54 Treasures in a Nearby Orchard

In an orchard next to my house, which by now only hints at being an orchard – lying there, as if at an agricultural exhibition, are tools that have seen better days as well as old boxes, poles and pegs arranged in piles on an ancient wagon, of which only a rusty frame remains. And close to the fence that marks my yard stand two elongated sheet metal shacks out of which one can glimpse building blocks, rotting planks, old doors and ladders without rungs. I never looked inside these shacks. Our cats visit there occasionally and more than once have I heard hair raising war cries emerging from there. Who is fighting whom? I don't know. The cats, who at times return wounded from their wars, don't say a word. Perhaps the huge snake that we found in our garden one morning lives there.

Almost daily I cross this little orchard whether on my way to the bakery or the bank, the post office or the spice store. Today on my way home from such a trip, I discovered that the orchard owner had placed two rolls of wire next to the short cut through the orchard. But perhaps they have been lying there for years and I have not noticed them.

The sun shone directly on them and it was possible to see the bushes that were trapped within and had become entangled in it even before it was transferred here from a different place. Long greenish-yellow and yellowish-white stalks fill the insides of the wires rusting iron and create together one round mass that appears to be airy and spongy but is actually quite solid.

Look at this cylinder – this wonderful entanglement of stalks and metal. I photographed it close up so that the object fills the field of vision. Such images have been created on painting canvases by using many tubes of paint. And lo and behold – a man walks nonchalantly in an orchard next to his home and sees a treasure like this.

53 New Moon Party

For the last few years now I have been an almost constant guest at the parties for the celebration of the 'New Moon' that are held in our region – thanks to my children, for whom these parties are an integral part of their world, and especially due to my son, who organizes some of these occasions and plays his cello at them. In this way I am brought somewhat closer to this special community that made our area a 'Spiritual" center. What I mean by this is the combination of some Jewishness, some of 'Yemima' teachings, some ecology as well as principles of healthy, organic nutrition and sometimes some 'New Age' as well. And of course a lot of music, primarily music with an 'ethnic' character, like the music which the ensemble in the photo plays. This 'Spirituality' which has earned itself a national reputation, competes with an opposing tendency which 'sells' our region as much esteemed real estate plots, much as 'Iraels's Provence', and it isn't difficult to guess that the real estate will win this competition. But in the meantime, the 'Holistic College' is flourishing here and perhaps there will be room for both tendencies without one defeating the other.

This photo was taken a week ago, at the last 'New Moon' occasion. It was a cold clear night but there was no rain. On the path leading to the shack there were still big puddles, however before the bonfire mats were spread and adults and children sat facing the fire. Inside the ensemble played as if to itself and at the other end of the shack there was a table with doughnuts and wine. A short time before I left, the people from Tel-Aviv arrived and I realized that the night was still young. At least three of them brought their instruments with them and I can only imagine that the jam session that began after the ensemble program, lasted long into the night.

Look at the musicians and their instruments. Note the saz and the little harp on the left and the different types of drums in the middle. Notice the warm light and the brown, wooden walls. Note as well the many microphones and the computer.

52 On Lending Films

I have never used the services of a 'videomat'. For a short period of time I had a subscription to a video library and recently I had one to a DVD library, but I gave it up. Today I make due with films of the cable network and from time to time I order a film on VOD. There I discovered films of the 'third ear' and found two treasures: 'The Kingdom', directed by Lars von Trier and 'Heimat 1', directed by Edgar Reitz. I immediately became captivated again seeing these two masterpieces. I remember how, in the 1980's we traveled to Tel Aviv on two long weekends to see 'Heimat 1' at a cinema. Seeing the film again was not disappointing in spite of the fact that certain pictures that had, in my memory, become somewhat mythological – for instance, Paul, who upon returning from the war, enters the village – now seem less impressive. But the 'village fool' Glazisch who tells the story and looks through the pictures, remains as impressive as ever.

Seeing 'The Kingdom' again was riveting. Although the subject of hidden ghosts and the unknown is irritating at times, the series is excellent and the acting is wonderful. What madness there is in the citadel of rationality, how dark desires combine as do many beliefs and nonsense, with modern medicine at its best, often all in the same person! In short, I spent an entire month immersed in these new-old revelations.

Today I hear more and more about 'downloading' films from the internet, that is to say, copying them from the world wide net to the home computer. I haven't reached that stage as yet; I don't even copy music in this way. But perhaps I shall choose another solution and acquire a new version of a cable box, which is called 'Magic' on the cable network that I am connected to. That would enable me to record without using any additional device or discs. That way I could see films broadcast on cable channels at hours convenient for me.

When I look at the 'videomat' on the wall between two stores, I think that this is an innovation that has already outlived its time. But perhaps I am wrong.

51 Once Upon a Hanukkah

'Once upon a Hanukkah/ the children were about to fall asleep/ the classroom was empty/ only the first candle still flickered/ silence, darkness, not a person in sight.../ the pots and pans were alone'. So begins Alterman's poem 'Nes Gadol Haya Poh', which tells about the Hanukkah game the household utensils played at night, after they recovered from their fear and said to the clock that had insulted them 'Shut up, fool. You talk nonsense. You yourself are nothing but a rag'. Primus Yehudah, aided by the Sabra flower pots – that is to say the Maccabim, defeated the Greek chairs and the tea kettle elephants that night.

We heard this wonderful poem in our childhood again and again and even dramatized it and fought, dressed up as a broom, a funnel, a primus and a puppy. Of course we knew it by heart from beginning to end and many of us can even now recite large parts of it from memory. The Hanukkah songs that we sang somewhat later in a choir, in four voices, included 'Here He Comes with His Army' to music from the oratorio 'Yehuda Maccabi' by Handel and 'Maoz tzur yeshuati' – also became part of us, and to this day I can sing the base part without a mistake.

'Once upon a Hanukkah' we would recite for our pleasure even when we were already grown up and would use ironic dramatization and extreme intonation in order to disguise our nostalgia. The photo shows us as we appeared in a 1971 Hanukkah party (at the time we were soldiers on leave) reading the poem. On the right are 'the chairs' Aryeh and Yaron, after them are Nachum 'the broom', Amos 'the primus' and myself 'the tea kettle'. And then Yigal 'the clock' and Amram 'the dreidle'.

50 Kikar Hamoshava

Kikar Hamoshava (The Village Square) has been and continues to be the center of the community. Although new neighborhoods have been built some distance away and the community already numbers tens of thousand of inhabitants, the square and the two streets that cross it remained the heart and center. During the day the streets that are nearly two hundred meters long in every direction, are bustling with people and cars are parked bumper to bumper. But in the evening the square empties and at night it is all but deserted.

The orange building on the right is a large store that sells office supplies, books, toys, computers and what not. Next to it is an elongated one story building which has columns in front of it, that contains two spice stores, a little restaurant, a book store that has seen better days and a toy shop. On the left edge of the picture the larger building of the bank can be seen and after that, the Super. Opposite it (outside the photo) are the mini shopping center which is half empty, a few more stores and a pharmacy. Further along that road are the seamstress' shop, the photography store and the bakery. And that's about all, that's the end of the center.

Continuing on the photo's right hand side, going down the street to the north, are two other banks, a computer store, a pet food shop, two clothing stores and an optometrist. After that another bakery, a new cafe, two pizza stalls and a barbershop. And that's it. After the crossroads (and the furniture store and framing shop) one comes to the Itin Play Ground.

East of the Moshava square, after the kiosk, is the post office and Yad Labanim (the Soldiers Memorial) and after them the Moshava administration building. Not long ago there was also a large bus terminal, but that is a thing of the past. To the center's west there is a cleaning materials store, two electrical supplies stores, another book shop, three household equipment stores, yet another clothing store, a religious supplies store, a flower shop, another barber and a grocery store – and that's about it. Further on is the Matnas (the Community Cultural Center).

Look at the square and its cheerful goats. It is charming but not very interesting. But look beyond the square at the series of columns in front of the elongated building. It is like a capsule frozen in time for tens of years. But the cellular antenna on the horizon reminds us of time marching on.

49 1965 Photo of "Sela"

Here we are in the classroom in front of the blackboard for a formal picture wearing the blue shirts of the "Hashomer Hatzair". In the top row from right to left are: Gilead, Noam (myself), Iris, Baruch, Yaron, Na'ama, Aharon and Uriel. In the middle row from right to left are: Dalia, Ze'ev, Edna, Yigal, Nava and Arieh. The three girls on the right in the bottom row are Batia, Yonit and Vered. They were new Rumanian immigrants who joined us for a short time only. After them in order are: Bina, Ishai and Hagit. The kneeling ones are: Amos and Yair.

That is the entire class, which is also the entire "group" which was known as "Beith Nir" in the "Hashomer Hatzair" ken of the Kibbutz. The "movement" was a vital part of our lives. Once a week we had an "activity" in which we discussed social and political subjects or went on a night outing (which combined military and adventurous elements), or we made camp fires and built scout structures.

Lately the opportunity presented itself and I found myself actively involved in a book by the historian George Mosse entitled "Nationalism and Sexuality". There he considers at length the German youth movement of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. To be sure, I knew of the historical connection between Hashomer Hatzair and the European youth movements, its romanticism as well as its rising nationalism. I had also heard from my mother about the "Werkleute" movement in Berlin and about their hikes in the forests (to wander, to wander is the Shomer's desire", to those who remember). But the intensive reading of Mosses' book made a deep impression on me. How similar the ethos of the German youth movement in the early 20^th century is to the ethos of "Hashomer Hatzair"! Love of nature, rejection of the bourgeoisie, the conviction of having a national mission, even the body image and the abstinences (the ten commandments of "Hashomer Hatzair", to those who remember, and above all "preservation of sexual purity and the prohibition of drinking wine").

The youth movement in the kibbutzim was void of meaning from the very beginning since it lacked the essential element: the revolt of the son. The founders of the German youth movement as well as the generation of our parents in "Hashomer Hatzair" revolted against their parents' way of life. For them the youth movement was the beginning of a new way of life. The following generation could not maintain this; we admired the historic revolt of our parents but were expected to give up any revolt on our part.

But in spite of that we loved the life in the movement, the "activities", the "camps", the "Shomriot" (the big national get-togethers of all the youths in the movement), and that entire world, which was a kind of autonomy of exuberant youth.

48 Today – 51 Years Ago

On this day 51 years ago I sat in an air raid shelter (in the picture I am sitting in the upper left hand corner, a lively, curly headed boy in shorts and a sweater that my mother knitted and listened to a story that Malvina told us. What stories did we hear at that time? Who knows. But I do remember from about that time the story of "Little Hunchback Horse". I remember that we sat between the bushes when the shelter was being dug and the gigantic bulldozer uprooted bushes near us. Afterwards, when the building of the shelter was completed, we ran from the children's house to the little wooden bunks under the ground to see how long that took. And all the nights of the Sinai War we slept crowded together there in three tiers. In the evenings, together with our parents, we listened to the 'central radio' (the loudspeaker connected to the only radio set in the kibbutz) and heard an authoritative voice talking about the battles that were taking place.

At that time children from the nearby air force base were added to my "group". And one night Benny Peled came to us in his flying overalls and gear to visit his son Yoram.

At the top of the picture, opposite me to my right sits Yaron. Under him Malvina is reading us a story. And next to her is Hagit (looking at the camera). Below her is – Amos. Above him, standing and leaning on the wooden pillar is Ishai. And to his left (next to me) is Bina. Under me you can see Gilead's head. In front, before Malvina sits (with his hand under his chin) Yair. The rest I can't identify with certainly.

In the course of time Ishai and I became pilots in the air force. So did Yoram, Benny Peled's son. Ishai's plane was shot down at the beginning of the Yom Kippur War in the Bardawil region of Sinai. For some time he was considered missing in action until we learned that he was a prisoner of war in Egypt. Today he is an El Al pilot. Gilead was killed toward the end of the war in the Golan. He did not have a permanent assignment when the war broke out; he was in an 'officers pool'. A group from that 'pool' joined a force that fought in the Golan. He was in a jeep when he was hit by a shell.

