized society i live in.  somewhere in the third world an impoverished, unskilled farm worker dreams of living in america, receiving education, becoming a super star or business tycoon;  now i, educated and talented in largely unrelated fields, raised in the land of opportunity, dreams only of menial labor in the fields of a bizarre country in the middle east.

i suppose the idea isn’t so new.  though i remember little from two years of nap time/art history class, i recall the pastoral scenes of the rococo movement which romanticized, and not to mention gave a good bath and shave to the common shepherd, and the images from a different movement which featured impoverished peasants gathering grain, elevating their simple way of live to that of godliness.  a bit of shame arises within me at the thought that if only i would have been paying better attention while the projector slides turned those two years, i might remember the period of time in which the latter paintings were made; 23 is a relatively young age to start regretting ones actions in life, a cue to stride wisely in the future.

it’s drizzling.  they sky’s current shades of faded grey and serene periwinkle calm me.   the faint but icy breeze, the lulling sway of the eucalyptus, the muddled noise of distasteful music behind closed doors, birds calling one to another, and flip flops flip flopping on gravel are all to me perfectly periwinkle too.

oh and here’s a few recent pics…

11.11.09

it’s november 11!  why on earth can i remember that WWI ended on this day in 1918, an item of information that i learned in 4th grade history, but i can’t remember where i put my glasses two minutes ago, or my friends’ birthdays?  my *family’s* birthdays?!?!?!  oh, brain…

some items of interest:

1. my good friend lamar’s comic book is on amazon!  buy it if you are a fan of silliness…

2. don’t ever sleep in contacts!  i have an eye infection which doesn’t hurt in the slightest, but has blurred even the words i currently type…i hope the doc was correct in telling me that i will soon return to my normal slight near-sightedness – if not i’ve got the vision of a 60 year old in one eye.   in the hospital i was privileged to catch a gem of a moment in the complicated beauty of israeli culture:   the young eye doctor treating a seemingly underpriviledged elderly lady.   these two individuals are worlds apart, yet living in the same country and speaking the same language-not a new phenomenon.  what added a touch of brightness to the picture was the fact that their common language was arabic, the highly educated, modern israeli arab taking care of a religious tunisian-jewish grandma from the old world.  socially, religiously, and economically, they stand on opposite sides of the scale, little except their geographical location linking them, but their mother tongue,  a commonality that each of them share with few people who they encounter on a daily basis, bonded them.  humanity is wonderfully inescapably connected.

3.  i’m currently contemplating plans for my post-military life, which will start sometime by august 2010.  unlike most israelis, i have no intention to travel.  higher education is (almost) a certainty for fall of that year, but my specific path is still undecided.  as for now, i’m leaning towards a 4-year plan including 3 years of an apparently useless government funded education in some unrelated area (history, anthropology, botany even…) for “personal development” (aka for the heck of it + bringing my 4th grade hebrew reading/writing level up a notch) while i work evening shifts under some chef in some restaurant.  as i gain kitchen experience, i might decide to quit the academia and go to culinary school, or stay the full 3 years and recieve a degree (automatic pay raise in the event that the gastronomic world rejects me and i’ll have to find employment elsewhere), and then go to culinary school, which in israel lasts only one year.  though i’m relatively sure that cooking is about the only occupation i would enjoy practicing daily, i’m really in no rush to start my career and see the scenic route as a valid option.  for most people, life is long, and if mine happens to be one of the exceptions, who cares about my career, which is something built for long life anyway?  suggestions and comments are welcome…

 

galactastic

why does wordpress make me give titles to these things?  maybe i can go back and change each title to a number…it seems much more organized to me.  actually, in the virtual world, unlike the physical world, i am extremely organized: my computer is clutter free, each file in its place, logically ordered.  people are full of surprises.

ahhhhh so so so so so many thoughts these days…they swirl around i, half dazed by their mass, try futily to grasp hold of them, transfer them into logical units, toss around some words and hope they land in places that will create cohesive ideas.  my thoughts seldom come conveniently wrapped in diction, instead usually in untranslatable impressions and emotions, sometimes even colors and textures.  so many thoughts…so many…and most of them will vanish somewhere between bad memory, translation, and lack of effort.

there’s no point in me embarking on an attempt to voice these notions as i’m incapable of building them into a coherent thoughts even to myself.  and i do talk to myself…it’s called journaling.   oh and it’s called blogging too.

so some random things instead:

a few weeks ago it was my turn to give the initiating back smacks i’d received 4 months ago, and, as expected, it was an experience which was gratifying at the core.  (see past entry) my satisfaction was not found in pleasure of inflicting pain on another person, but in the brotherhood i felt, similar to that which was present upon my receiving of the same treatment, but from a different perspective, and now somehow completed by being on both sides.  the appeal of gangs and fraternities certainly is more understandable for me these days.  the internal violence as means of initiation creates a commonality which brings unity, and the act of, each one in turn, then inflicting that same suffering in the way he received it produces a sort of closure.  if, like fraternity hazing and gangs knocking teeth out of new members, our tradition was to cause actual damage instead of just a harmless sting, then i would call it savage and immaturely macho.  in fact, a whistle was recently blown on a certain unit in the idf which did participate in humiliating, sometimes harmful, and excessive hazing practices.  but causing black eyes and spilling blood is a bit different than making someone’s back a tad red and tender, and in our case each smack was, of course, given with a smug smile and followed by a hug.  mixing love with violence, i know, but really, it’s not as bad as it sounds.

