This post is a message of gratitude to the thousands of kibbutzniks in the State of Israel, written by a former kibbutz volunteer.
When you began welcoming volunteers to your bucolic kibbutzim in the 1960s, you thought you’d kugeled two birds with one stone. First, you could introduce Israel to Jews from the Diaspora communities, especially given the sudden uptick in interest after the Six-Day War. You’d also found a source of cheap labor to pick your fruit, tend to your babies/cows/turkeys, prep your food in the community dining halls, and spend eight hours at a whack rescuing tiny cans of orange juice when they tipped over on the juice factory assembly line.
But after a few years, the demographic of the volunteers shifted, and along with it, the driving motivation behind them coming to your community collectives. Non-Jewish visitors weren’t interested in studying Hebrew and supporting the kibbutzim model. No. The goyim wanted to party.
This created friction. Kibbutzniks disliked when the volunteers’ living quarters turned into fraternity houses. You weren’t happy when bonfires burned too high and noise levels peaked at one a.m. (On my kibbutz, neither were the turkeys: many of them had heart attacks.) You did not enjoy having to resuscitate alcohol-poisoned youth, and cringed if your own children became entangled with volunteers. You worried that inevitably, one of those foreign jackasses would start a fire and burn down a building from cooking toast on space heaters in their rooms.
Rightly so.
On behalf of a moderate percentage of the roughly 400,000 young people who have volunteered on kibbutzim over the past half century, I’d like to offer an apology. And, perhaps, a bit of an explanation.
Using the volunteer section of my own kibbutz as a representative sample, I can tell you this: we came to Israel to seek adventure, and often, to run away from something else. Splintered families. Dead-end job prospects. Uncertainty over career paths. Boredom. Heartbreak. Adulthood.
Imagine our delight when we arrived at a kibbutz, met the other volunteers, and realized we’d just joined our own special kind of mixed-breed tribe. There was safety in our cohort. We could speak up, act out and fuck off, and in at least two dozen languages. We spent our stipends on chocolate, cigarettes and alcohol, and when the latter’s supply in the kibbutz shop ran out (or was tactically suspended), we made covert connections with Yemeni laborers in a nearby village and took our business there. We worked all day, and at night, blew off enough steam to run power-plant turbines. We erased memories, and struggled to form new ones, given our inebriated states.
There were other things going on, too. Sharing of cultures and perspectives. Learning how to navigate a new country. Trying new things (I changed my first diaper on a kibbutz). Making friendships. Growing up. It was messy at times, but it happened.
This is where the gratitude comes in, because it was you, dear kibbutzniks, who created this opportunity. You gave us (shitty single) beds, fed us delicious (high-fat) food and washed our (crusty) clothes. You riskily invited us to your family-friendly celebrations. You organized trips around the country for us, to places like Masada and the Sea of Galilee. You dispensed medicine, and sometimes, advice. You taught us how to milk cows, drive tractors, raise children and chop cucumbers into very thin slices.
We couldn’t have had all of that at home. We couldn’t have had all of that anywhere else.
The impact of the things we absorbed during our volunteer tenures was less tangible and visible than what you saw on a day-to-day basis, so I can understand your skepticism. It only just snapped into clear view for me last September in London, when I gathered with a group of eleven volunteers from my former kibbutz, Givat Haim Ihud.
We came together from Canada and the U.S., England and Scotland, Denmark and the Netherlands. It had been 30 years since we last woke to the persistent call of Boker Tov, the volunteer tasked with getting our drunk asses up for work battling a constant game of musical rooms.
Good news: we’ve evolved into stand-up human beings! Informed by our kibbutz experiences, we went on to figure out our families, find our vocational calling (or at least something legal that pays the bills), and feed our hearts. We’re a beautiful lot, and I dare say, we wouldn’t have turned out this great if it weren’t for having stumbled down a few dusty paths together during our time in your country.
Our reunion comprised a whirlwind of a weekend where we tried to catch up on everything and had to say le’hitra’ot too soon. We went through reams of photos and stories from the old days, laughing over the absurdity of our antics. We were so comfortable together, because, after 30 years of trying to explain our kibbutz time to others who just couldn’t get it, we were finally among people who did.