Yaron, Hagit, Bina, Ishai and Yair continue to live on the kibbutz to this day.

47 Saturday Morning at Sdot Yam Beach

More than a year has passed since the first column of "Pictures from my Cell Phone" appeared. I started it with one of my favorite places to which I return time and again – the beach of Sdot Yam. I photographed the sunset. When I look over my photo collection from that period, I see that I shot dozens of pictures of the sun setting in the sea. This is for me the most beautiful hour on the beach. How good it is to feel the slightly warm breeze and walk barefoot in the shallow water at sunset.

But lately I have devoted the last hours of daylight before Shabbat to my bicycle trips and here I am at the beach in the early morning hours. There are still only a few people here. The sea is stormy and the water almost reaches the sun sheds in the photo's right hand side. Two or three brave swimmers are in the sea and a father and his son are riding the waves in a canoe that isn't seen in the picture. The man on the left hand side is watching the canoe which just now reached the buoy in the center of the bay.

As yet the paddle ball and soccer players have not arrived. The peace and quiet of the sea are almost dream-like. But in another moment a huge wave will sweep over the dry sand at the pictures base and drive me away to a spot some ten meters from the sea. I read the final pages of "Disgrace" by Coetze. What a powerful book, what a wonderful author. I try to discover the meaning behind his subtle hints. Why the black neighbor is called Petrus (the name of one of the first Christians)? Why is the name of the young attacker Pollux (a name from the Greek Mythology)? Why was the episode at the University of Cape Town told before the story of the rape on the farm? What is the meaning of the first chapter that stands alone? And what are Byron, the great English poet and his abandoned lover Theresa doing here?

It is already warm. I shake off my thoughts and jump into the cool water – and clear my head of all this.

46 "Living" Water

On a trip to the north I got as far as "Selukia Spring" in the Golan Heights which provides water for one of the water bottling firms. I drank to my heart's content of the sweet, cold water – it was a pleasure. But at the pumping station "Sapir" near the Kineret, I heard that bottled water is no better than the water that flows from all the taps in the country; the only difference is the taste, because of the chlorine that is added to the water that reaches our homes.

How did they manage to convince us to refuse to drink tap water and to consume only bottled water which is a thousand times more expensive? It is indeed true that chlorine somewhat spoils the taste, and the neglected pipes in many places in the country (among them those near my home) cause dirt and rust to enter the water. But it would have been possible to overcome these difficulties by improving the local water infrastructure or by means of filterization. If that is so, why don't the authorities deal with the problems of the local water systems? Apparently for the lack of funds.

And what is even more frustrating is that the money we pay the water bottling companies would easily suffice to solve the problem if it was used to improve the water infrastructure. I read that in California people have begun to drink tap water again for environmental reasons. Why don't we follow in California's footsteps? The water from the Selukia spring is wonderful, that's true. But in order to drink it at home or in a restaurant would require a large distribution network which would pollute the environment. And add to this the problem of plastic bottles.

After all this, let's return to the spring. Although the little spring in the picture is man made, it is impossible to remain indifferent to the magic of gushing clear, pure water flowing between basalt rocks. Note the clean, dry rock on the side of the spring and observe the fresh color of the wet rock.

45 Gan Itin

A two minute walk from my home, on an elongated shaped square which had been a bit rundown, a beautiful playground appeared: 'Gan Itin'. In the afternoon hours children, parents and grandparents meet to enjoy happy hours and adventures (for the children) and peaceful contentment (for the adults).

When they come close to the playground, the children let go of the hands of the adults and run ahead enthusiastically. But when they reach the first amusement device and see an unfamiliar child, they stop and wait. Curiously they watch the other children and look back to see if their mothers or grandfathers are not too far away. With a little encouragement they climb carefully, still intensely watching the older child as he slides down the slide and they freeze in place as he finishes doing so, dashes by them, climbs up again and overtakes them on his way to slide once again. Finally they get up courage and approach the slide, they slide down – and suddenly wide smiles appear on their faces and they run for another turn, shrieking for joy and calling out to each other. The mothers on the benches easily converse with each other or nurse their babies and only rarely do they become tense when they seem to detect a dangerous move.

When I look at the beautiful play facilities and the happiness of the playing children, I remember another day in the 1950s, the day the Kibbutz put up a park of such facilities for "Children's Day". In those days we hardly knew what a playground was. Our games were simple but very imaginative. Sticks, stones, old screws and pieces of wire were enough for us to play with. But the day that the slides, the ladders, the carousels and other wonders appeared in the Kibbutz, young and old alike – all were overwhelmed by excitement. At first we couldn't believe our eyes as we saw all these wonders but until the allotted hour we were not allowed to go near them. And then, suddenly everyone went wild on merry-go-rounds, swings and see-saws. Even when it grew dark we couldn't tear ourselves away from the new marvel.

When I look at the jubilant children in "Gan Itin" I am reminded of that feeling of wonder on that distant day. What an adventure a merry-go-round is and what happiness is a slide.

44 Jonah in the Belly of the Big Fish

Again we met, a group of friends, and discussed the "Book of Jonah". These get-togethers have already become a Yom Kippur tradition. The hosts choose a subject related to Yom Kippur and each participant draws upon his own world in order to contribute to the discussion. Here are some of the things I said as well as some after thoughts.

It is almost possible to understand the story of Jonah without recourse to God. Jonah is a man with a mission. Is there anyone who does not know a person who believes that he must do some great deed and whose entire life revolves around delaying his commitment or making any progress toward doing so. Jonah flees from his life's mission; he wants to forget it or at least to distance himself from it. But mortal danger at sea is responsible for an upheaval. The story of Jonah's slumber on the ship about to sink is wonderful and without explanation. Perhaps there is a hint here that the story or at least part of it is a dream. And perhaps the sleep is a sort of meditation, a mystic concentration before leaving the body on the way to other worlds. That is also an explanation of Jonah's "existence" in the body of the fish, that is, a sort of dream or mystic experience.

In any event Jonah's experience at sea is a revolution that changed his life. He fled to the sea as a hermit flees to the desert; nevertheless something returned him to his life's mission. What was that something?

