The Jewish Battle for (internal) Coexistence 29/07/2009

I’ve been to Israel four times now, with visits ranging from 2 weeks to six months. 3 of these visits have been since my official conversion to Judaism, yet each visit has demanded I take stock of my Jewish Identity. The trip to Israel usually begins with an integration at the airport. As I don’t look “traditionally Jewish”, I’m usually bombarded with more questions than the average traveler. My first trip to Israel I was so nervous, that I simply could not recall the last holiday we celebrated, despite the fact that Hanukkah had concluded just a few nights before. The airport scene usually goes something like this…
“Shalom, MaNeshma?”
“Besder”
“Something very quick in undecipherable Hebrew”
“…..English?”
“Oh, so, you don’t speak Hebrew.”
“No, just a little.”
“Why didn’t your parents teach you?”
“They don’t speak Hebrew.”
“Your parents are not Jewish?”
“…My Father is.”
“Oh, so you are not Jewish?”
“No. I am.”

A few years back, I learned of an unfortunate circumstance. A Jewish group at a medium sized college campus passed on an otherwise well qualified candidate for a rabbinical position because her spouse was not Jewish. Legal issues aside, I was horrified to hear of this. College students are in a time of flux, trying to decide who they are and want type of person they’d like to date. Sending a negative message about intermarriage– a voice of “YOU are the threat to Judaism” probably won’t sway a questioning individual away from a non-Jewish love. It will, however, send someone running far and fast away from organized Judaism. Judaism is comprised of people from all over the world, with different cultures, languages and history. There is no such thing as a “typical” Jewish household, so who is to say that an interfaith family can’t raise Jewish children or live a Jewish lifestyle? A Rabbi who made the choice to live Jewishly EVEN when married to someone of another faith is not something to shun, it is something to be celebrated and emulated.

My Jewish identity is not set in stone, nor do I think it should be. I enjoy grappling with definitions of Judaism, and the struggle to understand how my religion relates to the rest of my life is something I value. Yet, it upsets me that an airline employee, albeit an intimidating one, can invalidate my Judaism in a manner of seconds. As a product of (an extremely successful) interfaith family, I take attacks against intermarriage very personally. Nothing gets my goat more than a causal observer’s questioning of how I could POSSIBLY be Jewish without a Jewish mother. How can I possibly be Jewish? It’s quite simple: I find great beauty in a Temple, solace in the culture, a moral and ethic system in the texts and answers to life’s biggest questions through the Jewish religion. My parents raised me to appreciate all religions- and it was my decision to seek out Judaism and to live a Jewish life. Doesn’t that make me Jewish?

There’s an old joke about a father who told his son that no matter what he could not marry a non-Jew. Eventually, of course, the son married a wonderful women, who decided to convert to Judaism. The son and his new wife kept a kosher home, observed Shabbat and went to Temple weekly. They celebrated Jewish holidays, read books of Jewish philosophy, and sprinkled their conversations with Yiddish. Well, one day the father told his son that the family business was swamped, and that they both needed to come in on a Saturday to finish up some work. The son responded, “oy! I can’t do that! My wife won’t let me work on Shabbat!” To which the father replied, “Son… I TOLD you never to marry someone who wasn’t Jewish!”

Chicken Run; Or, How Trouble is Hatching in Israel 27/07/2009

Israel has a long and complicated history when it comes to oppression. Regardless of your political leanings, simply hearing the word Israel itself is often enough to evoke images of those battling for their freedom- whether it be Jews escaping the tyranny of anti-semitism or Palestinians fighting back from behind the imposing wall. Currently, there’s a new breed of fighters in Israel longing to shake off their shackles and spread their wings. While their rallying cry might just be a squawk, the message is clear: the poultry reform is spreading.

Policy makers in Israel are currently pushing to increase the cage space of poultry by 60%.

Chicken Run!

The current standards for chicken coops in Israel are far behind those of the EU and in America. However, those calling for improvement find current measures to be far too small of a change, arguing that reform must go beyond simply enlarging cages. In other areas of the world, chickens seem to be moving on up- while they might not be living in the posh gated homes of Beverly Hills, their new digs are an improvement from the tenement housing of yesteryear. In November, California passed “Proposition Two,”, essentially banning caging poultry, as well as freeing calves from veal cages and sows from gestation crates.

