Deborah Rubin Fields

Some basics of goalball

This past summer, Israel’s male youth goalball team won the European ParaYouth Games. (photo by Lilach Weiss)

Can you imagine a sporting event in which the audience sits in silence? Well, this is how goalball is played. Why? So that the visually challenged players can hear the bells inside the game ball.

And, speaking of the ball, it differs quite a bit from a soccer ball. In addition to having eight small holes in it – which allow the players to hear the two bells inside of it – the hard rubber ball is approximately 76 centimetres in circumference and weighs 1.25 kilograms. By contrast, a standard soccer ball has a circumference of 68 to 70 centimetres and weighs significantly less, between 400 and 450 grams.

To ensure fair competition, goalball participants must wear opaque eye shades. All international athletes must be legally blind, meaning they have less than 10% vision and are classified as B3 (partial sight), B2 (less sight than B2) or B1 (totally blind).

The goalball court has slightly raised markings so each player knows where their post is and the game is played indoors on a court measuring 18 metres long and nine metres wide, usually with short walls to help keep the ball inside. Again, this is different from soccer, which is played on a field that is 125 metres by 85 metres.

Each game is broken down into two 12-minute sessions with a three-minute break between the first and second halves. There are six players on a goalball team, with just three members playing at any one time.

Each goalball player has a specific job. The centre is the most responsible for defence, as they have the ability to support the left or right wing. The right winger defends the right-hand side of the goal and the left winger the left, but both are also main attacking players. The objective, as with most such games, is to score the most goals.

The team area is the first defence section, which starts from the goal line. In this area, defenders are allowed to block and control the ball to stop it from entering the goal.

The landing area starts at the end of the defence line. In this section, the attacking player can move around to take a shot at the opposing goal. The neutral areas are safe zones that provide space for defending teams to hear the ball coming towards them.

Here is how the game is played in a few situations. When the defending team blocks the ball, thus preventing a goal, the game continues. When the ball is blocked and then crosses the sideline, the play is restarted by the team that blocked the ball. When the ball is thrown over the sideline, the other team restarts the game.

Players protect the goal on their hands and knees. Unlike in soccer, the ball is not kicked, it is thrown from either a standing position underarm, or rolled. To reduce the sound and make it difficult for the opponents, players try to release the ball close to the floor. They can also make the ball quieter by spinning it. The team is given a foul if their player doesn’t throw the ball within 10 seconds of touching it.

Blind soccer, another sport played by visually challenged players, differs from goalball in several ways. For instance, while players in both games wear eye covers, players in blind soccer chase the ball in an upright position. Blind soccer halves are longer, at 20 or 25 minutes, and, in blind soccer, each team has five players on the pitch at any time, four outfield players who are visually impaired and a goalkeeper – who need not be visually challenged.

Israeli goalball coach Raz Shoham said most of the injuries in the game come from over-use of the body and not from being hit by the ball. In Israel, players’ free time is limited by the fact that almost all of them work or study.

photo - Goalball player Lihi Ben David in action at the Toyko Paralympic Games in 2020 — Goalball player Lihi Ben David in action at the Toyko Paralympic Games in 2020. *(photo by Keren Isaacson)*

Before each practice, there is a 40-minute warmup session in which players exercise their torso, hands and legs. Practices are held on Thursdays and Fridays in four locations: Beer Sheva, Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and Afula. Men and boys practise mostly in Afula, while the women practise mostly in Jerusalem. Practice times are a function of when the sports auditorium is available.

Traveling can sometimes be an issue. Shoham explained that a strong player showed up at the team’s summer camp and wanted to continue playing after the summer ended, but there was a problem getting her from her village to practices. On the other hand, sometimes players leave the sport for a stretch of time and then return. Take Orel, who started playing while still in elementary school, left for a few years and now, at the age of 15, is a key player on the male youth team.

According to Shoham, goalball players range in age. At the moment, the oldest person who comes out to play is a 65-year-old grandmother. Currently, on the official playing teams, the oldest player is 35. The official team players get a few thousand shekels for playing, but it is not like regular soccer, in which team members frequently earn high salaries.

Israeli goalball players are expected to attend some 25 practices a month. And there have been good results from the hard work. Just this past summer, Israel’s male youth goalball team – players Asad Mahamid, Doron Hodeda, Shai Avni, Ariel Alfasi and Orel Ybarkan – won the European ParaYouth Games.

Coach Snir Cohen knew before the tournament that he had good players, but said he just didn’t know how good. His goal is developing this youth team into a strong adult team.

Nineteen-year-old player Lihi Ben David, who plays left wing, spoke with the Independent about her recent training experience in Brazil. The cost of the trip was largely covered by the Israel Sports Association for the Disabled (ISAD). The Israeli and Brazilian players conversed in English. She said it was refreshing to learn about a different culture. The hard part for Ben David, who is an observant Jew, was playing during the nine mourning days of the Hebrew month of Av.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Different pharaoh, different story?

The head of Hatshepsut, in Pergamon Museum, Berlin, 2018. (photo by Richard Mortell, 2018)

As we all know from the Passover story, Pharaoh was one stubborn guy. On five occasions, Moses and Aaron tried to persuade Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go, but Pharaoh wouldn’t budge. In Exodus 7:13 and 7:22, Pharaoh hardens his heart in response to Moses’ pleading. Moreover, Pharaoh made his heart heavy in three other instances, as described in Exodus 8:11, 8:15 and 8:28. What would have happened if Moses and Aaron had come up against a female Pharaoh? Would the story have played out differently?

Let us begin by recalling that, if it hadn’t been for the curiosity and kindness of Pharaoh’s nameless daughter – though, in Judaism, she is later referred to as Thermuthis and even later as Bithiah – Moses would not have been rescued from his floating basket. The future leader of the Hebrew exodus from Egypt would not have lived, and the exodus would not have occurred as we know it.

There were at least six female rulers during the long period in which pharaohs ruled, and perhaps as many as 12. From what has been pieced together, these women sometimes had to disguise their female identity. Some adopted king titles, others exercised force to get their way.

Take Hatshepsut, for example, who was pharaoh of the New Kingdom, or Egyptian Empire, from circa 1479 BCE to 1458 BCE. She nominated herself and then filled the role of pharaoh by claiming her father (the earlier pharaoh) had wanted her to take over from him. Probably understanding that her position was tenuous – both by virtue of her sex and the unconventional way in which she had gained the throne – she reinvented herself. In visual art, she had herself portrayed as a male pharaoh, and ruled as such for more than 20 years. (See “The queen who would be king” at smithsonianmag.com.)

Initially depicted as a slim, graceful queen, within a few years, she changed her image to appear as a full-blown, flail-and-crook-wielding king, with the broad, bare chest of a man and the false beard typical of a male pharaoh. But Prof. Mary-Ann Pouls Wegner notes, however, in a 2015 article on toronto.com, that Hatshepsut’s statues have thin waists, “with nods to her female physique.”

Hatshepsut also took a new name, Maatkare, sometimes translated as truth (maat) is the soul (ka) of the sun god (Re). The key word here is maat, the ancient Egyptian expression for order and justice as established by the gods. Maintaining and perpetuating maat to ensure the prosperity and stability of the country required a legitimate pharaoh who could speak directly with the gods, which is something only pharaohs were said to have been able to do. By calling herself Maatkare, Hatshepsut was likely reassuring her people that they had a rightful ruler on the throne. She seemingly succeeded, as her 20-plus-year reign was a more or less peaceful time.

One important way pharaohs affirmed maat was by creating monuments, and Hatshepsut’s building projects were among the most ambitious of any pharaoh’s. She began with the erection of two 100-foot-tall obelisks at the great temple complex at Karnak. She likewise had important roads built. Still, her most ambitious project was her own memorial. At Deir el-Bahri, just across the Nile from Thebes, she erected an immense temple, used for special religious rites connected to the cult that would guarantee Hatsheput perpetual life after death. (See livescience.com/62614-hatshepsut.html.)

In life, Hatshepsut felt compelled to depict herself as a male ruler. In death, however, her true colours (pun intended) seem to surface. Exams conducted on her mummy reveal that, at the time of entombment, she was wearing black and red nail polish. Furthermore, according to sciencedaily.com, Michael Höveler-Müller, former curator of the Bonn University Egyptian Museum, reports that a filigree container bearing the queen’s name may have contained the remains of a special perfume, an incense mixture.

Nefertiti similarly hid her femininity, even though today she is the most visually reproduced ancient Egyptian female ruler. According to Prof. Kara Cooney, author of the book When Women Ruled the World: Six Queens of Egypt, Nefertiti cleaned up the mess that the men before her had made. She wasn’t interested in her own ambition, it seems, as she hid all evidence of having taken power, ruling alongside her husband. Yet, at the Karnak temples, there is twice as much Nefertiti artwork as there is of Akhenaten, her husband, who was king from about 1353 BCE to 1336 BCE. There are even scenes of her smiting enemies and decorating the throne with images of captives.

photo - The Nefertiti bust in Neues Museum, Berlin — The Nefertiti bust in Neues Museum, Berlin. *(photo by Philip Pikart, 2009)*

Despite her great power – she and her husband had pushed through a monotheistic form of pagan worship – Nefertiti disappears from all depictions after 12 years of rule. The reason for her disappearance is unknown. Some scholars believe she died, while others speculate she was elevated to the status of co-regent—equal in power to the pharaoh – and began to dress herself as a man. Other theories suggest she became known as Pharaoh Smenkhkare, ruling Egypt after her husband’s death, or that she was exiled when the worship of the deity Amen-Ra came back into vogue.

The Cleopatra clan sharply contrasts with the above two peacekeeping female pharaohs. In a December 2018 National Geographic interview about her book, Cooney explains that, when it comes to incest and violence, Cleopatra family members were no slouches. Cleopatra II (who ruled in the second century BCE) married her brother, but then they had a huge falling out and the brother/husband ended up dead. So, Cleopatra II married another brother. Her daughter, Cleopatra III, then ended up overthrowing and exiling her mother. Cleopatra III took up with her uncle, Cleopatra II’s brother, who sent Cleopatra II a package containing her own son, cut up into little bits, as a birthday present. Eventually, they all got back together for political reasons. (See nationalgeographic.com/culture/article/queens-egypt-pharaohs-nefertiti-cleopatra-book-talk.)

photo - Shown wearing a heavy wig, the queen also has a headband with a coiled uraeus serpent above her brow. Of the seven Ptolemaic queens named Cleopatra, this head may represent Cleopatra II or her daughter, Cleopatra III — Shown wearing a heavy wig, the queen also has a headband with a coiled uraeus serpent above her brow. Of the seven Ptolemaic queens named Cleopatra, this head may represent Cleopatra II or her daughter, Cleopatra III. *(photo from Walters Art Museum)*

It’s time to return to the question posed at the beginning of this article, about whether the exodus story would have turned out differently if there had been a female pharaoh in charge.

Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg, on myjewishlearning.com, analyzes the actions of the pharaoh Moses and Aaron encountered. She reminds us of what Rabbi Simon ben Lakish wrote about this pharaoh. In Exodus Rabbah, ben Lakish states, “Since G-d sent [the opportunity for repentance and doing the right thing] five times to him and he sent no notice, G-d then said, ‘You have stiffened your neck and hardened your heart on your own…. So it was that the heart of Pharaoh did not receive the words of G-d.’ In other words, Pharaoh sealed his own fate, for himself and his relationship with G-d.” Only at this point does G-d intervene by hardening Pharaoh’s heart, so that the plagues can end and the Hebrews can leave Egypt.

According to When Women Ruled the World author Cooney, the emotionality of female pharaohs is key. In that 2018 National Geographic interview, she says, “that ability to cry or feel someone else’s pain…. It is that emotionality that causes women to commit less violent acts, not want to wage war and be more nuanced in their decision-making. It is what pulls the hand away from the red button rather than slamming the fist down upon it. These women ruled in a way that kept the men around them safe and ensured their dynasties continued.”

There is the possibility then that, had Moses and Aaron encountered a female pharaoh, she might have concluded that all the pain and suffering from the plagues wasn’t worth it – neither for herself, personally, nor her Egyptian subjects. Perhaps without a big fuss, or at least with less of one, she would have let Moses lead the Jews out of Egypt.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Weddings to stop plagues

According to the Nov. 11, 1918, Winnipeg Tribune, Rose Schwartz and Abraham Lachterman were married in a plague wedding in Winnipeg, Man. More than 1,000 people attended, Jews and non-Jews.

Relatively early in the evolution of the coronavirus pandemic, in March 2020, there was an unusual wedding in Israel. The ceremony took place in Bnei Brak’s Ponevezh Cemetery. The bride (kallah) and groom (hatan), both orphans, had not previously known each other. Even in the ultra-Orthodox community, where there is a range of arranged to forced marriages, such an event – a black (shvartse) or plague (mageyfe) wedding – is extremely rare.

Written accounts of plague weddings date back almost 200 years, to eastern Europe. In these accounts, one learns that “targeted” couples were people who were orphaned, homeless, or had physical or intellectual challenges. In these scenarios, the community contends it is doing a favour to these brides and grooms, as it assumes that the couple has only a slim chance of marrying otherwise.

Had this contemporary couple under the wedding canopy been free to choose, or had they been coerced or something in between? Were they promised something to get them under the chuppah? Maybe they were gifted, respectively, their wedding dress and suit? There again, however, these outfits could have come from a wedding gemach, a charity warehouse from which people borrow items of clothing. Or perhaps, as was customary in earlier times, some well-to-do community member offered to “set up house” for them.

One thing is clear: even though it wasn’t their families who sat down and discussed terms, this was an arranged marriage. The couple had been picked to stop the ravages of the coronavirus. In a way, they were a sacrificial appeasement to G-d, who was thought to have brought on the pandemic.

The wedding was purposely not conducted in a synagogue, in a wedding hall or in someone’s house. The reasoning was that the community hoped that the souls of those interred in the cemetery would reward this act of marrying two orphans and intercede to block the evil decree. Perhaps, G-d would be induced to have pity on the couple and, by extension, halt the spread of disease.