Someone in the group asked why Jonah of all people was chosen for this mission (to call upon the people of Nineveh), and my answer is simple. A man's mission is his, and only his. Jonah's Nineveh is none else's Nineveh. Perhaps in the belly of the fish Jonah read the story "Before the Law" by Kafka and realized that his Nineveh is his entrance to the Law that was intended only for him and would close when he died. And he did not want to die like the villager before the closed entrance. Perhaps that understanding caused his drastic change.

And one more word about false prophecy. The fear of being a false prophet is mentioned in the story as a reason for Jonah's reluctance toward assuming his mission. But the one who alarms and warns and in that way is able to change and postpone a catastrophe – and his grave prophesies do not take place – perhaps he is the true prophet.

43 Paradise in Heaven and on Earth

In the period between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, when the Day of Atonement is approaching and Jews reflect on their deeds in the past year and resolve to mend their ways, many of them quote the traditional poetic description to the effect that He who dwells in Heaven judges mankind the way a shepherd judges his flock and decides who will live and who will die, who by water and who by fire – and they ask for mercy so that they may have a good life that ends in paradise.

Paradise – the image of good, of plenty, the wonderful and the miraculous – has assumed many forms also in the descriptions of this world and one of them is the name of the lovely flower that blossomed this week in my garden. Two beautiful flowers of the "Bird of Paradise" grace the entrance to my house and another two are about to bloom in the next few days. There are those that seek paradise in heaven or in the mythological past, and others who are content to make do with what they find in this world – the revelation of beauty and glory.

The images of paradise in the heavens and on earth can be stretched a bit more to ask the question whether it is preferable to seek beauty and goodness in distant worlds or on earth, even near our own home; and should we rely on the powers of the Almighty who would mend the world as He would or should we aspire to improve the world with our own meager resources. To this question is added yet another – whether it is even possible to repair the world – that is to say, ourselves – without the idea of a Perfect Being that everything is directed towards and judged by.

These days, between Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, one could consider the question, where do we stand in the continuum between the sky and the earth, between paradise and the 'Bird of Paradise', between the record in the 'Book of Life" and the ability to enjoy the world around us and to concern ourselves with improving and beautifying it.

42 New Moons of Chaos

On New Years day (Rosh HaShana) the twelve months cycle ends and we are accustomed to enumerate the months of the year and assign them symbols. Look at the beautiful image in the photo. It is part of a page of a Hebrew manuscript from Poland from the year 1640. The heading reads "Moladot Shel Thohoo" (Moons of Chaos) and on the relief itself, in the right hand column, is a list of all the months of the year. But what is the meaning of all the rest? What do the other three columns signify? And what are the "Moons of Chaos"?

Wise men debated the question whether the age of the world dates from the creation of man or from the creation of the world. After all, according to the first chapter of Genesis, man was created on the sixth day of the creation of the world, and according to tradition – on Friday the 1^st of Tishrei (the first month of the year). It follows therefore, that the world was created on the 25^th of Elul (the last month of the year). It must therefore be that the world itself was also created on the 1^st of Tishri. The logical conclusion is that the world was created a year before the creation of man. Due to these considerations we have two chronologies for the world: a chronology for the creation of man which wise men called the "chronology of man" or "chronology from the beginning of time", and a chronology for the creation of the world which wise men called "chronology from the beginning of chaos" – since that was the beginning of the chaos from which the world was created. The chronology referred to in the Talmud is the chronology of man but in the course of time the chronology of chaos was adopted by Judaism.

The tablet in the picture, therefore, is the exact account of the birth of the months. The three rows to the left of the names of the months indicate the birth of the months (new moons) according to the day of the week, the hour and the part of the hour (the hour in this system is divided into 1080 parts). These calculations were extremely important in order to determine the Hebrew calendar and the leap years, and heated disagreements over these matters were not unusual.

The eventual victory of "Moons of Chaos" over the "chronology of Man" is interesting – victory whose meaning was a decision in favor of the concept that does not place man in the center but assigns him a more modest role as part of the world. Although man is the crown of creation he is not the measure of all things.

41 The End of Summer

I have hiked much in the mountainous regions and here I am again, on my bicycle, amongst the orchards and fields near my home. The sun is low on the horizon and soon it will fall into the sea. The uncultivated brown fields are still covered with withered thorns but other fields have already been prepared for sowing. The furrows are fresh and the dark soil has been shaped into a huge chocolate bar. Sprinklers are refreshing the soil and only the broad paths are as yet one gigantic sand box, and that is how they will remain until the arrival of the first rain of the season. It is very hot and the humidity is heavy. I pedal on looking around me and suddenly, next to the road – an entire field of Chazavim (squill). I stop suddenly as if struck by lightening: summer is over – the Chazav is blooming.

I remember the childhood feeling of time, or more correctly the timeless feeling in which it seems that summer lasts almost eternally. Backwards it extended to the distant past before the beginning of the long summer vacation and forwards – it seemed that it would last forever. Even today I feel that self same refusal to believe that that eternal present – of sea, swimming pool and watermelon – could end. True, the calendar says that it is already September and soon the holidays will be upon us, but that is nonsense. The calendar is just so many paper pages – and the sun is the sun. Therefore when I am suddenly confronted with the white sign, the Chazav, standing tall by the side of the road, I get all excited. Because the Chazav is reality. A reminder that can no longer be denied: Summer is over.

When it is warm and I am in shorts and an undershirt, I find it hard to imagine the cold winter, and in winter I can't imagine the summer heat. I know that the seasons come and go. Nevertheless I refuse to believe that a different time of the year is possible at any moment. How does the change take place? How does the arrow of time pass from one point to another? I reject any such possibility – but then the Chazav confronts me and says: here, it has already happened. Summer is over.

40 My Scooter

This is my scooter. I use it for short trips – to the swimming pool, routine arrangements and shopping. I also ride on it in winter and even enjoy doing so. I have an excellent wind breaker suit, a wool scarf and leather gloves – which is sufficient for Israel's mild winters. But the real pleasure is going on it to the sea in summer. I take a good book with me (or a book that I need to evaluate), load my telephone with two items from "The New York Times Book Podcasts", place a bottle of water or sometimes cold beer in a backpack, tie the seat to the scooter and set out.