other than that, i’ve been watching battlestar galactica…which, although at times overly dramatic, is one of the smartest little chunks of sci fi goodness i’ve seen in a while, though i’d hardly know as i wouldn’t call myself a fan of the genre.  my favorite episode to date brought me to tears, and i now realize that the theme it dealt with almost always has that effect on me, but when it is denied me, not when it’s given.  after freedom was won from a cruel occupying force which killed innocent people, one character was publicly shunned and constantly insulted because of keeping his job as the adviser to the president when he turned into a puppet leader who cooperated with that force.   in reality, this person played a major role in helping achieve freedom by sending every item of information he could to the resistance, but he performed this courageous deed incognito and so after the defeat, not knowing the importance of his work or even the names of those he had been helping, did not reveal his identity except to a few skeptical friends.  because of his appearance of compliance with every murderous act of the conquering force, he was sentenced to death for treason by the underground traitor-hunting leaders in the resistance, the very individuals he helped.  weakened by rejection and starting to become deceived by continual accusation, he began to feel guilty, doubting that  his efforts were at all effective.  he was disheartened to the point that he had no strength to defend himself when given an opportunity to speak before being executed, and had one of the accusers not wanted to see him beg, that would have been his fate.  the truth was stumbled upon almost by chance, and the reaction of the members of the resistance was that of utter shock.  sorrow and shame filled their faces, and speechlessly they cleared the way as that wear innocent man they had accused, insulted, physically harmed, and almost killed walked away freely.  if i were a better writer perhaps i could illustrate this moment and how it struck my heart – it was glory. oh, to be justified!  to be condemned, only to rise up, and not simply in innocence but in righteousness.

why did i cry?  perhaps it’s because one of the most painful offense i know is a false accusation, which can bring me to tears, and the yearning to be justified in the midst of it is one of the strongest emotions i’ve encountered.   also, i now understand that it reminded me of something, something that has not been completed.  it’s already happened…he was killed, accused and condemned falsely, but one day his justification will come, and the world will be speechless.  many others have met similar fates, and i could be one of them.  oh, justification.  it’s one of those things that happens fully only in the end, occurs when the truth is brought to light, but with god there needs be no hoping for some chance to stumble upon it, he will certainly reveal it deliberately in time.

and who said we shouldn’t watch certain tv shows…

oh, and i found out that i also get almost teary at messianic figures in movies and tv and books and such, from gandalf in lord of the rings riding gloriously on a white horse into battle to believers kneeling at the feet of laura roslin, the leader who seeks to save the human race in battlestar galactica.  heroic music in the background helps.  it just happens.  i can’t help it.  i’m silly.

this title would work better in hebrew

i’m sorry, all u die hard hebrew fans, but the language re-uses words fanatically…like as if there’s a shortage and we need to recycle in as many ways possible.   “cadur” is used for…everything: ball, bullet, planet earth, pill, and scoop of ice cream.  there, you just learned 6 hebrew words in one (at least it makes the language easier).  anyway, i wanted to title this post “ball of ice cream” but the pun would make no sense in english…

but, yes, i bought an ice cream ball.  why? because i’m unashamedly impulsive and like ice cream and you can take it on camping trips and it’s purple!  it’s the same concept as the cream and sugar filled plastic bag surrounded by a coating of ice and salt encapsuled within a large coffee tin, just a lot more expensive.  one end is filled with ice that surrounds a metal pint cup which is filled on the other end with what will be, after 20 minutes of rolling around, tossing, or bicep curls (it’s pretty heavy), home made ice cream.  i could have bought an electric ice cream maker for twice the cash, but you can’t take that kind on camping trips.  actually in order for this to work anywhere you still need ice, so better be a camping trip by a lake in the dead of winter, in which case you probably wouldn’t want ice cream anyway…

ta da!!!

i should have taken a picture of the ice cream i made…i’ll take it to base and we’ll see what happens.

yes indeed

oh, you have no idea.  really, you have no idea…i ate the most perfect pear the other day, really.  i have to say, for the most part, israeli produce is exceptional, far superior to that which i ate for the first 20 years of my american life, not to mention far less expensive, but there are few exceptions.  one of them is the tomato, a tear-jerking subject which i believe i touched on recently, and another is the pear.  the israeli pear market seems to be made up of 95%  a small green species sometimes slightly blushing with pink.  they are available year round, and they are usually bland and underwhelming, either hard and dry or mushy and mealy.  but a few days ago, my friend, i ate the pear that every wee pear dreams of being when it grows up: firm yet supple, sweet yet not sickeningly so, inconspicuously tangy yet ever-gentle, with honeyed juices trickling after each bite.  i ate a pear that was fortunate enough to reach its full potential, and i was fortunate enough to stuff that potential into my greatly appreciative mouth.

