"I've been here for 60 years and I'm just not going to continue,"
said the tired-looking moshavnik from the south. His Thai workers had fled, a
rocket had hit one of his greenhouses, his pepper plants' leaves were wilted,
and the vegetables were dying on their stems. We were there, picking what we
could to salvage his crop.
For the past month, I have been volunteering one day a week to help save
Israeli agriculture in the hard-hit south. There are many kibbutzim and
moshavim that need help and I feel like this is the way I can contribute to my
country's war efforts.
I have found places to volunteer by following dedicated Facebook groups,
and by visiting websites that advertise volunteering opportunities. A few
back-and-forth chats on WhatsApp and the details are arranged. Where to report,
and at what hour. 'Wear long pants', the advertisements state. 'Bring food for
the day.' 'Come with a good spirit'. And the volunteers come.
My first volunteering was in a pomelo orchard jointly owned by a
business entity and Kibbutz Bror Hayil. Before the war, Thai workers worked in
the orchards, along with some Bedouins. Seventy percent of the crop is for
export; the rest is for the local market. I set to work picking the
thick-skinned green spheres. My arms were quickly scratched-up by the thorny
branches. Along with other individual volunteers, the picking that day was done
by a delegation of Knesset members, and a busload of soldiers, who picked the
fruit with rifles still slung over their shoulders.
The owner of the pepper greenhouse on Moshav Shorsheret barely said a
word to my daughter and me when we showed up to help pick his crop. We were told
to pick every red pepper we saw, except for the very small ones. There would be
no second pass through the plants because the farm had lost all its workers.
The plants were in bad shape, for lack of care. Still, we filled crate after
crate with red peppers. The owner stated that we were six weeks late with the
harvest.
The avocados of an orchard near Ashkelon are mostly destined for export to
France, and from there they will be marketed all over Europe. Here, too, all
the workers had fled. There are three varieties of avocados grown; we were
picking Haas avocados. The trees were tall and full of fruit and the leaves
were very pleasing to the touch. The orchard's manager told me that they would
be picking for the next three months, if they had enough volunteers to do the
work.
There is a lot of satisfaction in picking fruit and vegetables, but
planting shows that we haven't given up hope. We plant because we're preparing
for next season, working towards a fruitful future.
I reported to an open field near Gedera. This farm is owned by two
moshavim, and luckily for the owners, some of its Thai workers had remained.
They were planting cauliflowers the day I arrived, something usually done with
a machine, but it had rained the previous day. The seedlings needed to be planted
now, and there was much work to be done. The owners were extremely grateful to
the volunteers that had arrived to assist them.
It's extremely difficult to plant seedlings in a muddy field. The ground
was wet, and in some cases, we stuck our hands through puddles of water to make
sure the plants were properly spaced apart. Crouching down, I felt a physical
strain on my muscles that would be painful for many days. I stuck one seedling into
the ground after another. My clothes got dirty, and my boots were covered by so
much mud it felt like they were filled with cement. But despite the mud, the entire
field was soon planted with cauliflower. I promised the owners that I would be
back in four months' time to help with the harvest.
Helping Israeli farmers, working to save the country's agriculture, is a
very satisfying feeling. It gives a sense of playing an active role in the war
effort. We are strong; we are resilient. Working together, in the orchards and
in the fields, we will ensure the success of this year's harvest and next
season's crops.
Originally posted on The Times of Israel.