The EU passed similar legislation that will make battery cages illegal by 2012.
Better living conditions for poultry is, undeniably, in everyones best interests. Farmers have nothing to gain from unhappy poultry; when chickens are stressed or unhealthy their egg production suffers. The Humane Society, which spearheaded the efforts in California, argued that chickens need the ability to nest, take dust-baths and move around. However, simple reform does not take into account the fact that “cage free” does not necessarily equate to “free range.”. Many cage free chickens are still kept inside barns, often overcrowded, and with an influx in of disease and stress.  Forcing farmers to do away with battery cages does guarantee enhance the well being of the chickens- or the well being of our environment.

Farmers have found ways to amend their egg production based on the recent changes in legislation. Those who simply removed their cages from already built structures now house fewer hens in the same amount of space. Besides creating a scenario where more energy is used per chicken, some of these farms might also become, in the eyes of the law, “small operators,”, with less rigid pollution standards to follow. Other farmers are forced to build new structures, and are faced with the financial burdens of having to discard expensive equipment. Large chicken farms pose other environmental problems as well. If mid-sized farms are forced to consolidate, we could have chicken farms that are creating 500 pounds of ammonia daily through their large amounts of waste. While small doses of manure can be utilized, it is nearly impossible to deal with quantities that large; much of the waste contains antibiotics and heavy metals, and ends up in our water. Poultry reform must address the impact of such industrial farming on the health of the environment as well.  There also is is also an exceedingly large amount of energy needed to run such a farm– 600,000-hens require 200,000 gallons of gasoline a year, for example.

The laws of kosher set a precedent for caring about what we eat, and not just in the way we prepare our food. Precedents are set for treating animals as something holy by requiring that farm animals also to rest on Shabbat. We are taught to treat animals with respect, and not to take a mother birds eggs from her while she watches. Our rules of kosher dictate how we prepare an animal for slaughter and ensure that the practices are as pain- and terror-free as possible. These laws protect not just the health of the consumer, but also the health and well-being of the animals themselves itself. While we can’t cannot expect all farmers to be held to the standards of Jewish law, we can take a lesson from these holy texts.

These creatures are not just a source of food, but, are key to our nourishment- both physically and spiritually.
Poultry reform is not a simple question of treating chickens more humanely better. Caged or free, large industrial farming complexes are creating more problems than they solve. Israel is on the right track by examining how their livestock are is treated, but policy makers (and consumers) everywhere need to reexamine their priorities. Paying a dollar more for a cartoon of eggs might seem like a heavy hit to the pocketbook, but ensuring that chickens are kept in safe, clean and in uncrowded homes is a small price to pay for healthy food and a cleaner environment.

(My credentials here are impeccable. While I might be guilty of having had a hard boiled egg for breakfast this morning, I did write these words sitting safely inside an old turkey run that is now my office at the Arava Institue . Please stay tuned for my next post: “Free the Interns!”)

The Universal Humor of Seymour Butts; Or, The Gas we Pass 26/07/2009

Living on a Kibbutz continues to be a constant exercise in culture shock. Kibbutz living is more than just a community, it’s a family. Unlike most places where we tend to think of our house itself as home, for a Kibbutznik, home is the kibbutz itself, and the house is just a house. One one hand, this is leads to an incredibly supportive community. On the other hand, no matter what–a visitor remains a visitor.

Last week I was trying to figure out directions to head to a kibbutz members house. After directions that included things like “go around the mudwall, then follow the it till it ends”, and “near the giant tree”, I exasperatedly exclaimed, “addresses and street signs would make this a lot easier!” The reaction I got back was accompanied by the pity head shake, “this is a home! do you have street names on the hallways in your house?”. To be fair, I don’t. But, the number of people who live in my house are as follows: me and my cat. If I needed street names inside my studio apartment, I think there’d be bigger problems at hand.

