I was allowed to rest for a couple of days after my travels: London, Paris, Marseille, Haifa, Negev. 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, literally, always smiling and had a very expressive, friendly face. Yet she never spoke or joined in the singing. I asked someone from my group why Hagit never spoke. 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 group. Always giving me a cuddle, 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. www.youtube.com/watch
(photo credit: The Jerusalem Post)