and then i started to think: if i would have eaten that specific pear, which i happened to snab at the moment of the peak of its ripeness, just a day earlier, or a day later, it would have been just another mundane fruit.  food in the idf is terrible, full of margarine and processed meats and msg-laced chicken flavored soup powder added to everything except dessert, if there ever is dessert, but at least we usually have access to fresh produce,and for the last month i’ve been happily munching on about two pears a day.  i savored that one pear, considered it a find, a jewel, and myself lucky, but in reality, the occurrence was just a matter of statistics: if i ate 60 pears in a month, one is bound to be consumed at its peak.  i recall vaguely biting into a rotting pear, but the other 58, imperfect yet tolerable, some perhaps enjoyable, some perhaps slightly not enjoyable, were not repulsive or delicious enough to be remembered.  everything in life is so.  what is commonplace is usually forgotten.

that pear made my day, helping me get over the fact that…well, there is sad news…fig season is has come to an end.  my 8 hour hummer patrols are lacking something.  for the last couple of months, i’ve been on the hunt for one of my favorite edible things on the planet: fresh figs.  wildly growing in the golan heights, they are so plentiful in the area we secure that  i even gathered enough to somehow make fig jam on base.  it had a flavor closer to that of dried figs, unfortunately losing that special taste the fresh variety possesses, but it was a treat to have something sweet to spread on our bread for breakfast (although i had a hard time convincing my disgusted israeli friends as i ate it with cottage cheese that, yes, the combination of cheese and fruit *does* work, for hundreds of years it has, actually).  on my never ending search for new trees, i discovered a small one right next to an old syrian “officers pool” which is a phenomenon in the north, a sort of small man-made pool tapping into a natural water source, surrounded by trees, often populated with visitors.  my expectations for this tree were high considering that it sat a few meters away from an abundant supply of water.  enthusiastically and almost greedily, i picked the fruit which felt in my hands, as i had hoped, large, plump, and juicy.  “this is it,” i thought, “these are the best ones i’ve found yet.”  almost jumping with excitement, i returned to the vehicle with a full bag, gave one to the commander and the driver, then placed one in my mouth, anticipating the fig of my dreams.  it was juicy, it was plump, and it was almost completely tasteless.  i suppose that because of the water source, these specimens appeared full and healthily large, yet in actuality were just diluted, bloated.  we found another fig tree on the side of the road, standing all by its lonesome in the middle of nowhere, speckled with miniature purple fruit.   here i found the real treasures: succulent and sweet, bursting with concentrated flavor so delectable that i almost had to convince myself that i was really allowed to eat such a thing.  i felt full of life, grateful for the everyday gifts of this world.

i thought of the parable of the trees, that which bears good fruit is a sign of goodness, as a bad tree cannot bear good fruit and vice versa – we can know people by the fruit that their lives bear.   but sometimes a person with that which appears to be good fruit, that which we would assume is supposed to be, given the indicators and the setting, is just deceivingly puffed up, lacking real substance.  and sometimes, the person who we would least expect,  by appearances and superficial impressions, surprises us and breaks down our judgmental mentality by shining through with true goodness.  one day, god willing, i will teach my children about people using these very trees, assuming that the golan will still be israeli territory, which i hope it will be as i would probably like to live there.  if everything goes as planned, which is rarely does, i’ll have two goats and we’ll eat little toasts with figs and goat cheese (which one can make using fig leaves instead of rennet) with some wild herbs, under the shade, by the officers pool.

in other news, my army experience is getting better and better, yet closer and closer to an end.  yesterday we camped out at an abandoned post and while, yes, we had to guard and such, most of my time was spent cooking (mushroom and basil creamy pasta in the evening and pancakes in the morning.  how does one manage to make food for 20 people using a little camping gas stove?  make it for 4 people, 5 times) and sitting by the fire in good company.  we sang songs, i told sexist jokes, and we dipped nectarines picked from the area and marshmallows in chocolate fondue (i’m not particularly fond of marshmallows, especially israeli ones, but i’d like to try to make my own and see how that turns out), then tossed potatoes into the crackling flames and ate them with dill and garlic “white cheese” (i’ve spoken about this israeli product before, like sour cream only thicker and not at all sour, americans would go crazy over it as it’s rich, creamy, and low fat, but somehow it just hasn’t made its way there).

really, it’s a shame that the area that i’m most talented in is not the area i’m most passionate in.  when people admire my (sparse, these days) artwork, i feel pleasant, nice, but when people admire my food, i am contented in every way, like my world has come together in perfect harmony.

oh, if i’m already ranting about fruit, another sad moment: mango season is also dwindling.  in honor of the mango, i am going to re-post from facebook my five reasons why i thank god mangoes exist:

1. its considered a “super fruit” cuz of all the good healthy stuff in it

2. its skin is 2-5 beautiful colors at one time…kelly green, cornflower yellow, bright red, firey orange, deep burgundy

3. mango salsa

4. mango lassi (way to go, india!  we love you!)

