My next-door neighbor here in N'vei Daniel has complained that I shouldn?t only write about depressing subjects. Its not that I try to, it's just that I write about subjects I am passionate about. When people impose difficulties on others, it raises a passionate response from me. But it is far from the only thing that affects me so. Among many other things, I am passionate about the Land of Israel. It is therefore no wonder that I have found true delight in working the little patch of land in front of my very own Israeli home.
Truthfully, my newfound passion came as a surprise. It started the day G-d planted grass in our yard. I mean it. Every one of us on our block had a truckload of dirt dumped in our brand-new yards last spring when we moved in. Some immediately put in hi-tech watering systems and squares of dirt with pre-grown grass on them. Others put large patios down to make space for the children to play while they waited to decide what they would do with their yard.
Not us! I was going to plant our own grass, and even put in my own patio by hand. How difficult could it be? But with our budget depleted, and our energies going toward other things, the yard spent the summer as a dry, cracked patch of earth and the winter as a pile of mud. Then, one late-winter morning, on my way out to the car for work, something caught my eye. It couldn?t be! And yet, it was. There, before my very eyes, were tiny little grass shoots. All over the yard.
Dumbstruck, I looked over at my neighbor?s yard and saw nothing. How could this be? I quickly grabbed the hose and watered the tiny things and danced off to work. I told everyone that G-d planted grass for me. They all laughed at me. My husband said it must be weeds. I knew they all were wrong.
Right around Tu B?Shevat (Jewish Arbor Day), my family in the States decided to chip in and buy us a tree. They deposited $100 in our account and told me to have fun. By now, my little grasslings were doing very nicely, though they were starting to share space with what were undeniably weeds. I pretended not to notice.
Busy as I am with my job plus five kids, I knew the best way to spend the $100 for my tree. I would order a pre-grown tree from the local nursery, have them deliver it and plant it. Voila, a tree. I decided that an apple tree was just right. Upon calling the nursery, I found that they have no such delivery and planting service. But for 75 bucks I could get a five-year-old apple tree and do it myself. It sounded a bit daunting, but I thought I would go for it.
Two days later, at the nursery, a few days after the Tu B?Shevat rush, I was shocked to discover that there were no five-year-old trees. The best I could find was a year-old pomegranate tree (really just a long stick that was stuck into a clod of dirt) for $16. They also had even younger trees (if you can call them that) - long twigs that they were calling ?apple trees?, ?almond trees?, ?lemon trees? and others - for $8 each. Feeling ambitious, I bought a pomegranate tree and added almond and apple trees to my purchase. A sack of dirt later and I was on my way home.
As I arrived with my little saplings, the enormity of the task at hand was upon me. I couldn?t just add these baby trees to the pile of closets to be built and pictures to be hung that fill up my house. This project had to be done today. Now. This very instant.
I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed a shovel and started to dig, and... thunk. ?Thunk?? A soft ?thud? would have been better news. But no, the dirt was nearly hard as a rock. I chiseled away a bit hopelessly for a while when suddenly my husband Lawrence, of the late sleeper?s club, wandered outside, an amused look on his face.
?Let me show you how it?s done,? he said as he took the shovel from my hands. I gladly gave it over and watched as he deepened the rather shallow, pathetic impression I?d made in the ground. Before long, we had a respectable hole, padded with mulch, into which we lovingly placed our pomegranate tree.
After some careful deliberation on placement, I let Lawrence continue the digging for the other two trees. Having only one shovel and wanting to be useful in my own project, I started to pull out by hand the yellow ?flowers? that were taking over my yard. It was very slow work, but by the time Lawrence had finished the third tree, I had weeded a third of the yard. I was not only proud of my accomplishments, but I discovered something else: I actually enjoyed it. I determined then and there that I would finish the job I started and maybe even manage our own lawn.
One week later, I recruited Shira, my 16-year-old, to help. As we stood in our yard, baking in a prematurely warm Israeli sun, scratching our fingers on thorns and getting quite dirty as we were literally working the land of Israel, I thought about my next-door neighbor?s earlier comments and said aloud to my daughter, ?This will make a great story!?
?What,? she said dryly, ?pulling weeds??
?No, not pulling weeds!? and I explained to my baffled daughter everything I was thinking about working the land of Israel, cultivating it and planting it, and how special it was, and isn?t it amazing what we are doing right here, right now, on our very own piece of Israel.