So, thank you, kibbutzniks. All of you. Thank you for tolerating us. We’re sorry for puking in the flower beds. We love what you gave to us, and we’ll never forget it.
Thank you Laura for writing this very expressive and honest, no holds barred account of our experiences at Givat Haim Ichud. How thankful I am that when I arrived at the Televiv office and given a list of Kibbutz to chose from, that I chose this one for no other reason than, well no reason to be honest. Maybe the name, location or whatever. What an amazing 8 months I had which has definitely contributed to who I am today! Yes, a responsible professional with an amazing family and amazing stories to tell. How sad that young people will not have the opportunity to share this experience too. Thank you to the kibbutzniks past and present for opening your home to us.
Hi Toni, I’m so glad you liked it! I’ve been trying to find out what kind of volunteer program might still exist in Israel, if any. I noticed that some of the information on the Facebook page for the volunteer program hasn’t been updated since 2011, so it doesn’t look like it’s too much of a going concern anymore. We were incredibly lucky to have gone when we did.
You are such a great writer and your topics are always interesting. The influence the kibbutz and the meetings with everyone there surely had an impact on how we grew up to adults.
Surely! In ways big and small. Thank you for reading, Johnny. One of my favorite photos from our time there was when I was giving you a haircut. I was wearing these crazy, god-awful pants, and you looked… scared.
“To run away from something else. ” That grabbed my heart, Laura. I think bravery also must have played a part in it too. How wonderful that, despite the situations surrounding, they/you took the chance to try something different, something new, something far away. When I look back on my young adulthood, I wish I had been braver,
Lovely to read this. Thank you for sharing it.
Thank you so much, Jo-Anne. I would probably have never even known to try something like going to a kibbutz if it weren’t for my high school history teacher (and I’ve told him several times since how he was the one who planted the seed).
Hey Laura,
Thankyou for writing this. Some very special words for those who’ve ‘been’.
Shalom and much love!
Matt x
Shalom, Matt! I’m glad you thought the words adequately captured how special the time was. There never was, and never will be, anything like the kibbutz days. xo
What a lovely essay and remembrance! It sounds like the kind of experience that would do much good for any young person but especially those needing something more than adventure.
Thank you, Marie! It was certainly a good place to escape expectation and come into one’s own. Although I’m sure glad that I wasn’t there in the age of social media! 😀
Lovely to read. I was there too, I think . Drunk most of the time. I’ m also a responsible adult now, job, house and family. Sober. This year I took my 17 year old son to Israel. It was nice to show him my ”other home”, teach him to say boker tov and experience the culture. My time in the kibbutz gave me the confidence to be myself. It helped me to grow up. It changed my life totally, to the better. Greetings from Swedish Eva.
I love all of that! It’s funny, my memory of you was that you were one of the more well-behaved volunteers, but that could also be because your time was ending just as mine was beginning, so maybe you were also just tired! haa! Or possibly it’s because I’m comparing to another Swede (who shall remain unnamed), in which case we all looked like saints. That’s a super special thing that you were able to visit with your son, too. xo
My seasons in Yellowstone and the Everglades were not nearly as awesome as you’ve made your volunteer days. I have this urge to go off and do some volunteering now, but then I wonder if I would just feel like this old person with a bunch of overly energetic young people? It’s hard to say, but would like to have some more adventures, and who knows how much time any of us gets?
To your last point: right? Fuck it. Do it. Even if you end up being the oldest one there. I find sometimes the young’uns don’t care — it’s us who bring that baggage.
Another funny and heartwarming story. Thanks for sharing and explaining to those of us who weren’t at a kibbutz.
Thanks, Kris! 🙂
Great article. I don’t recognize faces but maybe you can identify the people
Hey Lionel! Nice to “see” you here. I don’t think I have photos of you, but my memory is that you had brown wavy/curly hair. So in the photos I posted:
– around the bonfire – from the left, it’s Matt Bateman, Brian, Michelle, Helen Newman, Rich Brookler, Enrique Canas (standing), Sandra (I think), Simon and Marc.
– coming down from Masada, front row is Conny, Stew Brasenell and Matt B.