5.  licking the mango that’s all over my fingers afterwards

good one, god! thanks for the mango!

oh and yasmine (who u can find on the list of blog links to the right) thought the mango salmon ceviche that i made the other day also worthy of the list.   good golly this was a long post…i have to wake up in 5 hours so, have a good one, everybody

mu-sick

i’ve had this revelation a hundred zillion times…but once again it came…and it’s so true…so very true…and so very simple.

we can’t live by how we feel or don’t feel.  period.

i’ve been downloading music for more than 10 years, since the age of 12, when napster came out.  yeah, baby, 400 bytes per second.   i’ve felt fine about it, and sorry if this causes you theological issues, but i’ve never heard any small voice saying “ronit, this is wrong” every time i clicked the mouse.  but you know what?  it *is* wrong.  you know how i know it’s wrong?  because it’s stealing.  stealing is wrong.  end of story.

what a hypocrite i’ve been up until now.  my response to the baffled gasps that follow when my fellow soldiers see that my movie collection is in actual, copyrighted and legally distributed reproductions is “i’m not going to download movies like everyone else.  it’s stealing…”  and music isn’t?  perhaps the stealthy justification complex in my head bended the truth, because, after all, movies are multi million dollar productions while a cd is not…and music from cds can be heard for free over the internet legally and on the radio, so what’s the difference?  and i felt just swell about it.

i also felt fine when i picked a few nectarines from a field during a patrol, but i couldn’t escape the truth that was uttered from the mouth of a friend, the commander of the jeep:  “those are someone else’s trees.  that’s stealing.”   the fact that they have acres of land and two peaches would not make any significant dent in the owner’s profits was irrelevant; on principle, my action was taking that which was not mine.  (but don’t you worry about me; there are plenty of free and lonely trees bearing prickly pear, figs, and peaches…and if i happen to catch workers in the fields, they are usually more than happy to share with me a fruit or two.)  my head creates complicated webs of rationalization allowing my feelings to contently comply to my self-centered wants, but it takes a most simple thing, a truth spoken directly and concisely, to pierce through those excuses.

and so i asked my army friend who i consider to be my greatest israeli authority on music if he’d like me to send him the benny goodman track he had just thoroughly enjoyed on my phone to his, and he launched an arrow through the tangles of false justification surrounding my core values in saying, “no, ronit.  that’s stealing.”  in an instant, a fluttering little thought floated about in my mind: “he’s right.”  about 5 seconds were left for me to reach out, capture this fact and insert it into my heart, or ignore its presence entirely and continue walking in delusion.   reluctantly, i grasped hold of it at the last second and said admittedly, “yeah, you’re right.  it is.”

currently i’m at home, where i’ll be for an entire week (yay!)…stopped on the way at tower records and bought 4 new israeli cds (because israeli music is all but missing entirely from my life, and what a shame it is) and then realized that i could have gotten them much cheaper at a used cd store in jerusalem, which i’ll venture to next time.  anyway, it’s not as if i’m going to refuse to listen to a mix cd that someone gives me, and i’m still going to download music that someone far away suggests to me in order to determine whether or not i like it enough to buy it, and if i don’t, say hello to mr. recycle bin.

oh good golly.  where the heck am i going to get $700 to buy legal photoshop?  this being moral business can be expensive…

BUT on more interesting subjects, at least to me, i found the prettiest tomatoes: deep red striped with forest green.  they were a whopping 8 shekels for a basket, which is expensive for produce in israel, because they’re “fancy” oooo (about $2…in america i assume they would be around $4-7, depending on how snooty the store is…sucks to be you, americans.  oh, wait, everything except food is cheaper there.  sucks to be me.)  i also found yellow cherry tomatoes, which are about the size of the mini fresh mozzarella balls that i also bought.  with fresh basil from the deck, the cutest caprese ever…  so, way to go israel on the smaller tomatoes, which are consistently sweet and robust in flavor, but what the heck were you thinking with regular tomatoes?  i don’t even know which species this is but if i did i would commit genocide on it.  the geniuses of this country have developed some of the most advanced agricultural techniques in the world, so why can’t we crank out some full-bodied beefsteaks?   or some ugly looking heirlooms, whose inner beauty shines through in juicy red perfection?  i can’t take anymore of these bland-no, tasteless- tomatoes with an enormous and annoying inner core and come in two levels of ripeness: hard or mealy.  one of my favorite things about this country, in fact perhaps my very favorite thing, is its produce.  one would assume that what is perhaps the most consumed item in the country would have been refined to perfection, or at least available in more than 2 varieties.  israel, you’re letting me down.  i might just have to revolutionize the tomato as it’s known in this country, but that will be after i introduce to it the wonder of the lime.  big dreams, i know, but it can happen…