The first record of a plague wedding goes back to 1831, in Russia, during a cholera pandemic. Another written reference to this type of ceremony dates to 1849, in Krakow, Poland. Another publication, from the early 20th century, deals with stories about Rabbi Elimelekh Weisblum of Lizhensk, who apparently arranged such a marriage in 1785, during a cholera outbreak. Some historians argue that the tradition is older still. In any case, the ritual became firmly entrenched in the Jewish communities of the Russian Empire during the 1892 cholera outbreak. (See Jeremy Brown’s comprehensive article, “The plague wedding,” at traditiononline.org/plague-weddings.)

Over time, the ceremonies became more elaborate. Hanna Wegrzynek writes of “several instances” where part of the cemetery was demarcated, symbolically closing off the affected area, so to speak. Some ceremonies were accompanied by feasts and dancing.

Brown notes that Eastern European Jews who resettled in the United States early in the 20th century brought the plague wedding custom with them. Across the country, during the Spanish flu epidemic (in which my own maternal grandfather almost died), desperate Jewish communities married off dozens of young couples. One of the most celebrated and widely reported plague weddings took place between Harry Rosenberg and Fanny Jacobs in October 1918 at a cemetery near Cobbs Creek in Philadelphia. The event was attended by more than 1,000 people. Unfortunately, genealogical research suggests that neither Harry nor Fanny survived the Spanish Flu, dying along with 50 million others.

In November 1918, Rose Schwartz and Abraham Lachterman were reportedly married in a similar ceremony in Winnipeg, Man.

Yizkor, or memorial, books of Jewish communities wiped out in the Holocaust record a number of black weddings. And three of the most famous 20th-century Yiddish and Hebrew writers make reference to plague weddings.

In 1945, I.B. Singer wrote about a cemetery wedding in his short story Gimpel the Fool: “It so happened that there was a dysentery epidemic…. The ceremony was held at the cemetery gates, near the little corpse-washing hut. The fellows got drunk. While the marriage contract was being drawn up I heard the most pious high rabbi ask, ‘Is the bride a widow or a divorced woman?’ And the sexton’s wife answered…. ‘Both a widow and divorced.’ It was a black moment for me. But what was I to do, run away from under the marriage canopy?”

S.Y. Agnon mentions such a wedding in his 1945 Only Yesterday – “and they’ve already held a wedding for two orphans on the Mount of Olives to stop the plague.”

This past summer, Jerusalem’s Khan Theatre performed a dramatic adaptation of I.L. Peretz’s 1909 short story In the Time of Pestilence, in which there is a discussion about orphans marrying during an outbreak. The theatre company performed the work at Hansen House, the site of a former hospital for people suffering from Hansen’s disease (also called leprosy).

Since the 1800s, when the first plague wedding was reported, there have been a number of global pandemics. In chronological order, they include cholera, bubonic plague, measles, Russian flu, Spanish flu, Asian flu, HIV/AIDS, SARS and COVID-19. (See “Pandemics That Changed History,” at history.com/topics/middle-ages/pandemics-timeline.)

Even though plague weddings don’t seem to be at all effective in stopping outbreaks of diseases, for the guests, at least, the ceremonies could be seen as a means of escape, for a short time, from worry and despair.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Wherever did the time go?

A few of the clocks that were stolen from Jerusalem’s L.A. Mayer Museum for Islamic Art in 1983, and eventually found and returned. (photos by Daniella Golan)

Over the past few weeks, many countries, including Canada, switched from daylight savings time to standard time. So, it seems like the right time (no pun intended) to talk about the biggest clock and watch robbery in Israel’s history.

Back in 1983, more than 100 antique timepieces vanished from Jerusalem’s L.A. Mayer Museum for Islamic Art. I remember visiting the museum about a year after the robbery, only to find the empty stands and cases – as if the museum staff hoped the watches would magically reappear.

For years, the Israeli police didn’t know where to go with this case. In fact, they struggled for a quarter of a century to solve the mystery of the 102 (a number of media reports stated 106) missing clocks. All that was clear was that, one spring night in 1983, these timepieces disappeared from the museum.

These missing clocks were not like the ones a regular person hangs on their kitchen wall or sits on their nightstand. They were highbrow antiques. Some were inlaid with jewels. Many had been cast from gold. One was made by famed watchmaker Abraham-Louis Breguet for Queen Marie Antoinette, but she met up with the guillotine 34 years before Breguet finished the timepiece – actually, Breguet’s son finished what is called an “open-work” watch.

Altogether, the stolen clocks and watches were worth millions of dollars. Given the magnitude of the theft, a special task force within the police was set up. Reportedly, Interpol was contacted, and the company that had insured the collection hired private investigators.

For years, police theorized that only a group of robbers could have taken so many clocks in one night. It turned out, however, that one thief did the job.

The alleged thief was Naaman Diller, also known as Naaman Lidor. He took advantage of the museum’s incompetence at that time. For example, he discovered that the museum’s alarm system did not work. And, while the museum windows apparently had bars, they were more for show than anything else – Diller/Lidor was able to bend a few of them. He had no difficulty entering and exiting undetected with the stolen items and placing them in his truck outside.

Many of the clocks were physically small and relatively light (i.e., pocket-size timepieces). He took most of them out of Israel. Some were hidden in Holland, some in France and the rest went to the United States. Several ended up in the home he set up in the Los Angeles area.

Despite – or perhaps because of – the great monetary value of his haul and because of how renowned some of the pieces were, Dillor/Lidor found it was hard to sell them. He only managed to sell less than 10% of the stolen collection. The majority of these timepieces spent 25 years locked up, unseen.

Following the robbery, Dillor/Lidor lived on and off in Tel Aviv. In the early 2000s, he reportedly was hospitalized in Israel’s Tel HaShomer Hospital, suffering from skin cancer complications. When told that the cancer had spread to the bone, he refused radiation. In 2004, he died in his Tel Aviv apartment and was buried at Kibbutz Ein HaHoresh, his birthplace. In the end, he willed the clocks to his wife, Israeli ex-pat Nili Shamrat.

Within a few years of Dillor/Lidor’s death, an attorney representing the widow entered into a quiet, negotiated “buy-back” with the museum. According to the L.A. Mayer Museum for Islamic Art, in 2006, 39 of the original 102 stolen clocks were returned.

Two years down the road, the case further unraveled. The museum officially states that investigators located the remaining clocks in various bank safes. Some media reports said the clocks had been in France and in Holland. In any case, the clocks and watches have since made their way back to the museum. Unlike almost 40 years ago, they are now well-secured, with the clock exhibit housed in a sophisticated light-sensitive vault.

In the United States, the widow was charged with receiving stolen property. In 2010, however, she received a sentence of five years’ probation and 300 hours of community service. In her defence, her lawyer successfully maintained that she was a victim of circumstances – that is, her new husband (although they’d been together for many years, they’d been married for only a year when he died) had only told her about the clocks near the time of his death.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Ancient foods still popular

Dates being harvested from Hannah, a tree germinated from ancient seeds in Israel. (screenshot from arava.org)

The Mediterranean Diet is not a recent lifestyle development, but rather a form of eating going back to ancient times.

