My first Israeli in a keffiye

Moving into my apartment has given me unusual insight into my priorities.

Two days ago, as I took a lame shower in which I had to hold the shower head the whole time, I realized I had managed to buy cumin, thyme, cinnamon, hot pepper, oregano and turmeric and yet neglected to pick up a shower curtain. So today when I went out for a shopping spree, I bought...saffron.

Actually Israel is unleashing an inner consumer I barely recognize. I bought a second-hand bicycle, and then was consumed with thoughts of accessories for it. Lock! Bike rack! Bungee cords! I have spent about $75 so far on my bike, which I have reason to believe was stolen before I bought it. The guy selling it met me on a street corner and claimed to have purchased a motorized scooter, which made the bike unnecessary. Well, being that I only realized the bike is hot after the fact, I think I'm just going to keep it and learn to look myself in the mirror.

In other news, I saw my first Israelis in keffiyes. A keffiye is an Arab headdress usually in either black and white or red and white. Yasser Arafat always wore one. It's seen as a symbol of Palestinian nationalism. It's also mass-marketed in neon colors in Urban Outfitters.

The way it happened was I heard about an olive harvest. The Israeli security wall/fence, built to avoid terrorist attacks coming from the West Bank, snakes into Palestinian territory. In some cases, it runs between Palestinian towns and the farming fields that belong to the residents. In these situations, the farmers have to get permits to cross the fence and access their fields. Sometimes, they can't get enough family members out there, and so they don't manage to complete the harvest of olives.

Enter leftist Israelis. During the olive season, the organization Gush Shalom (Peace Bloc) organizes buses from Haifa and Tel Aviv to Palestinian fields. I caught a ride in Tel Aviv just before 8 and spent the rest of the day in an olive grove outside Tulkarem in the West Bank.

Olive trees can be as short as a person, in which case you just reach all over the tree and pick the olives, or they can be quite tall. In that case, a tarp is spread out under the tree and someone (usually male) climbs into the tree with a stick and beats the hell out of the upper branches. The olives fall into the tarp, the tarp is dragged away from the tree, and then people (usually female) pick out any branches that fell in and shovel the olives into big woven sacks.

At lunch time, the farmer and his family laid out a spread of homemade hummus, labne, olives, miniature eggplants and other fabulous things. One of the other volunteers made an astute observation: "The olive harvest combines two fantasies: 1, farming, and 2, solidarity with Palestinians." I might add, 3, awesome village food.

I wish I could say I was super useful during this harvest. Sometimes I was, but other times there were 30 people crowded around 4 trees, and I kind of wandered around taking photos and asking people to take them of me. Here's what I got:

The winding road in the middle is the security fence. It looks like a dirt road, but it's a fence with a sand path along it so any footprints are easy to see. The buildings off in the distance are Tel Aviv. The white things on the left are covered greenhouses. Plasticulture (agriculture using plastic) is big out here, since it shields plants from the sun and wind and helps keep moisture in.

Raw olives. They taste horrible before they're properly treated with oil, lemon, salt, pepper, etc.

The group picking. You can see the tarps on the ground, and the village off in the distance.
More of the group.

My first Israeli in a keffiye.

Trying to beat the olives out of the tree. Not very successful.

Wifi, Yitzchak Rabin and Circumcision

I didn't mention this last night when I wrote, but right before I got to the place yesterday I panicked, wondering if I had chosen an apartment that was in leafy suburban northern Tel Aviv, and if I would be cut off from civilization and miserable.

Luckily, not only are there 4 coffee shops on one side of the city block, but also a free Wifi connection we're mooching off a stupid neighbor who doesn't use a password. I've really arrived.

Having all these luxurious personal effects is freeing me up to think about bigger philosophical questions, which to be honest is part of the reason I came to Israel for the year in the first place.

On Saturday night, I went to a rally in Tel Aviv's Rabin Square to honor the 12-year anniversary of his assassination on that very spot. Estimates are that between 100,000 and 150,000 people showed up. They had a blimp filming the rally, with a video screen projecting what we looked like, and the crowd overflowed from the square and into the main street, Ibn Gvirol, looking huge in the city. It felt like I was at one of the anti-communist rallies of Eastern Europe - but there were no tanks.

This is the second huge rally I've been to in Israel. The first was in Jerusalem in summer 2005. It was against the Disengagement (removal of Israeli settlements) in Gaza. The crowd was all in orange, in long skirts and yarmulkes. I don't know if it was because we were in the Old City, where the corridors are narrow and there is just no room for that many people without shoving, but I was really unhappy to be there. It didn't help that everyone around me was both 1) right wing and 2) sweaty and gross, as this was in the summer.

Saturday's was much more pleasant. The evening wasn't hot, the crowd not as tightly packed. Instead of orange, a lot of the crowd was in royal blue, a color often associated with the left wing. The only yarmulke I saw was on the head of the mayor of Jerusalem, who spoke about Rabin's legacy to never divide the capital city. This was kind of an asinine time for comments like that, but it was nice to at least see one religious person commemorating Rabin's death.

The rally made me think about how fractured the Israeli public is regarding its future and peace. Recent polls show that a huge amount of people do not believe Yigal Amir assassinated Rabin, even though there is footage of his interrogation, where he explains exactly how and why he pulled the trigger. At one point the investigator asks Amir if he's sorry. "Has veshalom," he answers, translating to something like "hell no."

Incidentally, Yigal Amir was not executed but is serving a life sentence. While in prison he has managed to get married and artificially inseminate his wife. His first son was born recently and was circumcised yesterday as an additional slap in the face to Rabin's legacy.