10 | APRIL 11 • 2024
J
N

I

put my hands in the dirt in
Israel to work the land and
it changed everything.
Let me back up. I was
raised in the Conservative
movement. I am
not observant.
Before Oct. 7,
I would have
called myself
“vaguely
Zionist.” I had
been to Israel
several times
as an adult as part of several
Jewish Federation mission
trips that left me proud of
the Detroit community’s
commitment to the country.
It seemed far away once I got
home. I was glad Israel was
there, but I didn’t think of it
as a vacation spot, let alone
home. I definitely took it for
granted.
But then Oct. 7 happened.
Suddenly, I felt a rage
growing that shocked me
and that I didn’t completely
understand. Contributing

money to Israeli causes,
reading, posting, none of it
was enough. My husband,
Jon, and I had a two-week trip
planned last month to visit
our youngest son, Matthew.
He plays professional soccer
in the Israeli Premiere League
for Hapoel Tel Aviv and made
aliyah in July 2023. I was glad
to be going as a tourist, but
I yearned to make more of a
difference.
On Feb. 13, I received an
email from Adamah, the
largest Jewish environmental
organization in North
America. It was offering a
service trip to volunteer on a
farm — starting the day after
I had originally planned to
come back to Michigan. It felt
like the answer to a prayer. I
applied. I was accepted. And
on March 18, the adventure
began.
Twenty-three of us
(including two rabbis) from
across the United States
gathered in Tel Aviv to begin

our travels. We ranged in age
from our early 20s to our late
60s. We ranged in religion
from non-observant to
shomer Shabbos. We ranged
in farm work experience from
“I pull weeds” (most of us)
to former farmers from New
York and Vermont (two of
us). But what we lacked in
experience, we made up for in
desire.
We pulled into Kibbutz
Ravid in the Kinneret
after sunset. I would like
to describe the kibbutz as
“basic,” but it was also ….
well, let’s just say it could
have used a good cleaning.
And then it rained the next
two days and there was mud
everywhere. Israeli farmers
don’t go out in the rain, but
we were there and anxious
to help. Kibbutz chores were
found, but they seemed far
removed from working the
land. The group was tired.
And cranky. We were cold
and wet. And muddy. Really
muddy.
Slowly but surely, we pulled
it together. There was the

mystical beauty of the Galilee,
even in the rain. There were
warm golden sunsets like
something out of a movie.
We saw glorious sunrises …
farmers like us have to get
going early. At the crack of
dawn, we were drinking coffee
and making breakfast together
in our small communal
kitchen.
There were speakers who
taught us about food scarcity
and waste, about sustainability
efforts, about the socio-
economic plight of Arab
Israelis and the initiatives
of Arab Israeli women, in
particular, to lift up their
community.
We volunteered with Arab
Israeli teenagers to pack
food boxes for people in
need in their community.
And then we joined them
for dinner at Iftar, the daily
break of the Ramadan fast.
We spent a morning talking
to Jewish evacuees from
the north who have no idea
when they will ever go home
again. We had lunch one
day at an organization called

essay

Farming and
Learning in Israel

PURELY COMMENTARY

Jan
Goldstein
Frank
Jon and Jan Frank
with Matthew
Frank in Jaffa.

The mango
orchards of
Kibbutz Ravid