Based on the foods consumed by people living near the Mediterranean Sea, this diet contains lots of olive oil, legumes, unrefined cereals, fruits and vegetables. It includes fish and dairy products, such as cheese and yogurts. It allows for wine drinking and a bit of meat.

From the specialized field of Israeli agro-archeology, we can get an idea of what people once grew and ate – and a number of these foods are mentioned in the Torah.

In some instances, the sages understood why certain foods were healthy, as seen in this quote from Tractate Ketubot of the Babylonian Talmud: “Dates are wholesome in the morning and in the evening. They are bad in the afternoon, but, at noon, there is nothing to match them. Besides, they do away with three things: evil thoughts, sickness of the bowels and hemorrhoids.”

In September 2020, the Arava Institute harvested 111 very special dates – the first fruit of Hannah, a tree sprouted from a 2,000-year-old seed and pollinated by another ancient Judean date tree. Dr. Elaine Solowey, director of the Centre for Sustainable Agriculture of the Arava Institute, and Dr. Sarah Sallon, director of the Louis L. Borick Natural Medicine Research Centre of Hadassah Hospital, harvested these ancient dates in the culmination of a decades-long experiment to raise the biblical-era Phoenix dactylifera (date palm) from the dead. The date seeds were originally discovered in the 1960s, when Yigal Yadin excavated Masada.

And, in January 2021, Israeli archeologists published the discovery of thousands of olive pits off the southern coast of Haifa. These pits were embedded in stone and clay neolithic structures in a now-submerged area, but one that was probably once part of the northern coast. They date back to about 4600 BCE.

Tel Aviv University archeologist Dafna Langot points out that these pits were not from olives used for oil because, in the production of olive oil, the pits get crushed and, in this find, the pits were mostly still intact. The site’s proximity to the Mediterranean Sea may indicate that the seawater served to de-bitter, pickle and salt the olives. (To read the article “Early production of table olives at a mid-7th millennium BP submerged site off the Carmel coast [Israel],” visit nature.com/articles/s41598-020-80772-6. BP stands for “before the present.”)

There is no biblical reference to olive eating itself. But, at the ceremony in which Moshe’s brother Aaron and Aaron’s sons become the priests over the ancient Hebrews, they ate matzah with oil olive (Exodus 29:2). Indeed, olive oil seems to have the edge over olives as seen in R. Yohanan’s warning: olives cause one to forget 70 years of study, olive oil restores 70 years of study (Babylonian Talmud, Horayot 13b). Yet, in Numbers Rabbah 8:10, proselytes are praised using a comparison to olives: “just as there are olives for eating, preserving and for oil … so from proselytes came Bible scholars, Mishnah scholars, men of commerce and men of wisdom, men of understanding.”

Around the ancient Hula Lake – referred to by researchers as Gesher Benot Yaakov or GBY – Israeli archeologists have discovered different types of nuts, dating back to the Lower Paleolithic period (1.5 million to 200,000 years ago). Two types of pistachio nuts (Pistacia atlantica and Pistacia vera) are said to have been gathered there. (See “Nuts, nut cracking, and pitted stones at Gesher Benot Ya’aqov, Israel,” at pnas.org/content/99/4/2455.)

Pistachios are one of only two nuts mentioned in the Bible. Pistachios may have grown in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 43:11). Legend has it that the Queen of Sheba declared pistachios were to be enjoyed only by royalty, even decreeing that it was illegal for commoners to grow pistachio trees. The nuts were considered an aphrodisiac.

In the Middle East, both Muslims and Jews prepare pistachio-filled baklava for holiday celebrations.

photo - In biblical times, barley was used as fodder for donkeys and horses so, if a person ate barley, it was a sign they were poor — In biblical times, barley was used as fodder for donkeys and horses so, if a person ate barley, it was a sign they were poor. *(photo by Alicja / Pixabay)*

On the Gezer Calendar, which dates back to King Solomon’s era, the springtime months of Iyar and Sivan are noted as the time for harvesting barley, the first grain to ripen in Israel. On the status scale, however, barley was held in low regard. It was used as fodder for donkeys and horses (I Kings 5:8). Thus, in biblical times, if you ate barley, it was a sign you were poor. At recent Israeli archeology digs, onsite workers collected barley seeds from the epipaleolithic period, some 20,000 to 10,000 years BP.

In addition, Israeli archeologists have identified 1,000-year-old eggplant seeds. They found the seeds in cisterns located in an ancient market complex that was discovered in Jerusalem’s Givati Parking Lot dig, more or less across from the Old City’s Dung Gate. The cisterns apparently had been left behind in either cesspits or garbage pits and the eggplant seeds had neither rotted nor disintegrated. Researchers surmise that the market stall owners used garbage pits to hold their unused stock or to discard damaged produce. Eggplant seeds found in cesspits were seeds consumed and naturally eliminated.

Eggplants are well-traveled. According to the late Gil Marks, in his cookbook Olive Trees and Honey: A Treasury of Vegetarian Recipes from Jewish Communities Around the World, eggplants originated in India some 4,000 years ago. By the fourth century CE, eggplants arrived in Persia. From, there they were “picked up” by Arabs, who probably brought them to Spain in the ninth century. Claudia Roden writes in her book The Book of Jewish Food: An Odyssey from Samarkand to New York that Jews came to be associated with eggplant when they fled the Almohades and Almoravides and when the Inquisition banished them from southern Italy.

Seeing that pomegranates are part of the Rosh Hashanah table, I’ll close with some information about the ancient fruit, one of the seven species mentioned in Deuteronomy 8:8. The Roman Pliny the Elder, who died in the 79 CE eruption of Mount Vesuvius, also had something to say about this juicy fall fruit – he wrote that the wild pomegranate seed, taken in drink, is curative of dropsy (edema).

Pomegranate seed oil contains high concentrations of Omega 5, which is believed to be one of the most powerful antioxidants in nature. Prof. Ruth Gabizon and Prof. Shlomo Magdassi from Hebrew University and Hadassah Hospital are hopeful that their pomegranate seed oil research will lead to a way of slowing down or lessening the effects of degenerative brain diseases.

A 2020 report by other researchers, which was published in The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition (doi.org/10.1093/ajcn/nqz241), contends that pomegranate juice helps maintain visual memory skills in middle-aged and older adults. The authors of the study state that it could have a potential impact on visual memory issues commonly associated with aging.

The old Mediterranean diet continues to provide new promise.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

The road of reckoning

A supply convoy entering Jerusalem, 1948. (image from Shaar Hagai Heritage Museum)

Having just marked Yom Hazikaron and Israel’s 73rd anniversary, it is an appropriate time to recall a piece of Israel’s foundational history, and a new museum that commemorates it.

Seventy-four years ago, the road to Jerusalem was a site of easy ambush. Probably no part of the road was more treacherous than the area around Shaar Hagai. This spot, called Bab el Wad in Arabic, translates into English as the Gate of the Valley. As far back as 1868, French explorer Victor Guerin recognized and commented on this weak spot: he pointed out that the track was so narrow that “a determined band of men could stop an army in it with little difficulty.”

