There’s so much I want to write about my life here, but I didn’t know where to start. Let’s start with Lulu.
She belongs to a member but hangs out with the volunteers because we have Sven — the Alpha Male Swede. Life is pleasantly simple on a kibbutz. We all work in whatever fields are needed for community living and share the profits.
Ba’ram’s main avenues of income are fruit orchards and a plastic factory that makes the tiny toggle that moderates the fluids that pass through the drip. El Com occupies 40 per cent of the world’s market for this apparatus and probably made the ones used on Tushar during his recent hospitalizations.
And now I have to clean their toilets to say thank you.
Yeah, I clean toilets, and floors, and dustbins, and changing rooms. I polish windows, take out the laundry, check the refills. If this was my only job, I would be festering with angst and desperation. Since it’s not, it gives me a perspective. And using alcohol and industrial strength detergents to clean is fun.
Our duties rotate and I might work in laundry, apple-packing, dinning, kitchen, gardens or the members’ club soon. Work in the orchards is limited in winter and mostly requires big men to chop and bind and carry little dogs in their jerseys.
Everyone eats together and the laundry is where everyone’s laundry is done. There are only three places on the kibbutz where monetary transactions take place — the Colbo which is the utility store open for three to four hours a day; the fruit market that a farmer sets up twice a week (we have access to all the fruits we grow, if you’re about to get smart); and the boutique (open for two hours a week). It’s rehab for compulsive shoppers.
And my timings? 6.30 am to 2 pm with three breaks — one for an hour and two for 40 minutes. Did I mention a five day week? And two extra holidays a month? I’m switching careers.
Pictures are here, here and here