figs and fishies and such

these last two weeks were probably the most enjoyable days i’ve spent draped in sweaty green rags.  last year, at the exact same location, most of my waking hours involved guarding, cleaning, and other various chores of the lowest rung on the hierarchy of simple soldiers in an idf combat unit which is organized purely by time spent in service.  but this year, now i’m a seasoned soldier, and my missions are outside the outpost patrolling the area in an (air conditioned, thank god) jeep.  these patrols bare little resemblance to those i did in the west bank: standing hours in full gear, check points, higher pressure.  those months were full of  important work that i truly appreciate as a influential, but not the particularly fun, experience in my life.

these days, on the other hand, are a bit more relaxed…

the area is for some a getaway, with lakes and pools with visitors that need, um, protecting and, hey, if they want to offer us some homemade goodies they brought on the trip or some coffee, why not?  passing through a watermelon patch, i asked the workers if one could be spared and was given five.  in fact, my main mission besides securing the border is gathering wild figs which grow abundantly throughout the area – i even made fig jam on base.  the wildlife in the north is like none i’ve witnessed in israel, from leaping elk to soaring spotted hawks to a friendly fox that eats my gross army food leftovers to a family of some sort of hedgehog looking critter sprawled out lazily on boulders.  oh, and speaking of animals..well..i’ve been doing a bit of thinking on that subject.

actually i’ve been doing a bit of thinking on that subject for quite a few years.  and if you’re someone who rolls your eyes when animal rights are mentioned, then go ahead and skip to the bottom because i’m sure at the end i’ll be rambling about figs again (they’re just oh-so lusciously delectable.)  anyway, four or so years ago, at the end of high school, working at trader joe’s and learning about (and being obsessed with) their products caused me to become more aware of the issue of animal cruelty.  i have always been of the opinion that there is nothing innately immoral about killing an animal for food, which probably stems from my belief in the bible in which god was the first to kill an animal, but on the other hand, god gave us standards for how to care for animals up until that point.  he cared that when we used an ox to plow our fields that we did not muzzle them, allowing them to freely eat while working,  not just treated them like a lifeless machine, even if a muzzled ox would be more efficient as it wouldn’t stop to graze.  currently, the meat industry does everything within its power to maximize profit, regardless of the inhumane treatment towards animals that this requires.  there are plenty of appetite spoiling websites out there on the subject, including many unrealistic and fanatical ones, so i’ll leave you to your own interest adventure on the topic instead of delving into specifics.

so, back to high school me working at wonderland aka trader joe’s.  i decided to eat only free range meat, which is supposed to (there are even issues within…) ensure humane, natural, and usually hormone and anti-biotic free life for the eventually to be savored in my mouth animals.  this fell apart when i moved to israel, where i thought to myself: soon i’ll be in the army, no free range there anyway, and i’m gonna need more protein than ever.  that was three years ago, and recently i’ve been rethinking the subject.  two weeks ago i spoke with a vegetarian, asking him why he chose that lifestyle.  he was not a fanatical animal rights activist who believes that killing an animal is murder, in fact he agreed with me that it wasn’t immoral as a concept, and he did not choose to eliminate meat from his diet for health reasons.  he stated in quite plain terms that he would be opposed to killing an animal for fun, so the only reason he would do so is because of its taste, an idea which to him lacks justification in an age and society where we can survive quite well without the bloodshed.  this was an obvious yet new manner to approach the subject to me, and i began to ponder once again how and if i would incorporate, well, dead animals in my life.  i decided that, in the mean time, i’d return to an even more extreme version of my pre-israel ideals, limiting my animal protein to fish.   reasons?  there’s a good 5 of them…one of them being now i get to have the cool new label of “pescetarian,” which, unfortunately, has no translation into hebrew (hey, hebrew, how about u GET MORE WORDS already…then hebrew says back to me: hey, ronit, how about u at least learn the ones there are before u start complaining?)

the next week, i discussed these ideas with some people on base.  i posed a question for which i hadn’t yet arrived to an answer, “if you had to personally kill every animal you were to eat, would you continue to consume meat?”  and there you go, i asked for it.

later that day, while on patrol, we arrived at a bank of a lake upon which a handful of campers had pitched tent.  out of the corner of my eye, i noticed a wobbling blob on the ground, which upon closer inspection i found was a net full of still moving fish.  a young girl hesitatingly inched toward the net and peered curiously at the creatures.  i was reminded of a time when, at about her age, i went fishing with my father and brother.  after excitedly reeling in my first catch, my heart suddenly dropped when i realized that i had doomed this suddenly helpless, flapping fish pointlessly fighting for its life on the boat floor,  and i insisted on throwing it back in.  this, of course, did not stop me from enjoying the carcasses of fish that my father had caught for dinner later that evening – then, as now, the feelings aroused by a dying animal are different from those brought up by one already dead.  as i reminisced on the bank of the lake and drew near the pile of fish, a man took one and carried it to a wood plank, its attempts to fly out of his strong grasp futile.  while holding the creature steady with one hand, the other used a knife to nonchalantly chop off its head, blood staining the tan wood with splashes of burgundy.  while the man cleaned out the insides of the body in preparation for cooking over the campfire, the mouth on the head on the ground still opened and closed, gills heaving in breathing motions.  the little girl stood by, seemingly unfazed; we get used to these things.  the commander on the patrol turned to me and said “he’s doing it wrong.  you’re supposed to give it a whack in the head so it dies first.  in any case, it’s not comfortable.”