Admittedly, as you today drive on a smooth, paved, two-way, divided Jerusalem/Tel Aviv highway, it is hard to appreciate this reality. But, on Nov. 29, 1947 – the day after the vote on the United Nations Partition Plan, enabling the establishment of the Jewish state – Arab forces began blocking the route to Jerusalem. Not only were Jewish forces shot at, but, because the road curves, drivers couldn’t see where the road was blocked until they were trapped basically.

In David Dayan’s book Roadblock at Shaar Hagai: Creating a State (title translated from the Hebrew), Amos Kochavi recalled one such incident: “The time was approximately two in the afternoon. The long line entered the narrow and dangerous part. They could be anywhere…. We continued to climb … and there was a mighty explosion. The bomb under the road left a huge hole and the convoy stopped. Immediately, terrible shooting began…. We returned fire, but we couldn’t advance. Some of the drivers went into shock…. One driver with shell shock, screamed, ‘I can’t handle it anymore. I’m leaving.’ We yelled back: ‘Don’t move! You won’t come out alive!’ He didn’t hear, jumped from the car and was instantly killed.

“They tried to come down from the hills to get close to the cars, but our fire stopped them. They fire, we fire and the hours go by. No cars have air left in their tires. The number of injured grew. Shalom volunteered … he lay on the road, rolling – to avoid snipers – for a long hour … directing the drivers, one by one, until he had rescued all the cars…. An Australian captain ordered tanks that escorted us back to Gezer. The time was already two at night – 12 hours from when we entered Shaar Hagai.”

Jerusalem was under siege. Essential supplies could not reach the civilian and military population of the city. Jerusalem was dependent on supplies from the rest of the country, and was threatened with being totally cut off from the rest of the country. The only way to reach Jewish Jerusalem was to travel in convoy. (For more information, visit the National Library of Israel website, nli.org.il/en.)

photo - A codebook for sending messages in the time of the siege of Jerusalem, on display at Shaar Hagai Heritage Museum. (photo from Shaar Hagai — A codebook for sending messages in the time of the siege of Jerusalem, on display at Shaar Hagai Heritage Museum. (photo from Shaar Hagai Heritage Museum)

According to the late Sir Martin Gilbert, by the spring of 1948, “Fewer and fewer Jewish food convoys were able to get through to Jerusalem. Towards the end of March, a food convoy failed, for the first time, to get through at all. One food convoy that did get through in March had taken 10 days to do so. By the end of the first week of April, there was only enough flour in Jewish Jerusalem to last for 30 days. Meat, fish, milk and eggs were unobtainable, except in small quantities, for children. The shortage of vegetables was such that children were sent into the fields to collect a weed … known as halamith, it tasted somewhat like spinach, and could be made into soup.” (See Jerusalem in the 20th Century.)

There was also a severe shortage of water. Three days before the state of Israel officially came into existence, the Palestine Post reported that “Jerusalem was still without water yesterday. The two pipelines from Ras el Ein, which were blown up by Arabs between Latrun and Bal el Wad on Friday, have still to be repaired. Crews are scheduled to leave under army escort this morning to continue repair work and, barring further trouble, repairs may be completed today. Water may be pumped into Jerusalem within a few days, according to one municipal official.” So grim was Jerusalem’s situation that archival photos show residents standing in long lines waiting to get their water ration and others rummaging through garbage, in the hopes of finding scraps of food.

Palmach fighters and, even more remarkable, simple truck drivers decided to do whatever they could to keep Jerusalem from being blocked. One now quite senior man, who drove a truck full of live fish for the Sabbath, was interviewed. He recalled looking out his side mirrors to see water streaming from the sides of the vehicle. The truck had been shot in numerous spots. Somehow, he managed to get to Kiryat Anavim, a kibbutz in the Jerusalem Corridor. There, women plugged up the bullet holes with rags. Probably, many of us would have considered giving up at this point, but this driver continued the slow climb to Jerusalem.

The fighters were mostly young people. A significant number were under the age of 18 (today’s conscription age). They came from all backgrounds, religious and non-religious, and from all parts of the country; some were Holocaust survivors. As a number of the fighters had been assigned the task of digging gravesites at Kiryat Anavim, they probably realized they might not survive on the road to Jerusalem.

It was crucial to find a different route for the convoys. Palmach soldiers discovered a detour that went through a hidden valley south of the heavily fortified fortress at Latrun and joined a path descending from Jerusalem. Using heavy tractors, the Palmach slowly cleared a path for vehicles. A water pipeline was also installed along it. The lifeline to the Jews in Jerusalem was secured, providing vital water and other supplies, in the summer months of 1948.

At the point where the road was most unsafe, there is a 19th-century Turkish-built travelers’ khan or inn. On March 23, 2021, Israel’s last election day, a memorial museum was opened at this historic location. The Shaar Hagai Heritage Museum is dedicated to the men and women who prevented Jerusalem from being disconnected in the days leading up to and even following Israel’s independence.

The museum deals less with the chronology of the battles and more with the physical and emotional difficulties convoy members faced, such as confronting dilemmas like whether the trucks should carry guns or food to besieged Jerusalem. There are displays of items used by the convoys, such as codebooks, handguns and rifles. And there are interviews with people who took part in the convoy operations, and part of the exhibit is animated.

Once we are again allowed to travel, the museum is worth a visit on your next trip to Israel. Allow at least an hour-and-a-half for the whole tour, which is recommended for viewers 10 years of age and older. The new museum requires visitors to make advance online reservations, and there are admission fees.

For Hebrew speakers, there’s a preview of the museum at parks.org.il/new/chan.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Pyramids on the Mind

An image from the author’s 1941 Passover Haggadah by Saul Raskin.

Although they are not specifically mentioned in either the Haggadah or in the Torah, Egyptian pyramids have come to be associated with the Pesach story. That many modern Haggadot include illustrations of the pyramids points to how these structures play a key role in our collective memory.

At the Pesach seder, we say, “tze u l’mad,” “go out and learn.” In A Haggadah Happening, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin explains the idea as, “make sure your learning accompanies you wherever you go.” So what better way is there to appreciate the Hebrew slaves’ hardships than to visually present them by tangible symbols, such as the items on the seder plate, as well as the Four Sons, songs like “Ehad Mi Yodaya” (“Who Knows One”) and, of course, the pyramids?

But what specifically drew the Haggadah compilers to the pyramids? First of all, for a period of time, the Hebrews did live in Egypt. Thus, in Exodus, Chapter 5, we read about their involvement in Egyptian construction, where they are portrayed primarily as Egyptian brick-makers, not as builders: “‘Ye shall no more give the people straw to make brick, as heretofore. Let them go and gather straw for themselves.’ And the taskmasters of the people went out, and their officers, and they spoke to the people, saying: ‘Thus saith Pharaoh: “I will not give you straw.”’ So the people were scattered abroad throughout all the land of Egypt to gather stubble for straw. And the taskmasters were urgent, saying: ‘Fulfil your work, your daily task, as when there was straw.’”