Besides constantly getting lost, I am very aware that I am an intruder. Now, that’s not to say that people haven’t been going out of their way to make me feel at home- in fact, I’ve never seen such hospitality! Just last night I was out for my evening stroll, and ended up invited into a members home. While I passed on the freshly made dinner they offered, I did live up to the pressure when one of the kids demanded a funny joke. Even knowing I can share in the universal language of puns and fart jokes, I am aware that I am merely a transient. While I might be higher up the totem-pole than the youth groups that come by for the weekend, I am still only a resident for a few months. The life style I find so amazing, and the marveling that I continue to do is at someone else’s day to day, mundane, routine. I find it fascinating, and almost quaint, that kibbutz members shuffle through volunteer duties, manning the store, serving meals and guarding the gate. It’s no wonder I’m aware of my place here, I have yet to get over the novelty of such communal living.

It’s not just living on a Kibbutz that is different. Israel provides a plethora of opportunities for misunderstandings and cultural differences. One needs to look no further than my recent trip to the doctor, where the nurse barely contained her scorn that I had been using Tums to medicate my stomach ache. I’m still not sure why she had such a problem with my medication choice, or if “Tums” means something entirely different in Hebrew, but I do know that she quickly tired of my asking questions. Eventually when she did hand me medication, I was too afraid to ask her what it actually was, in fear that if I upset her more, she’d take it back from me. (To take the misunderstanding a step further, a later google search revealed that she had in fact prescribed medication that is often used to treat Erectile Dysfunction and is not necessarily FDA approved. I am, however, quite happy to confirm that my issues with Erectile Dysfunction continue to be nonexistent.)

Another thing I’ve learned is that no one is very shy on a kibbutz. There are no secrets here, so people don’t seem to be embarrassed. Being sick has shown me that– there is an openness and an expectation to discuss just how my stomach is doing. I’m told that since most people work on the kibbutz, its not uncommon for someone to discreetly (or, let’s not kid ourselves,  loudly) hand someone else a paper bag filled with a doctor ordered specimen or two and ask them to drop it off at the clinic if they’re leaving home. That might not seem too odd, but could you imagine knocking on your next door neighbors door and asking them to take care of such a thing for you? I sure couldn’t– in fact, I remain a city cliche of someone who doesn’t know the names of those who live in the apartments surrounding their own. If someone knocked on my door in Boston and handed me a bag of stool sample, I’m pretty sure my first course of action (after slamming the door and declaring my newly acquired case of the heebie-jeebies) would be calling the police, not crossing the road to the doctor.

Life is different here, there’s no denying that. However, as my lively conversation last night with reminded me, no matter where you grew up or where you think you might belong…well, we all find fart jokes funny.

b’tayavon! (Or, as they say in France, Bon appetit!) 24/07/2009

Jewish holidays are often boiled down to three simple sentences- they tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat! Truth be told, there’s a reason that this joke resonates. Judaism is a religion where food is tied closely to holidays; and customs, rituals and culture all come together when one sits down at the dining room table. I had Shabbat dinner tonight with my adopted family here on the Kibbutz. Even though the father is Israeli and the mother is from New Zealand we all had one thing in common- a shared fondness for Shabbat. (Well, that and a deep love of the Boston Celtics.) Our cultures, life perspectives and narratives might be very different- but a hearty l’chaim and a shared challah brought us together.

A recent conversation with my friend E. brought us to the subject of intermarriage. Perhaps a post for another time, my views on the subject can be summed up in one simple thought: intermarriage is not a problem, unless we make it a problem.That being said, E. asked me if I actively sought out Jews versus Non-Jews in my personal (non-existent) romantic life. I’m not sure if I’m interested in limiting myself in any way, but one thing I find important is being able to share your passions with another individual. In my world, one  such passion is Shabbat dinner. I told E. that I would draw the line at someone who wasn’t interested in joining me for a Shabbat dinner, before I would rule someone of a different faith out. I’m more than fine with someone having different life views than me, just as long as they’re receptive to mine, and enthusiastic about freshly baked Challah.

Shabbat dinner is a chance to relax with people you enjoy, and to share in good food. Back in Boston, my grad student friends and I have Shabbat dinners fairly regularly. Within the setting of a laid back pot-luck dinner, friendships are defined, the week is reflected upon, and the tradition of celebrating with loved ones is continued. Food is one of the few things in life that appeals to all of your senses– taste, smell, look, feel…. even sound. There’s nothing more distinctive than the sound of something sizzling on the stove, or the crackle of a good campfire for outdoor eating.

