My dad was in the army throughout World War ll and, in 1942, while in Palestine he was given a paper-back book published by the Young Men’s Christian Association. In its forward J. T. Massey, Secretary of British Y.M.C.A.’s with Middle East Forces writes, “It is hoped that, despite the upsets and confusion of terrible war, this book may prove not only a guide to sightseeing but also an inspiration for further research. Perhaps it will lead men and women to contemplate eternal verities and take courage for the future when – ‘Nation with nation and land with land, Unarmed shall live as comrades free.’”
Now the year is 1977, I had a bucket list (still yet to complete) and, working in London, had just been accepted to do Voluntary Service Overseas. Mortgages and pensions, not yet a priority I gave up my job, took back the pension money, got a tax rebate and paid for my air ticket and a fancy camera. My destination was a kibbutz in Israel. My dad still referred to his time there as being in Palestine. At the airport, looking like a lost hippy I was approached by two other girls in similar garb, all of us heading for a kibbutz. Arriving in Jerusalem in the evening, armed with our documents and letter for our kibbutz we wandered the streets to find somewhere to stay. We eventually found a room in the old Arab quarter up an outside flight of stairs. Surrounded by the unfamiliar noises and smells of people living in close proximity which both frightened and excited us we indulged in a meal of foul beans, at a nearby eating house before sleeping. Despite the name they were very tasty.
In the morning we parted at the bus station and I spent some time trying to find someone who spoke English and could direct me to the correct bus, I eventually met a soldier who, fortuitously, was heading for the same kibbutz, his home in fact. After a surprisingly smooth air-conditioned journey we arrived at Metzer in the north. Surrounded by lush green countryside and fields of apricot and banana trees I was greeted warmly and directed to a row of huts where the other volunteers lived. There, on the veranda, bunches of green bananas hung. The living quarters were basic with about 25 of us living in the dormitory huts. Looking up from the huts was a large low storey building which housed the restaurant, kitchens and recreation area for the kibbutz and all of its inhabitants who had their own homes but also used the communal restaurant.
As volunteers we shared two bathrooms and relied on the restaurant for our food. Food, available all the time, was wonderful and, most surprisingly, all vegetarian. It was a turning point in my dietary habits, for a wee while anyway. Most importantly there was a swimming pool, much needed because of the heat, where I actually learned to swim properly in the time I was there having only achieved doggy paddle status at school. Life was good, working and travelling the country and learning how the lives of others can be so different from ours but yet that their needs are so much the same. Two of the volunteers stand out in my memory particularly. They were a brother and sister, themselves Jewish, who were political activists fleeing from persecution in Argentina. I think of how much has changed since my days spent on the kibbutz at Metzer but has the world learned anything from past national and international conflict? The words written in 1942 surely have the answer.
(to be continued…)
Marguerite Ruffle
0 Comments