Archeologists maintain that, in antiquity, Egyptian homes were constructed from mud bricks. Pyramids, however, were reportedly built of quarried, hewn stone and mud bricks. So, the more persuasive answer as to why modern Jews include pyramids in their Haggadot seems to be the pyramids’ sheer durability. That there are extant pyramids carries tremendous weight when retelling the story of the Hebrews’ time in Egypt – it connects us to our past.

Furthermore, that pyramids are still viewable is not a chance happening, apparently. According to freelance science writer Dr. Craig Freudenrich, the pharaohs built the pyramids knowing that the pyramid, with its square base and four equilateral triangular sides, is “the most structurally stable shape for projects involving large amounts of stone or masonry.”

Moreover, Donald Redford, a professor at Penn State University, reports that the ancient Egyptians probably chose that distinctive form for their pharaohs’ tombs because of their solar religion. The Egyptian sun god Ra, considered the father of all pharaohs, was said to have created himself from a pyramid-shaped mound of earth before creating all the other gods. The pyramid’s shape is thought to have symbolized the sun’s rays.

The shape of the pyramids was carefully chosen to reflect underlying aspects of divine unity. The pyramid has four faces: three faces to the heavens and one face to the earth. Architecture-by-astronomy was common in the ancient world, says archeoastronomer Giulio Magli. The Great Pyramid of Giza, for example, is aligned with amazing precision along the compass points, which would have required the use of the stars as reference points.

Three pyramids were built at Giza, and many smaller pyramids were constructed around the Nile Valley. The tallest of the Great Pyramids reaches nearly 500 feet into the sky and spans an area greater than 13 acres.

What is truly startling is that, with no connection to Egypt, other ancient cultures built pyramids in such far away places as Latin America and in what is, today, southern Illinois, in the United States. Like the ancient Egyptians, these other cultures understood the power and sway the pyramid structure had over the general population. According to history.com editors: “The Americas actually contain more pyramid structures than the rest of the planet combined. Civilizations like the Olmec, Maya, Aztec and Inca all built pyramids to house their deities, as well as to bury their kings. In many of their great city-states, temple-pyramids formed the centre of public life and were the site of holy rituals, including human sacrifice.”

While Egyptian pyramids are closely connected to the sun, Peruvian pyramids were considered to be replicas of mountains; they were thought to possess all the powers the mountains themselves possessed.

Twenty minutes away from St. Louis, Mo., are the remains of the United States’ first high-rises. They are more than 850 years old, constructed by the Cahokia Indians of Illinois. At 5,000 square feet, the house of the great chief or high priest (or another type of leader, since we really don’t know) was the most impressive of all the buildings. From the flat top of this colossus, with a footprint of 14 acres, it is larger at its base than the Great Pyramid of Khufu, Egypt’s largest.

So important is the pyramid as a symbol that it was used on the U.S. one dollar bill. According to the bill’s designer, the pyramid was used because it “signifies strength and duration … a new order of the ages.”

According to Bill Ellis, a professor emeritus of American studies at Penn State, “The pyramid was seen as the kind of human structure that lasted out the ages.” He said America’s Founding Fathers wanted the country to last as long as the pyramid – though the pyramid didn’t show up on the dollar bill until 1935, when Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s administration added them. “New order” is printed in Latin, under the pyramid, and historians say this refers to the birth of a new country and FDR liked the way it synced with his New Deal program.

Whether, in fact, the Hebrew slaves actually built the Egyptian pyramids is of secondary importance, as so many freedom struggles have been based on the tale that the Hebrews had to construct these mammoth buildings until they fled the slavery of Egypt.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Israel’s corona experience

A Stitches by Orli mask, modeled by the designer Orli Fields.

A little over a year ago, Israeli radio news reported that Dr. Li Wenliang, an eye doctor in Wuhan, China, had tried to warn people that there were too many sick in his region. The report caught my attention because it stated that the doctor had been silenced by Chinese authorities.

When the coronavirus outbreak first became newsworthy, Israelis – from the prime minister on down – were sure we wouldn’t be seriously encumbered by it. We were in the mood to confidently assist others. I remember a man in front of me at the grocery checkout, turning around to ask if I knew why he was buying so many packages of toilet paper. When I said no, he told me he was sending toilet paper to family and friends in the United Kingdom.

In an unexpected turn of events, however, the virus became not just a key topic of discussion, but the manager of our daily lives. Over the long months of 2020, family visits and events were severely curtailed. In Israel, for religious and non-religious alike, Jewish holidays are always occasions for get-togethers, but not so this past year.

Some friends and acquaintances have become so nervous about catching the virus, they no longer want to converse, even outdoors, at a safe distance and from behind a mask. Fearing the spread of the pandemic, government officials, in turn, have put the kibosh on live cultural events.

Many people have learned to work from home and some have managed to re-create themselves, opening new businesses, such as those involving logistics, shipping and delivery. For example, a tour guide who used to lead groups through the colourful Mahane Yehuda Market now prepares and delivers baskets of shuk food items. Notably, during the pandemic, some lucky artists and galleries have found more of a demand for their work. Possibly this is due to the fact that people are home so much, staring at the walls, as it were. Yet, most artists-musicians, singers, actors and all the crews that keep theatres and other cultural facilities running have found themselves without work and without significant governmental bailout grants. All tolled, thousands of people have been laid off or have become unemployed altogether.

Whether because we were in lockdown or because we were anxious about being in situations where we might be exposed to people who have the virus, we have perfected online shopping to the level of an art. But some of us have also taken advantage of the farmers who are selling their produce directly to clients rather than through the now-quiet public markets.

We have learned to see ourselves as others see us, that is, in tiny boxes on Zoom. Some cultural institutions – such as the National Library of Israel, the Zionist Confederation House, Beit Avi Chai, Yad Izhak Ben-Zvi and others – have been broadcasting lectures and even some festivals on Zoom. I know one lecturer whose delivery has actually improved over Zoom.

photo - Another Stitches by Orli mask, also modeled by the designer Orli Fields — Another Stitches by Orli mask, also modeled by the designer Orli Fields.

Not only have we learned that we can talk and be understood with a mask over our nose and mouth, I have heard that there are people who, being self-conscious of their teeth and mouth, are now more confident in public because they are wearing a mask.

And masks have changed over the course of the pandemic. In Tel Aviv especially, you will see people wearing designer masks, even while most of us are dressing more simply. In my neighbourhood, for instance, the vast majority of people wear sweatpants and sweatshirts (called “training” in Hebrew) on a daily basis. Teenagers wear indoor-outdoor pajamas; sometimes, they venture outside in their slippers.

The pandemic has brought out lots of dark humour, something Israelis have always been good at. And people have become more cynical about government proclamations. As but one example, the “last lockdown we will have” has happened four times already.

The coronavirus has aided in dividing Israel even more, as certain segments of the population are singled out for their non-adherence to government policy, but are not held accountable for their non-compliance. As one doctor candidly told me, “healthcare decisions are hampered by political considerations.”

Until this pandemic, many discharged Israeli soldiers would travel to southern Asia or to South America to “clear their heads.” With the spread of corona, however, travel has no longer been a safe option, so, in the past year, some soldiers who finished their compulsory service decided to immediately enrol in colleges and universities.