i had to do it.  i had to understand what it feels like to take a living creature’s life, cockroaches and mosquitoes notwithstanding.  i had to see where my conscience would take me.  i was no longer a little girl and had to acknowledge that by eating the fish caught by my dad, i was essentially not throwing them back in, and despite the feelings in my heart, was choosing to end their life just as if it was my own hands which had done the deed.  if an uneasy feeling arose in my conscience, if i felt that something was just not quite good about what i did, i would probably forgo animal consumption altogether immediately.

so i thanked god that i am not a squeamish individual and requested from the man to have a try.  he obliged, and i grabbed a fish from the net and pressed it against the bloody block of death, a knife against its side.  it squirmed under my hand, leaving me no room to deny the breathing life of this creature.  i felt its life.  and then, as i forced the blade through flesh, organs, and bones, and as that animal looked in all directions, including mine, i took that life.  i stopped it all.  i cut it time on earth short when it would have otherwise lived, had i not desired its taste.  i removed life from this planet.  power was mine.  the rush of that power mixed with the uncomfortableness at the site of suffering – a new and strange sensation.  fresh blood gushed from the decapitated creature, no longer needed, and the carcass was swept up to be gutted routinely.

there were no aching emotions within me.  i had no reason to believe that what i did was “wrong,” no bearing on my conscience that would keep me from doing it again.  but what is “not wrong” is not always best.  it is written that one day the lion will lay with the lamb, and i assume that if even lions will become vegetarians, so will we.  even though there is nothing immoral about killing animals for their flavor, perhaps there is something to denying that right.  maybe, because it is needless in our society, avoiding this bloodshed is simply a preferable lifestyle, but not a more moral one.  i cannot say that god gave us animals for us to eat, because in eden it was not so, rather it was the curses as a consequence of man’s fall that brought about the act of animals killing each other.  once again, this is not to suggest that it is a bad thing in itself, but an aspect of a purified world is vegetarianism, so why not try to emulate that?   on the other hand, we can’t just try to escape to a land untainted by sin while we are still living in the opposite.   then again, but this is not trying to escape any more than a man working in air conditioning is escaping the curse of sweat from labor.   ah, i don’t know if i’ll ever really come to a conclusion on this; fortunately it isn’t the biggest issue in the world.

anyway, i’m still searching in this subject.  i don’t know if my statements are all preceded with the word “perhaps” because i really am not convinced, or if i simply selfishly adore the taste of fish.  am i being honest with myself?  for now, this will do.  and who knows what i’ll do if and when i go to culinary school…not eat what i cook?  maybe even the pescetarianism is a phase…who knows?  i’m sure i’ll resolve it all eventually, and if not, oh well.

i’m so tired…posted pics of the last two weeks on facebook…back to base tomorrow…tah tah

thoughts in the operations room

five weeks ago i went on a three-week trip to visit family and friends in america…all of my friends have moved on in their lives, but whenever i visit, mine is frozen in 2006 and so i invite the same group for the same kind of bbq in the same house…some of them don’t see each other save my yearly visit…kinda funny.  i had a thoroughly relaxing time and it was nothing but delightful to see these dear ones, although i wish i could have hung around a bit longer as i didn’t get to see quite everyone…anyway, i do hope those friendships never die.

back on base and waiting, yet again, to calibrate my gun, i have been stuck as a gopher (go for this, go for that) in the operations room.  it’s a totally made-up position that didn’t exist last year and is basically to do everything that the almost imprisoned operator can’t…like run outside and find people that can’t be reached or wake up sleepy drivers…apart from the suffocating heat and lack of air circulation and crazy scary bugs (i mean the size of mice…i’d rather have the mice actually), it’s actually quite an easy and flexible job that allows me ample free time to do things like type random thoughts to myself on the computer…and i quote….

1. if only i could capture this moment, this perfectly mundane and ordinary hour of my current existence.  one day life will no longer hold the simplicity of being the operational room helper in an outpost on the syrian border, spending the day in a stuffy, disconnected bunker running small errands, watching phones when the operator steps out, reading books, and viewing the type of movies i just so happen to enjoy very much, thank you.  my movies are called “weird” by the 19/20 year old soldiers who are my peers: many foreign, mostly dramas, the majority of them “boring.”  Boring like my current day, and every day that i have been stuck in these windowless tunnels for 12 hour shifts while i wait to calibrate my new gun in order to participate in regular missions.  yet boredom should not be taken for granted; i consider it a form of tranquility.  if one has troubles, his mind is occupied by them, therefore one who is bored, lacking any occupation but staring at his choice of floor or ceiling, cannot be terribly troubled.  boredom is an unappreciated manifestation of peace.