Dane tends to the Fire

Last night we had an outdoor feast in celebration of an interns birthday. Carrying backpacks filled with vegetables, meat, firewood and drinks, we trekked 20 odd minutes up a mountain to a simple hut overlooking the Arava valley. Had I realized just how far the hike would be, I certainly would have sat the evening out on account of my current stomach pains. However, this was one case when having no real idea just how long one might be wandering in the desert proved to be a blessing in disguise. Watching the sun set over Jordan and the stars slowly emerge against the clear, dark sky was a once in a lifetime experience punctuated by guitar music, laughter and the smokey aroma of outdoor cooking.

I welcome any excuse to get together with friends and eat. Well, that actually might be a giant lie. As someone who tends to be a loner, it could be more apropos to say, “I might not realize it at the time, and I might forget to seek it out, but in the end, having a set schedule and reason to get together for a meal is important.” We get busy in our lives, and it’s very tempting to take the easy way out. Dinners can always be postponed, meals can be grabbed on the run, and old fast food wrappers can always be tossed in the back seat to make room for yet another drive-through meal. Shabbat forces you to stop what you’re doing and to take a look around. I need to remind myself to enjoy my surroundings, to appreciate not just the meal, but the thing that brings us together– friendship. community. tradition. Shabbat dinner is a weekly reminder of these very things.

Jews or non-Jews, Israeli, American or New Zealanders, even Celtics fans and those who haven’t yet seen the basketball light, a tradition of a good meal is an important one.

(Apologies if this post seems a little forced, my stomach bug is zapping not only my energy but my creative mojo. In fact, if you happen to see my creativity running around, can you send it back this way? It’s sorely missed.)

In Lodi, Mideast peace edges ever closer 23/07/2009



In Lodi, Mideast peace edges ever closer

LODI – When Lina Isma’il dreams of an ideal future, she sees nations without checkpoints, borders without walls and people without communications barriers.

“That’s enough,” she said.

If it sounds simple, it is not. The dream of the 28-year-old native of Palestine is the same as that of her parents and of her grandparents.

Isma’il, though, may be of the generation that brings such Middle East harmony.

She already has broken down some of the barriers that have existed for centuries, venturing to the Arava Institute on Kibbutz Ketura in southern Israel to study environmental issues with fellow Palestinians, Jordanians and Israelis.

Isma’il and Arava employee Shira Kronich, who was born on Kibbutz Ketura, spoke of the institute’s impact to a small gathering inside the Lodi home of Bobbie Landau.

Landau has been to Israel 11 times, supports the Arava Institute and asked the two women attending an environmental leadership workshop at University of California, Berkeley, to speak to her and some friends.

The workshop is a follow-up to their studies at the Arava Institute, which describes itself as “the premier environmental teaching and research institution in the Middle East, preparing future Muslim, Christian and Jewish leaders to cooperatively solve the region’s environmental challenges.”

Isma’il is employed in the West Bank, working to improve water supplies and quality for Palestinians. Kronich works with others trying to implement ideas and programs developed by students at Arava.

The two women, separated by a geographical border and cultural history, sat side by side, seemed friendly if not close friends, and shared a hope in the ideals of the Arava Institute.

“It feels like a privilege,” Kronich said. “This kind of mix, this incubation of all these regional cultures with this shared mission, shared direction, feels like it makes sense.”

Kronich left Israel at age 12 to study in her mother’s native Australia before returning to the kibbutz to work at Arava.

That she would someday return was never a question for Kronich.

“It felt more like home” than Australia, where she earned a degree in environmental engineering from the University of Melbourne.

Returning to the kibbutz of her birth felt right.

For Isma’il, who spent five years working for the Palestinian government as an environmental health inspector after earning a degree from Birzeit University in the West Bank, Arava’s academic opportunities outweighed any hesitation about living in Israel.

“Kibbutzing a very big word to us. It’s a Jewish community,” Isma’il said. “But I told my family how interested I was and would love to go there, that I would love to hear from the other side and present my country to them.”

Although she was ill at ease the first couple of days, Isma’il said staff and students already in the program made her feel comfortable. She lost any anxiety she had about living peacefully with Israelis, Jordanians and North Americans.

Getting along is part of the curriculum. Along with studying the environment of the region and working to solve its problems, students are required to attend a peace-building class.

“It forces people, even if they don’t want to get into the environment, to be able to communicate better in the future,” Isma’il said.