Altogether, the pandemic has caused tremendous financial and emotional stress. We have learned that corona is the loneliest hospitalization and death. But government budget problems have left social service agencies and nonprofits with little or no funding to continue their work of easing the tension, so the psychological damage continues to spread, untreated.

On the brighter side, people have picked up new hobbies, such as gardening or building terrariums. Baking has become a big thing, too. Working on jigsaw puzzles is another activity going through a revival. There seems to be more appreciation of nature, as well, as people have been going out for walks or picnics near their homes as a way to cope. And there has been a significant rise in the number of people adopting dogs, which may help reduce or prevent stress disorders during the pandemic. (While the number of abandoned pets has not dropped in Israel, it has not increased.)

It is generally acknowledged that doctors, nurses and other hospital staff are on the frontlines of the pandemic, so they were the first to receive coronavirus vaccinations. However, there is no shortage of vaccines in Israel and two things happened just recently: “pop-up” inoculation stations opened, to accommodate both citizens and non-citizens, so that, basically, anyone who walks in with an ID can get one; and Israel’s prime minister began talking about vaccine diplomacy – selling or giving vaccines to other countries.

The few pluses of 2020 notwithstanding, however, I doubt most Israelis, if not all, would object to having skipped the past year.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Olive trees have long history

Volunteers help pick olives on a windy day in the fair trade grove of Emek Yizrael. (photo from Yoram Ron)

For thousands of years, olive trees have grown in Israel. Neolithic pottery containing olive pits and remnants of olives have been discovered in Israel’s Mount Carmel region, proving that early people produced olive oil by pulverizing the ripe olives in small pots. Some ancient trees reportedly still exist – in the Palestinian village of al-Walaja, residents claim they have the world’s oldest olive tree, supposedly 5,000 years old. More realistic is Beit Jala’s claim to an 800-year-old olive tree.

Olives for making oil are picked around December or January, so it is probably no coincidence that Chanukah comes so close to the picking season. As you know, Chanukah’s miracle revolves around the story that a very limited amount of olive oil burned in the Temple menorah for eight nights.

While the olive branch is a symbol of peace, the olive harvest in both Israel and the Palestinian territories is a challenging time. For Palestinian olive growers, extremist settlers and Israeli government policy have turned their harvest into an uncomfortable, if not a physically and economically dangerous event. Documented cases show some settlers assaulting Palestinian farmers – threatening them, driving them off their own land, physically attacking them or throwing stones at them. Sometimes, settlers vandalize Palestinian vehicles and damage farming equipment. In other cases, settlers jump-start the harvest, stealing the fruit from hundreds of trees. In the saddest of cases, settlers vandalized hundreds upon hundreds of Palestinian olive trees, in what appears to be a gross violation of Deuteronomy’s 20:19 bal tashchit precept. In this law, we may not uproot or cut down a fruit tree if we do not have an acceptable reason to do so. In the early part of last year’s harvest, the Office for Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs reported that 25 Palestinians were injured, more than 1,000 olive trees were burnt or otherwise damaged and large amounts of produce were stolen.

Since the construction of the separation barrier, some Palestinian olive growers have ended up with their groves located on the other side of the barrier and farmers must obtain special permits and go through special gates to get to their trees. The B’Tselem Organization has documented situations in which Israeli soldiers have blocked the access gates or held farmers up, and there have been reports that soldiers have used anti-riot material on the growers.

In a few cases, the separation between olive groves and homes means that growers have to travel some 25 kilometres round trip. Moreover, the growers are given fixed times to get to their trees and, sometimes, the periods available are not long enough to finish all the picking. Related, Palestinians are sometimes put into a situation in which they have to pick their fruit while the olives are still strongly attached to the branches. Olive picking is largely a manual procedure, so, to dislodge the unripened olives, growers either hit the trees with a rod or shake the trees very hard. This can result in damage to both the trees and the olives.

photo - Two men loading freshly picked olives in the organic grove of the Galilee’s Kfar Deir Hanna, November 2020 — Two men loading freshly picked olives in the organic grove of the Galilee’s Kfar Deir Hanna, November 2020. *(photo by Itiel Zion)*

The current pandemic has caused financial havoc all over the world, including in Israel. This harvest season, Jewish Israeli olive growers have had tons of olives stolen. In the Emek Yizrael area, the Border Police found about 10 tons of olives in a nearby sheep pen. The olives had already been bagged and the gathering containers were standing to the side. The alleged thieves live in Zarzir, a village some 10 kilometres from Nazareth. Shomer Hachadash (the New Guard) tries to prevent these incidents using dogs and heat-sensing drones for nighttime surveillance. Some very bold olive thieves have even been spotted in daylight hours.

Despite this gloomy picture, however, there are promising things happening in Israel’s olive industry. Kfar Kanna’s Sindyanna is an olive oil producer. The Galilee operation is a certified fair trade establishment. In addition, it is a nonprofit organization with strong social and political commitments. Their olive oil bottles proudly say that the oil is produced by Jewish and Arab women in Israel.

Sindyanna aims to improve the working conditions and livelihoods of local Arab women, a clearly marginalized group. For example, Sindyanna provides employment training for Arab women. On the political level, Sindyanna is committed to inter-religious understanding by contracting Muslim, Jewish and Christian women. Moreover, the growers who sell their olives to Sindyanna, like the population of the Galilee itself, are a mix of ethnic groups.

Hadas Lahav, Sindyanna’s chief executive officer, said the company strongly affirms sustainable farming. Over the years, it has built strong connections with local farmers, buying olive oil directly from about 100 individual farmers and large family groups. Some of the farmers are organized into large family companies, like Al-Juzur’s seven families of the Younis clan. In Deir Hanna, the 2,500 organic olive trees belong to the Hussein family. In the Birya Forest, there are 10,000 organic olive trees maintained by Hussein Hib.

In the Jezreel Valley, there is a non-organic grove that belongs to Sindyanna in cooperation with the landowners, the Abu Hatum family from Yafi’a. In Iksal, the non-organic groves belong to the Dawawsha family. In Arabeh, the non-organic olive groves belong to the Khatib family and, at Moshav HaYogev, they belong to the Ashush family.

photo - Close-up of freshly picked olives in Sindyanna’s fair trade grove in Emek Yizrael — Close-up of freshly picked olives in Sindyanna’s fair trade grove in Emek Yizrael. *(photo from Yoram Ron)*

As Lahav pointed out, with olives, there are good years and less good years. The 2020 harvest was significantly smaller than the 2019 harvest. In a way, it was fortuitous that 2020 produced less fruit, as, with COVID-19, few permits were given to seasonal pickers entering Israel from the West Bank.

The olives picked for Sindyanna’s products are Coratina (this olive tree is highly adaptable and produces abundantly in hot dry climates, including rocky soils), Barnea (this olive was bred in Israel for oil production, but is also used for green or black table olives) and Souri (olives that are native to Israel and have been the major variety cultivated traditionally under rain-fed conditions in northern Israel). On average, in irrigated groves, a tree produces five kilograms of olive oil and, in a non-irrigated grove, a tree produces three kilograms of olive oil. The olive oil is kosher.

