Kibbutz Baram, here I come

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I got my kibbutz placement. I will be going to Kibbutz Baram on Monday.

I should have been tipped off to the somewhat bum operation when I walked into the building where the kibbutz volunteer office is located. I walked up to the receptionist, conveniently located behind bullet proof glass, and asked brightly where I might find the volunteer office. Based upon her reaction one may have thought I was asking where I could find the slaughtered pig and milk factory. I received a terse, "Not here" and a backward flick of her head towards what I could only assume was the kibbutz volunteer office. Located on the lower level, the windowless office is staffed by two women, one morbidly obese and the other rail thin. There was one additional room with "Manager" written across the door, though said manager never made an appearance. Again, I approached them brightly and said I was here to volunteer. Mind you, I had submitted my paper work to the office in New York weeks ago, though what they do there, I've no idea. As I approached I got a firm finger from Skinny pointing me to sit down in the waiting area.

Fine. I sat and watched as a young South African, fresh off the plane and back pack in tow, sat opposite Big to get his placement.

"Okay, we send you to Golan. Is good Kibbutz. You leave today."
South African nodded in agreement, "So how do I get there?"
"You take train to Haifa, then bus."
"Sure, what time does the bus leave and where do I get off?"
"Is only one bus, so you take it, driver know when to get off."
"Um, where does it drop me?"
"Near kibbutz, then you hitchhike."
"Excuse me? Hitchhike?"

At this point, Skinny chimes in, in Hebrew, does much hand waving, and stomps outside for her third cigarette.

"Is safe, the hitchhike."
"I'm sorry, but I just got off the plane from South Africa, have traveled very far and spent much money, and now you expect me to go into the Golan Heights, a completely unfamiliar area to me, and hitchhike?"
"Of course. Is safe."

Exhausted and realizing there was little room to argue, he accepted his placement, surrendered his passport for the Visa, paid the $300 fee, and left.

After a big sigh, Big motioned me to sit across from her. I sat, resolved that unlike South African, my needs would be met. Unfortunately, the file I had hand delivered to the New York office, detailing all that I was looking for in a kibbutz experience, had been misplaced.

I told her I really wanted to go to a kibbutz where I could work out side. To which Skinny, back from her cigarette break, starts chiming away again in Hebrew. Big responds and they have a nice little conversation complete with much hand waving and eye rolling. When they're good and done, Big turns to me and says that there is a nice kibbutz up North that needs "girls in the kitchen." "Okay, but I really wanted to work outside somewhere. What else is available?"

And I don't know if it was out of sheer laziness, or this woman was telling me the truth but she told me that was it. "No work outside until July. You all come here with these ideas of working outside but is hot in Israeli sun, you see. Work in kitchen. Is nice, air conditioned."

"Are you absolutely sure there is nothing else?"
Skinny piped in, this time in English, "You will like. Start on Monday."

She then took out a map to show me where Kibbutz Baram was located and how I was to get there. It's located way up north and to the west. The closest town is Tsfat - an hour bus ride away. And, according to the map, looks to be about two and half feet from the Lebanese border.

"Wait a second," I interrupted, "it's practically in Lebanon."
"Is safe, is all calm now. No worries. You go, will be fun!" And went on to explain the not so detailed instructions of the bus, train, bus, walk route I was to take.

Defeated, and not wanted to put up any more of a fuss, I accepted, surrendered my passport, paid my $300, and left.

But really, the whole reason I'm here is for a little adventure. I was nervous telling my mom because I thought she would be uncomfortable with the precarious location. She thinks it's "fabulous!" So who am I to complain? I looked online at Kibbutz Baram's website (www.baram.org.il) and it really does look like a beautiful place. It's a medium sized kibbutz - about 250 members, with a large volunteer program - about 50-70 volunteers in the summer. It's near a national park and some very good hiking. There's a pool, tennis court (if someone is willing to teach me how to play), pub, etc. Never mind that I'll be the oldest volunteer there (the cut off age is 26). There will be plenty of people from all over the world with their own entertaining stories. I may just surprise myself and have a good time.

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Comments

[Mark]

Respected Elder
If the kibbutz is anything like summer-camp, being the oldest will confer oracle-like status. But, if its like high school it means you were held back a year. What's it like so far? More Blog!