“It was the first time I heard from the other side, what they think, what their feelings are. I only knew about mine.”

She learned they share a common humanity. The history of their people drove them apart, but when they got to know one another, they became friends.

Arava Institute was started in 1996 and has seen more than 500 students come through its unique program. The school’s existence hasn’t solved the Middle East problems, and during the war in Gaza, the atmosphere on campus was tense, Kronich said.

What is has done, Kronich and Isma’il agree, is sent students forward with a better understanding of people they had been taught to distrust.

Collaborative projects have been and are being done by former students. One study, by an Israeli and Arab tandem, studied water supplies and quality in Palestinian and Jewish settlements. Another group is working in Bedouin communities to convert animal waste into methane gas to fuel their generators.

“I’d like to see more projects,” Kronich said, “more integration of people’s ideas. I’d like to see more Arabic spoken in Israel.”

Mostly, though, Kronich would like to see the barriers come down.

“I’d like to see people interacting with each other, not through checkpoints, but just coming together on a daily basis,” she said.

http://www.recordnet.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090722/A_NEWS/307229991

Moses: Setting the Stage for Jewish Mothers Everywhere 22/07/2009

This morning Sharón had the Arava interns over for breakfast. The food was phenomenal- just how phenomenal you ask? Phenomenal enough for V. to pull out her camera upon entering the room. (seriously, if you’re looking for photos, drop her a line. she’s moving to Tel Aviv on Friday, and i’m sure she’s looking to make new friends). This morning we had fresh fruits galore, yogurts, rolls, granola– even eggs and pancakes. There were also mangos. Now, I’m not passionate about mangos- I can take ‘em or leave ‘em. However, there is a history with Mangos here on Ketura, one that created an almost mango like revolution. Ask a kibbutz member their feelings on mangos, and i can almost guarantee that you will not get an ambivalent response. (I’ve been advised to avoid the subject all together with a certain AIES staff member, for fear of an inevitably awkward, graphic and overly enthusiastic response). Why such passion? Because besides from being undeniably delicious, repeated contact with the sap from the mango tree (which is often left on the skin of mangos) can cause one to develop a severe allergy. Ketura used to have mango trees, until the community as a whole developed such a horrific allergy that mangos were actually outlawed in any public area on the Kibbutz. The trees were thus removed, except for two small rows, which were kept for those brave souls who were willing to transport mangos back to their homes, and pass them out safely (possibly under the cover of night, it’s unclear). Many people who developed the allergies weren’t deterred from the actual fruit, and instead would get others to actually wash, peel and feed them the mangos, as to avoid any actual contact with the skin or sap. Sharón recalled walking into a supermarket once and seeing a whole pile of mangos just sitting there and being totally taken aback– forgetting that in most places in the world, mangos aren’t outlawed. Besides being the setting for an amusing anecdote, this amazing breakfast set the scene for another discussion. Where does our food come from? In the states, the main mentality of folks is: food comes from the store. When you run out, you go get more. It’s not really all that complicated– in fact, its pretty safe to say that in America, the idea that food actually comes from the earth is kind of, well, earth shattering.

Mountains of Olives

The idea that so much work is put into gathering our food comes through in many of the blessings that Jews say before and after meals. We are thankful for the grapes that provide for the wine, the earth that allows our grains to grow, and we’re also thankful for those who farm and make our daily feasts possible. Judaism offers advice on how to treat the Earth so that farming can be done in the most efficient and friendly of ways- from letting the land rest every so often, to ensuring that there is food available to those who are in need. In reality- where food comes from is such a simple and basic concept– grade schoolers in America are all given cups of dirt and watch a seed sprout into a plant. But how often do you really think about what it takes for your food to get to you? How often are you actually thankful for what you eat? The idea of paying attention to what we eat is important- not just where it came from, but what effect it has had on the land. Look at some of the simple facts that support decreasing our meat consumption (or cutting it out completely): It takes 3 to 15 times more water for the creation and processing of animal proteins as it does  for plant proteins. Our water crisis is getting worse by the day and small changes in diets could make a huge difference in the amount of water that goes into our food. More so, large amounts of food and energy could be conserved with less meat consumption worldwide. It takes up to 16 pounds of soybeans and grains to produce 1 lb. of beef and 3 to 6 lbs. to produce 1 lb of turkey & egg. 100 acres of land can either be used to produce enough beef for 20 people or enough wheat to feed 240 people. As it is, approximately 60 million people a year die of starvation. If American’s were to eat 10% less meat, the grain not utilized by farm animals could make a huge difference to the world’s hungry. I’ve been a vegetarian for a long time, so it’s easy for me to spout these statistics. I know, however, if someone were to tell me just how much  ice cream i’m allowed to eat a year, I’d probably punch them right in the face. However, being aware of what you eat, what you don’t eat, and why you make these choices is important- and not just for your own health.