At the seashore scooter parking is free. I pass the automobile barrier easily and reach the parking lot of Sdot Yam's sailing club near the seashore. I like to sit on the bank of the Kibbutz Sdot Yam Bay, north of the boat club. It isn't crowded there and the sea is like a gigantic swimming pool surrounded by arms of flat rocks. I watch the many surfboard riders gliding diagonally either away from the shore or toward it and marvel at their dexterity. I watch the children returning from the sea in little boats, pushing and pulling them onto wagons and dragging them ashore.

When I get tired of sitting near the water I go for a refreshing swim and then take my customary walk – south to the power station or north to the Port of Caesarea.

The picture shows my scooter fully equipped and ready to go. The backpack is already in the storage compartment, the chair is strapped in place and presently the helmet will be on my head. The key is lying next to the helmet. See you at the seashore.

39 Noble Pearls

It has been a few weeks now since we saw the occasion of the publication of the book "Noble Pearls" whose scientific editor I had the honor of being. "Noble Pearls" is a selection of speeches delivered by winners of the Noble Prize for Literature, speeches these outstanding poets and authors made on the occasion of officially receiving the award, that special moment when they were in the limelight and had the ear of the world.

What can be said at such a moment, how can one meet this challenge of world recognition and honor? How to give thanks for the recognition? These speeches make for fascinating reading and in every way these prize winners chose to express themselves, they shared with their words pearls of wisdom. As the poet Yisrael Bar Kochav (who is seen in the photo above) said - when he quoted from 'Ithaka' by Kavafis - we must 'learn from those who know' and the speeches in this book are the words of those who know.

The occasion began with a reception at the Swedish Embassy, on the roof of 'Asia House' from where one has a wonderful view of Tel-Aviv. Afterwards, in a ceremony that took place in 'Beit Ariela', the book was praised by many and the Swedish ambassador made a speech in excellent Hebrew that won him much applause. He noted with gratification that during his tour of duty in Israel, three Israelis won the Noble Prize (although not in literature) and emphasized the fact that the prize indeed gives the winners special status which enables them to express themselves on any subject whatsoever. The world is eager to hear what they have to say – thanks to the prize.

38 A Computer Centered Life

When I began to work from home I bought a lap top because it is quieter, conveniently mobile and capable of doing everything that the large, noisy computer can do. From the outset I insisted on working opposite a thin screen outside the computer and equipped with comfortable cordless keyboard and mouse. Although I bought a lap top does not mean that I must do with those terrible keyboards and something that only resembles a mouse. I began to work facing the screen and the paper stand which are on the left hand side of the picture and lately a friend convinced me to use the computer screen in addition. Today I use the main screen for editing and the subsidiary screen (of the lap top) for scanning, mail, search and verification of information etc. At times I have two identical versions of text on the two screens when I need to compare different places in the text or make searches and want to avoid running each time to discover where I was and the exact wording in the two places. Now I am sitting opposite three objects: two screens and a paper text (generally the printed version or some kind of supplementary material, slips of paper and so forth).

Recently I began using the computer for telephone conversations abroad as well. I acquired a little camera and earphones with a microphone and I discovered the world of 'Skype', which enables talking from computer to computer or from a computer to an ordinary telephone. I also discovered 'Jaja', a program that makes possible talking from telephone to telephone at ridiculously low prices. Incidentally 'Jaja' also has an option of communication from mobile phone direct without using the computer.

So this way I sit many hours opposite computer screens. On the pages I write corrections with a mechanical pencil or a red pen. I prepare the suspended slips of paper from excellent 80 gram paper which is ideally suited to writing with a fountain pen. Sticky notes lying on the base of the screen are used as markers and reminders – one of them is sticking to the screen's base.

When I work I take off my wristwatch and place it in front of me. In front of that you can see the famous telephone with whose help most of the pictures that have appeared in this column have been taken. This time I had to use a different camera so that it too could appear in a column that bears its name. And what about the glass? That is 'Murphy's' beer that I bought on my return from the swimming pool.

37 Humus on Friday

On Fridays I get up at the usual time and before I leave for my 'Friday round trip' I sit down for an intensive hour or so of work. After that I stretch, go down to the kitchen, take the car keys from the drawer and go on my way.

My first stop is at the gas station around the corner where I can get the weekend edition of "Yediot Aharonot" for five shekels. I save the television section for my mother, and try to include a short visit to her in the course of the morning. If this does not work out she will receive it at the Shabat meal at our home. The vegetable store is my next stop. After that I go to the grocery store in the shopping center, but first I stop at another gas station where I can get the Friday edition of 'MaAriv' for three shekels.

Although I took the shopping list with me, before I reach the stores I receive two telephone calls from my wife. She remembered a few more things we need and just now opened the fridge and saw that there wasn't any butter. I promise to add it to my shopping list and to remember it, but my wife takes no chances; she adds an SMS in which she itemizes the added items. When I am already next to the butcher, I receive a call from my daughter who wants me to add another few items and my mother calls to say that as long as I am already out shopping I should see if I can find some Kumquats, she wants to make jam.

I finish shopping and on the way to the cashier I am still undecided, but in the end I add a modest bouquet of flowers to the list. Now I decide that I deserve a good beer and choose a bottle of dark Czech beer. After unloading all the packages at home I take the car to the carwash. Until the car is ready I go to the nearby Humusaria for a small order of humus-techina.

Ah, the pleasure of relaxation in a humusaria on a Friday afternoon. There you find the youngster's home from the army, the bike riders who have just finished riding over Amikam's Hills, families of three generations, and young couples with babies in their baby carriers. And all of them are seated around tables in a strange structure whose like is nowhere to be found, not even in the movies, and everyone is relaxed and smiling - and the world looks good on a Friday afternoon.

36 To Buy a Book at the Book Fair

To buy a book at the book fair? Actually the fair is first and foremost a meeting place for authors, editors and publishers – especially publishers. At a fair one mingles with literary personalities and buys rights to Israeli books for distribution in the world, and rights to books from abroad for distribution in Israel. The book fair is the place to see and be impressed. It is possible to buy books in book stores. Did I say that it is possible? Not really.