“boring” is a term i understand but rarely feel.  because of my fascination with most particles of matter that this planet has to offer, i am blessed enough to have the ability to find distraction often times even in the most simple of entities.  at this moment, i look at the abused white board in front of me, the purpose of which is to display which soldiers are involved in various routine missions.  the inconsistencies in the lines creating boxes for lists of names catch my eye, and i imagine to myself an unsteady hand awkwardly attempting to draw them as straight as possible but trembling toward the end of each.  white smudges slightly deface numbers, titles, and ranks, an act attributed to accidental brushing of objects and body parts which have carelessly swept dry ink off its surface.  spots on the board are faintly stained by ink wiped off in a half-dry state, with scuff marks on the frame and dents on the facade.  though i encountered this object every day last week, until giving it purposeful attention, i never recognized its uniqueness.  it possesses a beauty of its own, although not the type of beauty i would want to hang in my living room, and i am now filled with a quiet joy at having this secret-feeling opportunity to observe such an object in this way.

2.  during my trip to america last month, i was constantly asked if i was fluent in hebrew, but how on earth could someone have grasped every single word in a language in just three years?  i believe that my level of speaking concerning every day matters is that of fluency with a negligible smattering of adorable mistakes uttered though an accent that is apparently quite fun to affectionately mock.  my reading and writing, on the other hand, are unfortunately at a very elementary level.  to my pleasant surprise, a friend who sometimes spends time attempting to help improve my reading in hebrew, currently through c.s. lewis’s narnia, just visited me for a short lesson on this way to guard duty.

these days i often ponder how a person is perceived through a language that is not his mother tongue, a subject which scarcely appeared in my thoughts before moving to a foreign country, perhaps with the exception of frustration toward a brooklyn delivery man whose inability to understand the phrase “where are you?” caused my thai food to arrive cold.  usually my thoughts focus on the speaker’s futile battle to express himself fully because of his lack of of articulacy, which consequently causes the way he is perceived by others to seem vulnerable, disadvantaged, and although he may not be considered by the listener to be unintelligent, is sometimes treated as such with down-talking.  personally, i often feel rather limited, powerless to illustrate my true feelings and thoughts which i cannot place into words found in my inadequate vocabulary.  because of this hitch i know that i am seen differently by hebrew speakers than i am by english speakers- a bilingual individual who i had only once spoken to in my mother tongue told me that when i used it i sounded like a completely different person.

inarticulateness influences ones perceived image, but it recently occurred to me that it is not the only factor in speech which molds how a person is viewed differently when conversing in a language other than his native tongue.  i realized this while watching a movie featuring a character whose most typifying attribute to me was a russian accent; it essentially built his personality.  he was seen and known by the viewer as “the russian guy,” but if he had been in a russian movie this trait would have gone unnoticed due to commonality.  similarly, when i am speaking english with north americans my american accent does not enter the picture, and any errors are probably common enough to be ignored.  there is no language barrier, so accurately named as it is an obstacle which interferes with the listener’s ability to hear my voice naturally.  if viewers of that film were asked to list five characterizing aspects for each character, they would list five legitimate traits for each one except the russian, for whom they would list one trait entirely relative to his surroundings: his accent.  because this characteristic would appear on the list, whatever valid trait #5 would have otherwise been would be in fact knocked off and missed.  what a shame that for me too there exists some important facet of my personality that when i speak in a language other than my native tongue, simply cannot be seen by the listener.  my uncontrollable accent and lack of vocabulary, which are relative and superficial qualities that have nothing to do with my true personality, take up room on the list otherwise belonging to a more interesting quality that sadly goes unnoticed.  at least when in that foreign language environment, it is similar to being someone with a peculiarity that does not greatly influence his abilities, for instance someone missing an eye wearing a path: first people see that unusual feature and then move on to other characteristics.  this person will most likely be first characterized by his abnormality (“you know, john, the one with the patch) just as i will most likely be first characterized by my accent (“you know, ronit, the american girl.”)  this is all said with 5% frustration, 10% disappointment, 10% good humor and 75% awe.  life is so funny. i just adore it!

hm. that’s all.  i need to get some sleep…nitenite…

milk jam

so i jotted down some thoughts throughout the past two weeks, which are stuck inside a locker on base…so…oh well…maybe next time we’ll have some cohesive writing, this time we will have disconnected musings once more…

we’ve finally finished our field training for the season.  who says the army wastes all the country’s money and resources?  we just saved a ton of water by not showering 5 days out of the week for a month!