Not Everything Can be Jesus in Cheeto Form...

There are a lot of rules about food here on the Kibbutz. You pick up your fruit and dairy for your home on Monday’s and Thursdays. Bread comes from the bread room- not the dining hall. Breakfast and dinner are dairy meals– no meat. Lunch is meat– no dairy. Mangos are not allowed in public buildings. Rules are not foreign to the Jewish people- especially not rules about food. With those 613 mitzvot that Moses so graciously brought to the Jewish people, came a pretty strict cookbook. There are rules on what to eat, how to eat it, when to eat it, and when not to eat it. The Laws of Kosher are quite strict, and trust me, difficult to follow. Two years of working for a Jewish organization and I can tell you enough Kosher details to make your head spin. However, to me, the idea of Kosher has always fallen a bit short. There are so many rules that I barely understand… I can follow them, and ensure that the food you’re about to enjoy is as Kosher as it gets, but I can’t tell you if it’s healthy, where it was grown, or why it’s any more spiritual than any other diet with a bookload of rules. Here in Israel, we have kosher mcdonalds– can you really make an argument that fast food is holy food.

I want to put more thought into what I eat. And, I want to call it keeping kosher. There is something to be said for appreciating the world around you, and thinking before each bite of food. I firmly believe that the laws of kosher were originally designed for this purpose. In my time here at AEIS I’ve had a chance to discuss religion with many folks from many different backgrounds. I had a wonderful conversation with a friend who hails from Jordan; he’s followed different degrees of Islamic law throughout his life, and has reached a point where he feels comfortable following the spirit of the laws, if not the letter. My decision to eat healthy, eat locally, and to put thought into the food I eat mirrors his religious choices. For me, and I am not in any way saying this is the case for all, following the laws of kosher does not bring spiritual fulfillment. However, thinking before each bite, knowing where my food comes from, realizing that its organic, locally grown and truly contemplating how those who harvested it are treated? That’s a moment to be aware, and to be thankful for the planet that sustains me and for my chance to return the favor- to my body and to the earth.

I think if Moses saw the spread that Sharon provided for us this morning, he’d be proud. With the rules of what to eat, how to eat it, and why, Moses really set the bar high for Jewish mothers everywhere. The least we can do is make sure the next time we ask someone, “nu? are you hungry? eat more!” that we’ve given some real thought to where our food came from.

The Gulf of Aqaba 21/07/2009

Snorkeling

Someone just emailed me this photo from the adventures last week in Jordan…. I think I’m making the “not so sure if i want to actually get in the water” face.

Inter-faith CSA 21/07/2009

I’m still feeling a bit under the weather and not nearly creative enough for a real blog posting. However, I thought I would pass along this bit of news that I just saw on the Jew and the Carrot- jcarrot.org. I like the idea of community supported agriculture (though, keeping in mind the current unrest of my stomach, i’m not sure if i’m a fan of the idea of food in any form).

Do you love local, sustainable veggies direct from your farmer? Do you love cross cultural encounters? Are you looking for a way to combine those two loves? Hazon is Now accepting applications for an inter-faith Hazon CSA <– click there to find out more.

