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In less public-service-minded news, I had a great conversation with an English-speaking kibbutz couple during breakfast this morning. Let's call them Baruch and Golda. Baruch asked me how I felt about the program so far, and I tried to weasel out of it with, "It's interesting..." Baruch, good man, was having none of that, and wanted to know interesting how. Golda then cornered me with a blessed, "Would you recommend this program to a friend?" From there, there was no going back. We had a nice, thoughtful discussion about the insularity of the kibbutz and how it views the people who come on temporary programs. My takeaway was shock that I could tell someone, "Gosh, you people don't really make your guests feel at home," and they could respond, "Nope, we don't. That's how it is." No offense taken, no possibility of change offered. It's just how things are. It's how they've always been, and how they always will be. I now realize that a big part of my resentment against the kibbutz was based on the fact that I was taking it personally that members of the kibbutz weren't trying to make friends with us. Now I know it literally has nothing to do with me, and I can actually view this as a weird cultural phenomenon with no emotional significance. Really.
I'd say that conversation wins hands-down as the main event of the day, but I did also bake challah and cookies and a kugel, and I got a surprise hour of helping out in the 3-year-old daycare. They run a tight ship over there: the kids wake up from nap, put on their shoes, bring their (full) cups to the table, and wait patiently for biscuits. One little girl spilled her water, so she got a towel and dried it up. After snack, they push in their chairs, put their cups in the sink, and go play. They are still 3-year-olds, I was relieved to see during playtime. I like working with kids.
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