A few minutes later our next-door neighbor wandered outside. Excited, I told him that it was he who had inspired me to do what I am doing and to write about something truly positive.
?What,? he asked me, ?pulling weeds??
Truthfully, my newfound passion came as a surprise. It started the day G-d planted grass in our yard. I mean it. Every one of us on our block had a truckload of dirt dumped in our brand-new yards last spring when we moved in. Some immediately put in hi-tech watering systems and squares of dirt with pre-grown grass on them. Others put large patios down to make space for the children to play while they waited to decide what they would do with their yard.
Not us! I was going to plant our own grass, and even put in my own patio by hand. How difficult could it be? But with our budget depleted, and our energies going toward other things, the yard spent the summer as a dry, cracked patch of earth and the winter as a pile of mud. Then, one late-winter morning, on my way out to the car for work, something caught my eye. It couldn?t be! And yet, it was. There, before my very eyes, were tiny little grass shoots. All over the yard.
Dumbstruck, I looked over at my neighbor?s yard and saw nothing. How could this be? I quickly grabbed the hose and watered the tiny things and danced off to work. I told everyone that G-d planted grass for me. They all laughed at me. My husband said it must be weeds. I knew they all were wrong.
Right around Tu B?Shevat (Jewish Arbor Day), my family in the States decided to chip in and buy us a tree. They deposited $100 in our account and told me to have fun. By now, my little grasslings were doing very nicely, though they were starting to share space with what were undeniably weeds. I pretended not to notice.
Busy as I am with my job plus five kids, I knew the best way to spend the $100 for my tree. I would order a pre-grown tree from the local nursery, have them deliver it and plant it. Voila, a tree. I decided that an apple tree was just right. Upon calling the nursery, I found that they have no such delivery and planting service. But for 75 bucks I could get a five-year-old apple tree and do it myself. It sounded a bit daunting, but I thought I would go for it.
Two days later, at the nursery, a few days after the Tu B?Shevat rush, I was shocked to discover that there were no five-year-old trees. The best I could find was a year-old pomegranate tree (really just a long stick that was stuck into a clod of dirt) for $16. They also had even younger trees (if you can call them that) - long twigs that they were calling ?apple trees?, ?almond trees?, ?lemon trees? and others - for $8 each. Feeling ambitious, I bought a pomegranate tree and added almond and apple trees to my purchase. A sack of dirt later and I was on my way home.
As I arrived with my little saplings, the enormity of the task at hand was upon me. I couldn?t just add these baby trees to the pile of closets to be built and pictures to be hung that fill up my house. This project had to be done today. Now. This very instant.
I rolled up my sleeves, grabbed a shovel and started to dig, and... thunk. ?Thunk?? A soft ?thud? would have been better news. But no, the dirt was nearly hard as a rock. I chiseled away a bit hopelessly for a while when suddenly my husband Lawrence, of the late sleeper?s club, wandered outside, an amused look on his face.
?Let me show you how it?s done,? he said as he took the shovel from my hands. I gladly gave it over and watched as he deepened the rather shallow, pathetic impression I?d made in the ground. Before long, we had a respectable hole, padded with mulch, into which we lovingly placed our pomegranate tree.
After some careful deliberation on placement, I let Lawrence continue the digging for the other two trees. Having only one shovel and wanting to be useful in my own project, I started to pull out by hand the yellow ?flowers? that were taking over my yard. It was very slow work, but by the time Lawrence had finished the third tree, I had weeded a third of the yard. I was not only proud of my accomplishments, but I discovered something else: I actually enjoyed it. I determined then and there that I would finish the job I started and maybe even manage our own lawn.
One week later, I recruited Shira, my 16-year-old, to help. As we stood in our yard, baking in a prematurely warm Israeli sun, scratching our fingers on thorns and getting quite dirty as we were literally working the land of Israel, I thought about my next-door neighbor?s earlier comments and said aloud to my daughter, ?This will make a great story!?
?What,? she said dryly, ?pulling weeds??
?No, not pulling weeds!? and I explained to my baffled daughter everything I was thinking about working the land of Israel, cultivating it and planting it, and how special it was, and isn?t it amazing what we are doing right here, right now, on our very own piece of Israel.
A few minutes later our next-door neighbor wandered outside. Excited, I told him that it was he who had inspired me to do what I am doing and to write about something truly positive.
?What,? he asked me, ?pulling weeds??