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