(and, after checking out that above link, be sure to return to my blog tomorrow, as it is looking more and more likely that there will be a posting chronicling my adventures visiting the local clinic here in the desert. visiting the doctor in Israel is never fun- I think Israelis are far too tough a breed, and frown upon the weak immune systems of Americans)

Compost Happens. 19/07/2009

swaying daises sing a lazy song beneath the sun

Living on Kibbutz Ketura is almost like a forced detox from unhealthy eating and living habits. It requires a lot of effort to find unhealthy food, and as a very proud unhealthy eater, this has been quite an (enjoyable) shock to the system. I ration out my chocolate snacks, and things like ice cream become a treat you look forward to, not just the norm of a high energy pick me up. Our produce is, for the most part, local, and everything is as fresh as it can be. I’ve found myself wondering if I’ll be able, or interested, in keeping up this type of living once I return to the states. Here it is easier to grab a plum or an apricot for a snack than it is to find a cookie or a donut, but back home I know I will run into the dilemma of what is easiest, fastest and won’t go bad if I leave it under my bed for a week of midnight snacking. (hint: twizzlers won’t go bad, and cause little to no mess if left under a pillow. actual cherries do not fare so well.)

One thing that is very easy to do here is to be aware of what you are consuming and, in turn, throwing away… which brings us to the topic of todays entry:

COMPOSTING!

Composting is something that my family has dabbled in occasionally throughout the years, particularly in the days of nature camp when we would receive points based on the ecologically friendly habits we adopted at home. Our horses are also great composters, as they readily donate their used foods to enriching the fields. At the institute, composting is everywhere, and I’ve made it my goal to learn all that I can about this process. I even attended a lecture on compost toilets, learning that large amount

Ah, the Poop Classroom

of water is wasted in traditional plumbing for indoor toilets. Compost toilets present a fantastic solution to our ever increasing water crisis, well, once you get over the initial “ick” factor. Compost toilets are easily installed in family homes (or even in larger dorms or apartment buildings) with basically no smell (seriously), and a very infrequent need to empty out the collecting bins (I think we were told that a said a single family home would probably take at least a few years to fill their system).

Here, we have traditional toilets. I’m not going to lie, I think this is probably a good thing. There is only so much re-hauling one can do one their compost philosophy at a time, and even after using a compost toilet, seeing how the system works, and examining the end result (seriously, it smells and looks just like the dirt you’d find in your average every day forest), I think I will approach this new life style with a gradual increase in my own compost activities.

At AEIS, there are more compost opportunities than you can shake a stick at. There’s a small bin in the office kitchen for putting your food waste, and each caravan has a bucket on the kitchen counter for composting. The dining hall is equipped with a place for food waste after each meal, though I’m told that there are ebbs and flows on the use of compost, based on those running the kitchen. The rule of thumb for composting is that most organic things from your kitchen can be composted, with the exception of dairy products, fats in general and meats– things that are going to rot and might attract vermin. If you have fruit to compost, it should usually be cut in half, because large pieces of fruit take a long time to compost. Additionally, too much fruit should be avoided, because of the dreaded fruit flies. Here, we have an easy disposal system. When the buckets get full, you take your food waste out to the pile. It’s a dry compost, which means there are several steps you have to take, each of which involves some degree of playing in the dirt.

First, you take the large stick, and stir the compost. Then, you pour your food wastes onto the compost pile. Finally, you find some dry substances, usually dried date palm fronds, and cover the compost pile addition with the leafs. For composting activities not in the shade of a giant date orchard, dry materials can include a mixture of leafs and newspapers.

Like healthy eating, it’s easy to do here, requiring no extra thought. In fact, not composting is probably more difficult than composting. And, just like my new healthier eating habits, it’s going to be a struggle to figure out where things like composting fall into my busy graduate student life in the big(ish) city. I know from my many afternoons in various green product stores that they sell compost bins for apartments, and that there are several services that collect compost for use in community gardens or local farm schools. However, as an individual who finds ants and cockroaches among the scariest creatures on Earth… do I really want to tempt fate? Yet, can I really return back home and turn my back on everything I’ve learned here?

Under One Small Star 18/07/2009

My apologies to chance for calling it necessity.
My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all.
Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due.
May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade.
My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second.
My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first.
Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home.
Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger.
I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths.
I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five a.m.
Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time.
Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you bearing a spoonful of water.
And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage,
your gaze always fixed on the same point in space,
forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed.
My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs.
My apologies to great questions for small answers.
Truth, please don’t pay me much attention.
Dignity, please be magnanimous.
Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.
Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then.
My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere at once.
My apologies to everyone that I can’t be each woman and each man.
I know I won’t be justified as long as I live,
since I myself stand in my own way.
Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words,
then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

–Wislawa Szymborsk