anyway, i’ll be visiting my country tis of thee in less than a week.  after stops in pa, nyc, and mi, i’ll be back in maryland, home of my wonderful father and brother and two dogs and a bird that live in a house that desperately needs to be de-junkified and sold so that my dad can make aliyah (help welcomed) where i’ll be until the end my 20 day trip.

um, i have nothing interesting or insightful to say this time around, just looking forward to seeing old friends and cooking with my dad and playing with my dog in a grassy green yard…and eating a lot of asian food and buying a lot of affordable but stylish clothing, bot of which i’ve missed dearly here.  i’m about to make a few batches of cookies for a couple of people’s birthdays, as well as attempt to create a cake in the shape of a rocket launcher for a member of my squad who specially requested it for his.  if i succeed, pictures will ensue.  if i fail, pictures of me crying will ensue.

oh and here are some pictures from the last couple weeks…they’re taken on my cellphone’s camera, which is of the quality one would expect from a cell phone.  my 30d awaits me in america…sigh…

he stole my awesome and unique hat that no one else had.  i told him he could keep it, but he owes me something special and unknown in the future.  i believe that someday he will be a VIP and then i’ll ask him for front row tickets to whatever.

cleaning up after a week of work.  being an artillery combatant is definitely at times a dirty job…crawling around in the inner workings of the vehicle which is covered in dirt the way land is covered in snow, checking all sorts of oils which i inevitably end up spilling on myself, wiping off grease and dust and rocket residue with rags soaked in diesel fuel, then putting new grease on.  i’d never even seen grease before i came to the army…kinda looks like peanut butter, but certainly doesn’t taste like it, i mean, i’m guessing…er…

ok, this is hilarious.  dulce de leche in hebrew is called ribat halav, which is literally milk jam.  this is what happens when you translate literally, perhaps according to a dictionary,  without having an actual understanding of a language.  at least they spelled it right.

sweat and dirt

i’m not quite sure where i’m going with this one…just gonna talk about the week.

sunday night we set off for the field.  thursday night i took a shower. soap and water fought hard against dirt and grease and after about a half an hour finally won the battle…

all week sweat ran down my body and mixed with the dusty summer earth of the hills in the golan-.  some of the boys complain about serving with girls, but oddly they didn’t say a peep about the baby wipes i brought, or the tweezers to pull out thorns, or the cous cous i prepared on the little camping stove.  on the other hand, i kinda sat around and did nothing at one stage of the competition between squads which involved only physical work.  for a moment i felt inadequate, but i realized that in the end, our main shtick is shooting rockets, and guys and girls press buttons and step on gas pretty much equally.

even though the week was extremely tiring and could be described as nothing but filthy, there was something liberating about spending the entire time outdoors, so far from some of the most basic aspects of what we call normal life.  no grooming other than teeth brushing and face washing, no toilets, no media whatsoever, no music, nothing reminiscent of decor or design, no advertisements, not even a mirror…just a backpack and one piece suit which i never changed out of and a giant truck with a rocket launcher in a field in the middle of nowhere.  at the end of one hot and trying day i lay in my sleeping bag under the camouflage net canopied from our vehicle and watched the calming wind shoot dancing ripples across the material above me.  to my left was heavy machinery, heaps of olive, snoring soldiers; to my right was a softly fading twilight, the black silhouettes of wheaty grasses swaying against a periwinkle sky, singing crickets, and a sweet, caressing breeze.  for a moment i forgot where i was. 

this is the remainder of my squad, and in the middle is the turtle we found one day.

so i made him the squad mascot.  and no, it doesn’t hurt a turtle to write on his shell…don’t start yelling at me for animal abuse…he’s got a cooler shell than all the rest of the turtles now.

oh, speaking of animal abuse…

i’ve decided that i’m a flexi-pesce-tarian.  a flexitarian is someone that isn’t quite vegetarian as they eat meat on occasion, and a pescetarian is someone that eats a vegetarian diet with the addition of fish.  in general i think that the act of killing innocent animals and feasting on their flesh is a great idea, but the way they are treated up until that point is usually inhumane.  even in the torah god gives us guidelines as to how to treat animals, and the modern system does not operate in the spirit of those standards.  i’ve felt this way for a while, but i only acted on it for about a year or two when i went on a free range kosher bit…which i guess i’m going back to.  so that’s one thing.  another is that i believe that people should eat less meat (meat as in moo or baa) because the raising of livestock can be attributed to about 18% of the global warming effect…waaaaayyy more than transportation (according to a study by the food and agricultural organization of the un).  but all this is speaking of what i will do with my money, not exactly about what i will eat, which is why i must be put in the category of semi.  if someone’s serving it, i’ll eat it…and being in the army, i only have the opportunity to buy food a couple days a week…so all this is pretty irrelevant for the next year and 2 months.  one more thing.  having a house w/o meat helps free up any kosher issues in israel…my religious friends will be able to eat at my house while i won’t have to mess with the inconvenience of having two sets of everything.  oh, but i think i’ll start after my vacation to america in 4 weeks…haha