Enter a typical book store in the city or shopping mall and what books are on sale there? Books that were published in the past few months; especially those on best seller lists, and most of all books that are advertised two minutes before the news on the radio, as if they were the discovery of the century in world literature. Poetry books? Only a few dozen. Reference books? Again, only those that were published recently and promoted aggressively and a very limited selection of other books, primarily books likely to interest students and, of course, cook books, books on travel, leisure and so on – in short, boring.

That is the reason why I am attracted to book fairs; the book fair in Jerusalem and the Hebrew Book Week in Tel Aviv. During book week all the publishers empty their warehouses and display all their books to the public. Finally it is possible to feast one's eyes on a vast supply of books that all year were the object of endless pursuit. Although the Jerusalem book fair is very small it is possible to see there, for example, the books of "Even Choshen" publishing house, the beautiful and exclusive bibliophile editions. And a few more surprises.

But in Jerusalem I try to concentrate on foreign books that I will not see during the Hebrew Book Week. And because I'm not a regular at the universities books stores, I'm attracted to the stands that present alas, a poor variety of them, but still much more than I can see in almost all of the bookstores in Israel.

What books did I buy at the fair? I bought two books. One: a "Dictionary of Symbols" published by Penguin. It contains l200 crowded pages of interpretations of symbols from various world cultures, religions, nations and continents (five pages are devoted to the word "black" and fourteen to the word "snake"). It is not a new book but it is an important and helpful aid and makes for fascinating reading. Two: an edition of Shakespeare's sonnets published by Cambridge with extensive and copious explanations – in all 150 pages. Even if I seriously study only two sonnets, the purchase will have been worthwhile.

35 The Israel Philharmonic and Kurt Mazur

Until about two years ago I regularly attended the concerts of the Israel Philharmonic Orchestra. For better or for worse, that is the orchestra I grew up on and the Mann Auditorium is to this day one of the places in Tel Aviv in which I feel at home (incidentally I don't understand the fuss about preserving the building. I never liked its external architecture and the acoustics of the hall are not something you have to protect against change). Today I am somewhat fed up with the Philharmonic and it seems to me that it has become uninspired and set in its ways – with its eternal musical director, its conservative repertoire and ageing audience. Its policy for years now to attract younger listeners is pitiful – beer, pleasant atmosphere and light music instead of daring, contemporary, enticing and invigorating programs. But still, the IPO performs 19^th century music excellently – when being directed by a great conductor who knows how to obtain the best results from it.

Last February the IPO was in New York and gave a concert at Carnegie Hall. The New York Times' music critic Bernard Holland marveled at the orchestra's unique sound, the rich, beautiful sound of the string sections – especially the violins – but nevertheless he noted an outstanding characteristic of the orchestra – the lack of unison. In his opinion this is a matter of choice (!) by this orchestra in which every violinist thinks he is a virtuoso.

I thought about Holland's remarks while attending a concert in the Mann Auditorium, sitting in the 20^th row and listening to Symphony no.4 (the "Romantic") by Bruckner. Even visually the independence of the violinists was evident (perhaps it was only a lack of emphasis on unison). There is a great deal of tremolo and murmur in Bruckner's music that each one in the IPO plays as he likes. One plays with a large part of the bow, and another plays with a small part of the bow. One plays in the middle of the bow and some other violinist plays it with the end of the bow, to say nothing of the fact that the movement of their hands is not together by any means. Bows go up and down in groups of violinists without any order.

Nevertheless, in some magical way the result is quite beautiful. Especially when the orchestra plays a Bruckner crescendo: the strings sparkle and the tone is rich and full.

Kurt Mazur, 80 years old, is, thanks to his character, a wonderful match for the Philharmonic. He is serious, the product of a long European tradition and a proponent of typical mid 20^th century interpretation of late romantic music. His conducting is very restrained but authoritative and resolute. The orchestra responded willingly to its honorable conductor, and the Bruckner symphony was played in a deep beautiful tone that accompanied me long after the concert was over.

34 The Kibbutz Hill

Friends of mine persuaded me to go with them to The Kibbutz Hill, a place I had never heard of and whose history sounded as fantastic as the story of the secret cave of 'Chasamba' – to anyone who still remembers it – but it is absolutely real. Next to the Rechovot railway station, not far from the Weizman Institute, at the edge of the Scientific Industrial Park named after Yitzchak Rabin, there is a little hill where time, as it were, stopped, ever since the establishment of the state of Israel. The road out of the industrial park suddenly narrows suspiciously, an iron gate confronts you and when you pass the guard's hut and are surrounded by eucalyptus trees, a few tents and modest houses – you have been thrown back sixty years by a time machine, to the mythological times characterized by words such as 'Palmach', 'Haganah', 'Hachsharah' and 'Maavak'.

On the hill between old huts, clothes wave on laundry lines, remnants of a kibbutz in the 1940's (this image all of us retain as if we had experienced it ourselves). But the laundry and the adjacent bakery exist only to distract attention from what is underground.

Look at this puzzling photo. Note the wonderful gear, the little electric motor behind it and the belt which extends from it. Take a look at the boxes on the floor and the green machine on the left under which a brass perforated belt is hidden. You are looking at the 'Ayalon Institute', the secret project of the military industry before the establishment of the state of Israel. Here, under this ground, more than two million bullets were manufactured in the years between 1946 and 1948 for the Palmach's fabulous "Sten" gun. The Kibbutz above, which served as a training ground for kibbutz members, hid this heroic endeavor from British eyes. As if what they had done near the Kineret was not sufficient, (see my column 'On the Banks of Lake Kineret'), Kibbutz members were also outstanding in the 1940's – to their credit many deeds and projects including the 'Ayalon Institute', on the Kibbutz Hill.

33 The Shikshuk

It all began thanks to the initiative of local artists and, of course, wonderful Ziv Hadas – whom we miss very much to this day and for whom there is no substitute (in time I will tell the history of "Kore BaMoshava", the special local newspaper that Ziv established and in which I also participated, which was unique and there has never been anything quite like it). The idea was to create a monthly gathering on Friday mornings, lasting until the onset of Shabat, taking place in the shade of the wadi's wonderful trees, situated in the center of the moshava. An open-air market, where everyone would be free to sell anything whatsoever, be it old books or records, toys or second-hand clothes; or set up a stand and offer freshly squeezed orange juice, warm pita with za'atar or cake.