– at the dinner table in 2017 — from the left, it’s Joe Coker, Matt Bateman, Stew Brasenell, me, Toni Horwood, Debbie Adams, Christina Mossman, Simon Turner, Dawn London, Rachael (Maitland) Rae, and Jeanique van der Linden. Kim Taudal came as well, but he wasn’t in this photo (he’s in the group selfie on the bottom, on the right).
Hey Laura,
What a surprise to read about our time at Givat Haim. You paint the picture just like I remember. Although Bart Jan and I had often different working schedules and I still have the feeling we’ve missed a lot of fun…. On the bright side my liver probably is grateful for that. Just today searching for a picture of an old car I once owned I came across a couple of photos from the kibbutz and having a lazy hot summer day in the Netherlands inspired me to Google about Givat Haim.
That and reading your essay brings back a lot of mixed memories, my nickname Teddy Bear had escaped me, but sums it up quite nice. Looking back I probably was the most naive boy on the campus, but a lot of good memories about partying all night long, endless sightseeing through a relatively peaceful Israel and learning a lot of life lessons.
Having lost contact with everyone from the kibbutz, including the Dutch, your essay makes me want to go back to our lawless dusty camlus of international friendship… And smuggle some wodka to our rooms.
Did I land on my feet all right? I’d like to think so, the partying continued through the early nineties while in between I got a bachelor’s degree and had a career in IT for twenty years. Nowadays I enjoy a early retirement due to some health issues and work as a volunteer in the local theatre. And my wife thinks I’m still a Teddy Bear 😉
With kind regards and warm greetings to all,
‘Teddy Bear’ Jeroen
Hey Jeroen! So great to hear from you. I’m glad you found this post in your random Googling. I do remember now that you and Bart Jan had the weird shifts (in the aseptic lab?). You also got the better nickname given to you than Bart Jan — wasn’t he “Fart Man?” And I think we were all quite naive, though perhaps you more than the rest. 🙂 Glad to hear you’re doing well, and hope all the health issues are behind you. If you are on Facebook, there is a Givat Haim 1986-1987 group with a couple hundred of us lurking around in there. Not too many Dutch volunteers though — the Dutchies all seem to avoid social media!
Hi Laura
Thanks for your fantastic review of your stay at GHI. I stumbled upon this while idly Googling.
I had a left a few years earlier than your stay, having visited on and off from 81-83. Your story summarises beautifully the essence of our time out there. A group of us from ‘my time’ have been keeping in touch with a large reunion in Den Haag several years back, and four of us visited GHI again just a couple of years ago. Many of the friendships have survived the test of time strengthened by the shared experience which others just do not get.
I would like to share this page to our FBook group as I think others will enjoy your story; please let me know if this is OK.
All the best
Ian
Hi Ian,
I love that you’ve also kept up contact with your cohort. Of course, share the post. I hope to go for a visit to GH as soon as it’s feasible. Thanks for your note here and all the best!
Extremely well written Laura.
I was a member of Degania Bet from 1970 thru 1981. During that time I was volunteer manager in DB and later national co-ordinator of kibbutz ulpanim. I visited Givat Chaim ulpan a few times when Arnon Lapid was the manager.
In 1981 I moved to Givat Chaim Meuchad after meeting my future wife who was divorced with three boys. Sadly she passed away after we returned from the UK after I had completed a two stint as a kibbutz envoy. I live in Givat Chaim Meuchad and am the proud father of two grown up kids, three grown up step sons and multiple grand kids.
In the 1980s and 1990s all kibbutzim endured harsh economic and social problems. Most of the young generation walked out en masse. That was until individual kibbutzim reformulated and updated their ideology. Givat Chaim Ichud was faster than my kibbutz to grab the new concept of privatization.
In recent years I have been asked what’s the difference between the two kibbutzim, divided by the road. With tongue in cheek I have replied “The intelligent people live over the road”.
Shalom, Ivri! Thank you for your kind words and for sharing this piece of your story. We (volunteers) used to go over to Meuchad to the pub sometimes, and, of course, if we had a work shift in GAT. I remember one shift where I had to watch the little cans of frozen orange juice concentrate go by on the conveyor belt and pick them up if they fell over. Needless to say, I fell asleep more than once. Is the factory still operating?
I know much has been said about the new model of kibbutzim, but I still want to learn more and am planning a return to visit Ichud as soon as the world opens up again!