FRIDAY, JUNE 16, 2000*13 SIVAN 5760* 15 RABIA AWAL 1421
By Todd Natenberg
The elderly
woman sitting alone at the table was speechless when I asked if I could join her
for lunch.
The
husband, wife, and adult son were shocked at my desire to dine with them for the
community Independence Day celebration.
And
the young Israeli man could not believe my audacity in asking him – a complete
stranger – to play a game of basketball.
I
was not the typical volunteer and they were not the typical kibbutzniks.
When
I first arrived at Kibbutz Yakum I had no idea what to expect.
All
I knew was that Yakum is located about a half hour from Tel Aviv, near Herzliya
is more than 50 years old; and membership totals about 500.
Thirty
years old, Jewish, and a professional from Chicago in the US in a “mid-life
crisis.” I had decided just one month earlier to visit Israel and
volunteer on a kibbutz.
I
had quit my job as a sales manager and sales trainer for a telecommunications
company to start my own sales-training company and was in the process of
finalizing a divorce.
I
viewed my adventure as an opportunity to help my fellow Jews and learn about
Israeli culture.
I
also thought it would provide me with the answers to the meaning of life.
I
realized quickly that Kibbutz Yakum did not share my excitement.
While
anticipation and the opportunity to provide all I had to offer filled my mind
and heart, the kibbutzniks had only curiosity and skepticism.
But
less than one month into my journey, these same individuals who once questioned
my every intention I now call friends.
Today,
I am no longer the only one saying my five words of Hebrew to prove my
sincerity.
Now
it is commonplace for me to hear, “Hey, Chicago! What’s up?” at my
important dining-room job where I operate and empty the kibbutz dishwasher.
The
eight-year old girls at the swimming pool frequently shout “Ted!” and wave
frantically hello when they see me. (They still do not pronounce my name
properly) The other day, an older man asked for my assistance to translate
a personal letter written to him in English.
But
earning respect and providing mutual understanding has not been easy task for me
or the kibbutzniks.
I
truly believed from the onset that my offer to contribute physical labor for
nothing more than room and board – a far cry from my suit-and-tie career in
Chicago – would grant me temporary “residence” at Yakum.
As
a fellow Jew, I assumed I would be welcomed into the world of my new brothers
and sisters with open arms. I was wrong.
Unfortunately,
kibbutz volunteers sometimes have, as we say in America, a bad rap. While
my group here is wonderful and the friendships I have made will last a lifetime,
some kibbutzniks view volunteers with a weary eye.
Rather
than helpers, they sometimes see them as travelers without a care in the world
for anything or anybody.
As
they are here today, gone tomorrow, some kibbutzniks question the importance of
establishing relationships with these individuals.
In
some cases, their prejudices are not unfounded.
In
my case, they were wrong, dead wrong.
I
wanted very much to learn their language and their customs, to be accepted into
the Yakum family, I desired to help in any way I could, both as a teacher and as
a student.
Recently, I
traveled with the kibbutzniks to the north to visit Lower Galilee. The
trip included seeing a moshav and another kibbutz where mediation was the
foundation of the community.
We also witnessed first-hand beautiful lands that had existed only in my mind.
It
intrigued me how on this day, although they again viewed me as an intruder, the
kibbutzniks were as much tourists as me.
Again
by the end of the day, the skepticism of the kibbutzniks turned to the roles of
good natured hosts.
The
elderly woman, whose name I now know is Dvora, has provided me an open
invitation to dine with her at lunch. She says it is an opportunity to
practice her English.
The
mother, Hava, whom I dined with on Independence Day, recently invited me for
dinner at her home with her adult children.
I
also regularly get asked to play basketball with the younger and older
kibbutzniks.
They
constantly discuss the NBA and say they miss Michael Jordan. Although
Shaquille O’Neal, Kobe Bryant, and the Los Angeles Lakers are their team now.
They note they still follow the Chicago Bulls.
I
even lost a bet to Ben, a 14-year old, on a Portland Trail Blazers Lakers
game. (The Lakers won, despite the greatness of former Chicagoan Scottie
Pippen.)
He
still razzes me on the loss, as it cost me an ice cream and a Coke.
The young Israeli, Oshik, has become my best friend. A non-kibbutzink
himself, he works with the teenagers as a kind of big brother/guidance
counselor.
We
drink beer ride on his motorcycle, and discuss our purpose in the
universe.
Oshik,
Ben, Dvora, and Hava, like many others, ask me frequently why I came to Kibbutz
Yakum.
“To
help, to learn, to teach, and to see,” I answer.
Have I? You bet.
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