After living here on the kibbutz for one year, I know this to be true: the kibbutz is a living, breathing entity that takes on a life of its own – and it will swallow you whole.
Look. On the surface, this place is paradise – the land is sumptuous, the homes are well-equipped. The gan (preschool) system is enviable, and the kids scamper free from worry.
But being here does something to you. Especially if you’re stuck day after day after day, eating the same food, drinking the same coffee, talking to the same people. For four generations.
You grow restless. And you turn your world into a cesspool because paradise is boring.
Hey, I’ve only been here a year, and I’ve felt myself sinking into the quagmire, which is one of the many reasons why I found a job, and spend my waking life outside these invisible walls.
I don’t want to hate this place, but it’s hard not to when over the last several months, I’ve become fodder for the rumor mill. At first, it was kind of flattering. After all, if people gossip about you, that means they notice you. But once the rumors grew beyond, “Hmm, I wonder where she goes all day when she gets on the shuttle and gets off at the train station,” it grew less amusing.
People. A word to the wise: You should never ever ever ever mess with a woman who is prone toward fits of righteous indignation and writes (very) publically. Because she will call you out. Read the rest of this entry →