This market was a big success from its very beginning. The entire moshava streamed to it – as well as many who came from far away. The simple homey atmosphere, the informal get-together, the pleasantness and festivity of a Friday morning, as well as the modest musical events – combined to make the market an enjoyable and popular event.

But other times followed. The local council started making problems and justified its position by citing the complaints of neighbors, noise, parking problems as well as the reason that some activities had failed to end before the inception of Shabat and the ultimate reason – security. The police made conditions that were financially prohibitive and promised the end of the Shikshuk.

None the less a wonder has occurred. Like the legendary phoenix the market came back to life. Even with its organizers forbidden to enter the confines of the Shikshuk it takes place again every month with the children who come to sell old cassettes and put up their stands to sell juice and pita – and this week some children appeared wearing white T shirts which bore the inscription in Hebrew and Arabic: "Bridge Over the Wadi".

32 I Like Tea

I like tea. Especially in winter when it pours outside and I am working in my warm room. I buy my tea in bulk at Wissotzky's Tea House in Tel Aviv. From time to time, on my way to the musical evenings at the home of Rafi Lavi, I make a stop at the Tea House on Hashmonaim Street and stock up on fresh, fragrant tea. I prefer the blue Earl Gray and the mild Darjiling (with its large leaves) but occasionally also try other flavors. For example, Assam or Ceylon, English Breakfast or my latest – green Earl Gray.

I prepare my tea in various ways, almost all of which I discovered at the tea house. I had already tried tea bags hanging on a round frame and serving as filters, metal filters and a micron filter. However, lately I acquired a personal tea kettle that I am very satisfied with. When I used to prepare large glasses of tea, I preferred tea with milk, mainly blue Earl Grey, strong and aromatic. Now my taste has changed and all because of my new kettle which is seen in the picture. When I bought it, it was suggested that I also buy a little glass cup from which to drink the tea. In the beginning the little cup seemed to be a joke. One gulp and the tea is gone. But that is exactly its advantage. The tea in the kettle stays hot (more than half an hour!) thanks to the insulated cover, and every few minutes I pour myself a little cup of hot tea. What a pleasure.

When I changed to this method of preparing tea – and specifically to the new style of drinking tea which is completely different from what I had been used to – I discovered that I prefer tea without milk, as well as a red herbal tea that is sweet and sour. I enjoyed the latest brew so much that I quickly got out my cell phone camera to preserve the image. On the kettle's cover you can see a reflection of me and of my cell phone camera.

31 Plow and Mortar

On my way to the moshava center I cross an orchard, walk on unpaved ground between the orange trees next to the guavas, and before the "dove square", opposite "Yad La'banim" (soldiers memorial) I pass "Beith Harishonim" (pioneer's house). Years ago a plow and mortar were placed in front of it, close to each other so as to constitute a sort of statue. In the young country's heroic years this was a symbol that could be seen everywhere, Like in the song about Trumpeldor: "all day with my plow and at night with my rifle in my hand" and so on. There is hardly a settlement that doesn't have a statue like this from that period – a statue that symbolizes the Zionist dream of conquering the land in both of these ways. Now those monuments seem naïve and tasteless. Their obvious symbolism renders all artistic expression superfluous. Their very existence in settlements centers next to public buildings, gives them their meaning. The plow and the mortar (or the rifle or the tank): the agricultural labor of a people that returned to work the land, and the weapons of war that defend the existence of the new Hebrew entity.

Today one's eye is drawn to the material which these monuments were made of, to the iron itself. I come so close to the plow that it hides the weapon, and then I observe the rusty iron. What does it tell me? Up close it is like a remnant of a previous civilization whose secret it is difficult to fathom. The iron, which is decomposing and crumbling away, is remarkably beautiful.

In order to appreciate it fully, I'll have to get even closer. And then even the plow will disappear and all that remains will be the disintegrating wheel and the pole on its axis.

30 Cats

It all began when I gave my wife a gift of a kitten that someone had brought to my workplace seeking a home for it. Until that time we hadn't had any household pets and I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. I liked the little cat and the cats that came in its wake. I discovered that I prefer cats to dogs precisely because they are supposed to be less loyal and get less attached and always do what is good and pleasant for themselves and not what their owners expect of them.

When we began raising cats we lived in a sixth floor apartment. The cats were always in the flat. They didn't go anywhere and neither friends nor enemies came to them. But everything changed when we moved to a private home with open space and without as much as a fence. Our cats (in the meantime there were already two or three) began to wander around the house, the yard and beyond it and we found that it was more convenient to place their food on the porch. But before we realized what was happening, we found ourselves feeding five additional cats that had discovered the source of plenty and more and more cats appeared.

Today when I open the entrance door, two cats leap out and three cats creep in and that goes on all day long. Sometimes at night or early in the morning the cats complain and ask us to get up and open the door for them. They expect attention, especially the kittens. But exactly then they are the cutest, like the ginger cat in the picture. Every morning when I spread the newspaper on the table he jumps up and sits on it. Why? Because that is the focus of my attention – and that he wants for himself.

29 The Messenger

I do my work as a book editor at home. I sit facing my computer or sheets of paper on my desk in my room, surrounded by books and sounds of music that come from the radio, my discs or internet radio stations: I erase and change the text before me until I have created clear, corrected texts. Today, when communication via e-mail is so convenient and the transfer of texts is so simple and fast, there is almost no need to meet people in order to transmit or receive pages with editorial symbols. Everything is done on the computer and the texts pass quickly from hand to hand. The exchange of opinions that accompanies the work on texts is done by e-mail and from time to time telephone conversations serve to clarify matters. Face to face meetings are almost superfluous. From the initial communication, to the order for the work, the editing process, contact with the authors and finally the payment – everything is done without a face to face meeting. You sit at home and edit books for people, publishers as well as research and publication institutions, without having seen each other.

