I was allowed to rest for a couple of days after my
travels: London, Paris, Marseille, Haifa, Negev.
I should have hugged them back more.
Then: why not go and pick oranges until you decide what
work you want to do?
So I started picking.
One of the women picking oranges was from the Romanian
group who had started the kibbutz. She worked very fast and hard. I kept my
distance from her when working, did not want to be shown up by some wisp of a
woman who could work much better than me.
Her name was Hagit.
When we took a break she was the last person to stop, and
after a break she was the first person to start again.
She was always smiling and had a very
expressive, friendly face. Yet she only whispered, never spoke out loud and did not join in the singing.
I asked someone from my group why Hagit only whispered. The
answer was, they experimented on her.
That was enough answer for me. I did not need to know
more.
The swarm of young
women with whom I picked oranges were a happy, touching lot.
Always giving me a touch, a push, a stroke, a hair
tousle, a peck on the cheek, a squeeze or a hug. It was the equivalent of
sibling affection. A "hine ma tov" kind of thing.
At the time, very un-British and foreign to me.
They were inclined to sing a lot as well. Hebrew and partisans’
songs.
Do not get me wrong. I have nothing against “Bella Ciao”.
Except, I do not appreciate hearing it at the crack of
dawn, when the sun has not started shining yet and it is cold, and I am
lamenting the fact that I did not go to bed an hour earlier the night before.
I was relieved when I managed to escape to the sheep.
Much harder physical labour, but a paradise for
einzelgängers. Sheep keep their distance and they do not sing.
Nowadays, I smile a sad smile when I think of my happy Jewish
sisters picking oranges. With their songs they were celebrating our rebirth: Am
Yisrael Chai.
I miss those touches, pushes, strokes, hair tousles,
cheek pecks, squeezes, hugs and hine ma tov feeling.
I should have hugged them back more.
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