Travel Diaries:1970s Palestine. Episode 22
Friday November 26th 1976
Shabbat Shalom (I spell this a different way everytime ..one ‘b’ or two?). Three seperate mobile parties, moving from room to room, merged into one with all of us paralytic ..me quicker than most -an added affect from my tonsillitis prescribed antibiotics. I hurt from continual laughing at the profoundly uninspired quotes uttered by co-inebriated companions (is that even a word?), and the plight of some legless volunteer being bundled into a wheelbarrow and rushed to the disco as if it were a medical emergency. What a night it’s been, and I wonder how many of the group will be up for the Kibbutz arranged trip to Jersalem leaving at 06.00 tomorrow?
Before Shabbat got underway, as the sun was setting, I went bareback horseriding in the desert with another volunteer. It was a lovely scene as the sky turned red, but I didn’t have long to admire it. My skilled equestrian companion whacked my horse on its rear to make it race off across the rough terrain, making my heart race even faster. I doubt I’ll ever grip anythng so hard between my knees again, but the fear of falling off unleashed hidden survival instincts.
Sunday November 28th 1976
About forty volunteers made it out of bed for the trip to Jerusalem yesterday. It was windy, grey and bitterly cold and we’ve been issued parafin heaters for our huts ..another sure way for some of us to asphyxiate ourselves and test Kibbutz firefighting efficiency.
It rained heavily all morning as I looked out from the window of the Clothes Store (Hebrew name not yet learned). It’s the laundry centre, that of the numbered clothes and gossip about their owners. And I sat ironing hankies. I’ve not seen anyone delicately using such items. A sleeve does just as well, and has a larger surface area. One sleeve can last days without being noticed by others. I watched the half-drowned pardes workers returning from their cancelled shift as I sat, bored out of my mind, wishing I understood enough Hebrew to eavesdrop on the latest episodes of Be’eri equivalent Peyton Place.
Two newbies arrived as we were lying down on the central grass -of a socialist Kibbutz- to play the cut-throat game of capitalist crimes, Monopoly. Everyone filed for bankruptsy in a short period of time, suggesting that with such poor business acumen, we should all just give up and apply for permanent Kibbutz membership now.
Another letter arrived. Time isolate and commune with far away spirits.