From time to time I need the mail service to receive books and texts that are sent to me. Mail creates contact. Not with the person who wrote the texts that I edit, nor with those who transferred them to me to edit, nevertheless it is contact. I leave my house and walk to the local mail branch. Almost invariably I meet someone there that I know. I observe the people standing near me and listen to the conversations they have with each other and on their cell phones. When my turn comes, the clerk hands me my mail. Sometimes a messenger comes to my house to deliver or receive a package.

But since the "doarmat", the automatic service for receiving mail packages, my work can be accomplished without even seeing the messenger.

28 A Kibbutz Seder in the sixties

In a few days I will be sitting with my family at the Seder table reading the Haggadah. I have a small collection of Haggadot with explanations, and these explanations are dear to me because they not only clarify the text but also tell the stories of their commentators. My curiosity is aroused also by the Haggadot that dare change and add to the traditional text – for example the Kibbutz Haggadah – which was perhaps the most extraordinary cultural endeavor that originated here, before pioneering-secular momentum ceased. A year ago I acquired a Haggadah that combines both traditional and Kibbutz Haggadot and I discovered in it the Seder of my youth in the 1960's in the kibbutz.

The Seder in the kibbutz began many weeks before the actual Pesach evening. The choir rehearsed "Kumu Toei Midbar" ("Arise Ye Who Are Wandering in the Desert") and "Se'i Saviv Einaich" ("Lift up your eyes and Look about You") as well as "Leil Shimurim" ("It is a long Night"). The youngsters of the "mosad" (high school) prepared a modern dance (to music by Prokofiev!) on the exodus of the Jews from slavery to freedom and the younger ones rehearsed for the highlight of the evening – but about that later.

On the day of the holiday all the furniture was removed from the dining hall and instead long rows of tables were brought in, which consisted of simple wooden planks covered with white paper serving as tablecloths. The benches were construction boards. The seating arrangements, for which there was a special committee, were a well kept secret. The places were marked on the white table covering, and only on the evening of the holiday did each family receive an envelope containing the numbers that revealed their seats.

Before the holiday we received new sandals which squeaked when we walked and white shirts (in the 50's they were "Russian" shirts). And so, all excited, we walked to the Seder. Songs were sung at that evening, poems and many quotations from the book of Numbers were read. Most of it was not from the original Haggadah. One member of the Kibbutz, always the same one, would begin with "Ha Lachma Anya" ("This is the Bread of affliction") and the Seder would flow from there. The local "intellectual" would get up and deliver this "our" speech: "Again we sit circles in circles…" and would review the "Circles of our Life" from the eldest to the last of the new born babies. And before the "Shulchan Orech" (the festive meal) the choir would go on stage and enthusiastically sing the canon "Let's Drink a Toast, Friends, For We are Yet Strong Enough".

Before the end of the Seder and the never ending circles of the "Hora" came the time for the highlight of the evening – the "chad gadyah" (one lamb) dance of the young children. Here we are dancing to the tune of the pioneers' chad gadyah. The somersaulting gadyah (lamb) standing on his hands – is me.

Chag Sameach!

27 Children Walking in Puddles

After the big downpour, little children walk in puddles. Before they go into the puddle they look at the grownups by their side with a daring look in their eyes and ask, may we? Tell us nu-nu-nu. They know that it is not really allowed to go into puddles and they ask for permission or refusal. When they leave the puddle, they wear a triumphant though bashful look. But the adults at their side tell them: "it's alright with boots. Afterwards we will take a hot bath and change clothes". Ah, the innocence and excitement of little children walking in puddles.

I remember the puddles of my childhood in a small settlement in which there were no roads or sidewalks. The main roads were made of coarse sand and the side roads were dirt roads. In winter enormous puddles would form all over the settlement and we walked proudly in these puddles wearing our rubber boots, or we placed planks on building stones and joyously walked on them "keeping our balance" and sometimes falling into the water.

I remember that after the heavy rains we would walk to the Wadi and build rafts from empty barrels with branches tied around them, and we would sail with long sticks with which we would shove the sides and the bottom of the Wadi and in this way we would sail many kilometers towards the sea. When darkness fell we would return home, wet and full of mud, with burning eyes from this great adventure.

Our chief raft builder was my friend who was killed in the Yom Kippur War. When we were a little older, he would play the accordion while we all danced around him in a circle and later on he also played the organ and the piano and all in all, he was one of those talented people that make you wonder where he would be now had he not died so young.

But here are today's children. Their future is still bright and full of promising surprises. The camera shields them and preserves the playful and innocent happiness of a rainy day next to a loving home.

26 Writing with fountain pen

These days many more people write by tapping on computer keys than by writing on paper with a pen, and a simple pen – a ballpoint pen for example – is so inexpensive that many people do not have a personal pen but grab one from a bunch lying on any table and use it. An elegant ballpoint pen is already a kind of declaration and some people regard it as superfluous. And if that is true regarding the ballpoint pen, what about the fountain pen?

Many of us are convinced that the fountain pen is obsolete, a dinosaur that belongs in a museum. Although we know that writing with steel point has a unique character, in that the line of ink is flexible, its thickness is variable and that its many shades are determined by the degree of pressure, the angle and speed in which the point goes over the paper. But all this does not persuade those who think that writing with a fountain pen is fated to go the way of writing with a quill or calligraphic writing with a brush – practices that belong to vanished esoteric cultures or to artists that are interested in former techniques. None the less the fountain pen survives and one of the reasons that it does is that it is regarded as an item of prestige and is manufactured as a piece of jewelry for the wealthy customers. In stores that specialize in them, it is not rare to find expensive fountain pens that cost thousands and sometimes even tens of thousands of shekels.

But my simple fountain pen cost me only a few hundred shekels (which in the long run is cheap because the life span of a pen like this is decades and the cost of ink is minimal). It is not a prestigious item or an anachronistic trinket. It is simply the best writing instrument, the pleasantest and most reliable one. Before I returned to writing with a fountain pen I struggled with every simple pen I bought and more than once I had to buy dozens of pens before I found one that suited me. Not any more. This pen, which I have been using now for two years, will continue to serve me many more years.