Here are some factoids about Sindyanna. Many of us are familiar with Dr. Bronner’s soaps, but did you know that Sindyanna of the Galilee’s organic olive oil is an essential ingredient in Dr. Bronner’s Magic Pure-Castile Soaps? KKL-JNF is also involved with Sindyanna of the Galilee – in KKL-JNF’s Birya Forest, the organic olive grove was once part of the now-defunct Qabba’a village. Not too long ago, another organic grove in Wadi Ara (planted on a former Israeli army firing range) was threatened by the construction of high-tension wires; following the protests of local farmers and the village council, the course of the power line was diverted.

Sindyanna of the Galilee sells its olive oil on Amazon and, this year, it will start selling its olive oil on select Canadian websites and in certain food stores.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

Views on various occupations

COVID-19 changed a lot of people’s perceptions as to what types of jobs are essential. Not only doctors, nurses and other healthcare workers are on the front lines, but so are retail clerks, maintenance workers, truck drivers and many others. In this context, it is interesting to think about what occupations, if any, have been promoted or praised in Judaism.

As it turns out, Jewish scholars gave work considerable attention. Talmudic sages advocated for working rather than living off charity. Indeed, this principle provides some food for thought for modern-day Israel, where many ultra-Orthodox do live off charity. According to a January 2020 report by Dr. Lee Cahaner and Dr. Gilad Malach for the Israel Democratic Institute, between the years 2003 and 2018, about 50% of ultra-Orthodox men aged 25-64 and 76% of women in the same age bracket worked.

Scholars had a great deal of respect for labour. The Talmud abhorred idleness and argues that it leads to mental illness and sexual immorality. (See Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Ketubot 59b, at jlaw.com/articles/idealoccupa.html.)

“Rabban Gamliel the son of Rabbi Judah HaNasi would say: Beautiful is the study of Torah with the way of the world, for the toil of them both causes sin to be forgotten. Ultimately, all Torah study that is not accompanied with work is destined to cease and to cause sin.” (Pirkei Avot, Ethics of the Fathers, 2:2). Midrash Rabbah Bereshit (Vayetze chapter) goes even further, saying that practising a craft saved lives.

Yet, the sages believed that being absorbed with making money is not the ideal for an individual. Again referring to the Pirkei Avot (4:10), Rabbi Meir asserted: “Rather limit your business activities and occupy yourself with the Torah instead.”

Historically, teachers were valued – but only to a point. The high priest Joshua ben Gamla (circa the first century CE) issued an opinion that “teachers had to be appointed in each district and every city and that boys of the age of six or seven should be sent.” Where the boy had a father, it was the father’s responsibility to make sure his son had a basic education. Significantly, between the third and the fifth century CE, providing the salary of the Torah and Mishnah teacher became a communal task. Even those without children contributed to the teacher’s wages.

But teachers were not fully trusted. The Mishnah of Tractate Kiddushin 82a teaches that a single man or single woman should not become a teacher. The Gemara explains that the rabbis worried that such a teacher might have an affair with a parent of one of the students.

On torahinmotion.org, Rabbi Jay Kelman contends that the Gemara initially suggests that the Mishnah is afraid that an unmarried teacher might molest his students, but then rejects this explanation, noting that molestation is not something we need to suspect happening. Kelman, however, says, “this is something which no longer can be said with any degree of certainty. What we can say with certainty is such a fear is warranted even with those who are married and that, while rare, when it occurs, the results are devastating and tragic.”

While on the subject of sexual misconduct in certain occupations, here is an idea that might resonate with the #MeToo movement: the Talmud lists certain precarious trades that require men to often be alone with women. For example, a male goldsmith who makes jewelry for women. Talmud scholars were uneasy that such a businessman would be tempted to sin.

Curiously, harsh words were said about doctors. Tractate Kiddushin 82a ends with this statement by Rabbi Yehudah: “The best of physicians deserves Gehenna.” Why do they deserve a damned place? An article on talmudology.com contends that the opinion was based either on the belief that doctors were haughty before G-d or the fact that their treatment sometimes killed the patient.

Even though Israeli citizens highly value their army, Shalom Sabar points out in a Forward video that, in Medieval Haggadot, the “bad son” was portrayed as a soldier. This was because, at the time, non-Jewish soldiers would come to kill Jews.

Sailors, on the other hand, “are mostly pious … with many a ship sinking, sailors were in constant fear causing most to be super honest in the hope that G-d would protect them.” As Kelman summarizes, there really are no atheists in the foxhole.

On myjewishlearning.com, Rabbi Jill Jacobs states that, since Mishnah Zeraim (Seeds) deals solely with agricultural issues, we have proof that Judaism emerged from an agriculturally based community. Yet, in the Torah, farmers get off to a really bad start. Early in Genesis, we learn that Cain was the first farmer. Notwithstanding, G-d refused to accept his offering, accepting only his brother Abel’s. Cain couldn’t accept this rejection. In a jealous rage, Cain killed his brother and hid what he had done. G-d, consequently, reduced Cain to a life of wandering.

At a time when, around the globe, people are learning more about the extreme misconduct of some police officers, it is worth looking further into the Torah to see what Deuteronomy 16:18 and later commentators wrote about the police. Deuteronomy points out that both judges and police should be appointed to govern the people with due justice. Drawing on various Jewish sources, Rabbi Jacobs divides the function of the Deuteronomy-based police into several specific, but integrated parts: the patroling police person who “reminds the public to obey the law”; the roving inspector who ensures fair pricing and compliance with local ordinances; the arresting police officer who, while assuming the person is innocent until judged guilty, nevertheless begins the judgment process by arresting the suspect; the bill collector police officer who extracts payment from the obligated party to give to the aggrieved party; and the police officer who is a leader in his/her community. From Jacob’s assessment on truah.org, it would appear that today’s police have what to improve, especially when it comes to trust-building measures.

Over the centuries, Jewish scholars have taken into account the fallibility of people engaged in certain occupations. With tremendous insight into human behaviour, our sages apparently realized progress is not always in a forward direction. We have a long way to go in (re)establishing the integrity that Jewish scholars outlined for certain professions.

Deborah Rubin Fields is an Israel-based features writer. She is also the author of Take a Peek Inside: A Child’s Guide to Radiology Exams, published in English, Hebrew and Arabic.

***

The abstract of the article “Jewish Occupational Selection: Education, Restrictions or Minorities?” (The Journal of Economic History 65, no. 4 [2005]), Maristella Botticini and Zvi Eckstein reads: “Before the eighth-ninth centuries CE, most Jews, like the rest of the population, were farmers. With the establishment of the Muslim Empire, almost all Jews entered urban occupations

despite no restrictions prohibiting them from remaining in agriculture. This occupational selection remained their distinctive mark thereafter. Our thesis is that this transition away from agriculture into crafts and trade was the outcome of their widespread literacy, prompted by a religious and educational reform in Judaism in the first and second centuries CE, which gave them a comparative advantage in urban, skilled occupations.”

The full article is available at jstor.org.

– DRF