Day 26: The, ummm, Western Wall.

My part that I did alone is above the
ladder. I helped with all of the rest.

What did I do yesterday? Oh yeah; I got stuck again and again by the needles from the palm fronds. Avi likes to use the ones from date palm trees. They stick extra special. I don't even know if I like dates!

So I finished the Runge Western Wall--is it a wall if it doesn't go down to the ground? I don't think anyone will be fighting over this wall, though. Last night the family was talking about some of the volunteers that they've had here, and they told us about one guy who was in the army of the descendent of King David--you know, of biblical times. This new king is going to claim his rightful throne in Israel--the king is Israeli, but the volunteer was from America somewhere. Avi asked what if the Israelis don't want this new king, and the guy said that they'd take the country by force. Crazy talk, that is. He stayed six months on the Arazuni Bustan, so he couldn't have been too nuts. There was another guy that Avi sent away; that guy was being followed by helicopters.

So my 4th of July celebration was in the company of Laurette, a French woman. She bought us tickets to go to Café Ezuz and watch a concert. The musician was Israeli. There were no fireworks. And the music sucked. But the people watching was fantastic.

There was a great mixture of people, but most of them were youngish. It was easy to spot the six soldiers that came in. They were "well-formed," as Laurette said. There were girls all dolled up, or what goes for dolled up in the area. But my favorite people are the ones who just come as they are--desert people. It is easy to spot the locals from Ezuz, of which we are members because we got the village discount. But most of the people knew one another.

Today we cut fruit. Nothing spectacular about that, but after a long night of people watching it was nice to do brainless work. When we were putting new fruit out to dry we discovered bugs in some of the drying peaches. It is a risk on an organic farm, so I'm told; they whole batch had to be thrown out. It seems like such a waste, but in the long run one batch of fruit thrown out is better than using sprays and other dangerous materials. I so applaud what they do here, and I think I'm healthier for it.

That is the yogurt in the pitcher with
the green lid.

I've had nothing to drink except water, black tea, a couple of beers, and yogurt (its a drink, really). Plus the food is just great. This is a picture of our typical breakfast--which we eat at lunch time [Don't ask, as I cannot explain this anomaly in language because it is called "arachot tshoriam" in Hebrew (my crappy transliteration), which means lunch.]. We make open-faced sandwiches, which was weird at first; but now I see how smart it is because you can eat less bread and more of the good stuff. I have soft goat cheese, cucumbers, tomatoes, and a spicy bread that, even though my Hebrew is getting better, I still cannot pronounce.

Looking east on the farm at sunset.

So two days ago this guy comes up and asks for Avi and says where he is from. All of this in Hebrew. I actually understand and reply "Who sham (thats a soft a)," which means "He is over there." Then today I'm taking the trash out, remember the bug-infested fruit, and there is a group of soldiers by the cafe, which is always opened but not always manned--or womanned. The girl soldier--curly hair, uniform, and a new rifle, oh boy--asks where the guy who runs the place is. She does this in Hebrew, of course. "Who lo po." I replied. "He is not here."

Grooming.

Yep, I'm fluent.