On my last evening here, I embarked on a hike to Electric Mountain. The air was hot and windy, so with some trepidation about continuing, I stopped halfway up the mountain to watch the Jordanian mountains and clouds change colors with the sunset. I looked around at the barren, yet colorful and dynamic landscape, and realized that this once foreign and harsh landscape was now part of me.
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Through all of my hikes the last nine months, I took challenging and rough paths uphill, tested myself, and climbed to the peaks. Often, the ascent was hellish, and I had to determine the best way to circumvent loose rocks and keep my balance. I wanted to turn around—a few times I did. But most of the time, I kept going. Reaching the top was also satisfying. I loved sitting by the edge of the mountain and placing the kibbutz in the palm of my hand. I was in a vast, silent space, and the silence was mine to fill or not to fill. The Arava valley and the reddish Jordanian mountains in the distance could keep me company for hours, if I wished.
I know this sounds cheesy, but my hikes are a metaphor for my experience at the Arava Institute. My time here was not easy, as you may have read about in other blog posts. At times, I just wanted to go home and be in a much more comfortable space.
But even more so, my time here was incredibly rich and rewarding. I had the chance to live with people from all different nationalities and who have a variety of life experiences and political opinions. I had the chance to live outside a city in a close community, almost like a long-term summer camp. I was able to experience one of the last traditional socialist kibbutzim in Israel and understand that there is another, more communal, style of living. I watched beautiful sunsets and hiked mountains that I did not think I could reach.
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And just like that, as I paused on my last hike, the reddish Jordanian mountains turned from pink to blue in the blink of the eye. The change in color, signaling the end of the sunset, meant that it was time to leave my perch on the mountain and return for the evening to the kibbutz.
I do not know where I am going next. Most likely I will get a sustainability job in the U.S., but maybe I will return to Israel for a Master’s degree or perhaps I will work with friends to start a Jewish eco-urban “kibbutz” in the U.S. I do not know. But I know that I will have the strength and resilience to test these many paths and shape it into something beautiful.
A sunrise on Kibbutz Ketura:
