In Israel, tradition meets modernity in a “unity of contrasts”
My name is Hedva—that means “Joy” in Hebrew—and I’m an Israeli Trip Leader with OAT. I was born sabra to an Iraqi Jewish immigrant who arrived in Israel in the early 1950s. Sabra is a Hebrew term used to describe a Jew born in Israel. In contrast, an oleh (masculine) or olah (feminine) is a Jew who immigrates to Israel under Aliyah—that would be my father.
The word sabra is derived from the Hebrew name for the prickly pear cactus, tzabar, and related to the Arabic word for aloe/cactus, sabr, which means “patience.” The allusion is to a tenacious, thorny desert plant with a thick hide that conceals a sweet, softer interior, i.e., rough and masculine on the outside, but delicate and sensitive on the inside.
I am not unique; my entire generation is like this: children of Jewish immigrants from anywhere in between Morocco and Iraq, Persia and Armenia, Europe, Ethiopia, Yemen.…
For each story there is a heritage that is mixed with the cultures and traditions of the lands we come from. The history of modern Israel is one of unity in contrast—contrasts such as those that I experienced one day during a recent OAT tour:
I am bent on my knees together with a group of OAT travelers in the house of a medicine woman who lives in the Bedouin village of Lakia, located on the edge of the Negev Desert. We were sent here by Na’ama, the Bedouin woman who started the Association for the Improvement of Women’s Status, devoted to the empowerment of Bedouin women.
The medicine woman is showing us the herbs of the desert, which she collects just as generations of women have done before her. At the right time of the year—every herb has its own—the plant is at its fullest: heavily scented by essential oils, or under a full moon, or in the indefinable hour that precedes the dawn. There is the crisp scent of mint, the tingle of cardamom, cinnamon and sage, and Zaatar—a mix of thyme, sesame, and turmeric. The medicine woman tells us about the uses of these herbs: she has a pot of water on the stove and is making us a tea of lemongrass. The smell floats between us.
We spend a revealing half hour with this wise lady, talking women’s talk, during which I translate travelers’ questions and the answers given by the medicine woman in broken Hebrew (her native language is Arabic). Now I sit on the floor with a cup of herbal tea in my hand and I am thinking back on the morning’s events. We left behind us the depression of the Dead Sea—the lowest point on earth—and are heading back to Tel Aviv, Israel’s modern capital. We are on the edge of the desert in the Bedouin village of Lakia, which officially does not yet exist but already has four state-run public schools. Two of these are supported by Overseas Adventure Foundation.
This is a Bedouin community that is leaving behind its nomadic heritage for a permanent settlement—partially encouraged and partially forced to do so by the Israeli government. The travelers were so surprised to see Bedouins living in what looks like a suburban settlement of cement and brick houses with traditional tents in the courtyards for family gatherings.
This is the changing face of the country where modernity meets tradition at the edge of the desert: Bedouin women are going to University (until a few years back only a dozen enrolled every year, and in 2009 there will be 350!) while Israel’s advanced desert agriculture maximizes the country’s scarce reserve of water through drop-irrigation. Bedouin children are participating in entrepreneurial programs as part of the Overseas Adventure Foundation project, while the Israeli Government “forcibly encourages” the local people to change their lifestyle to match the official one of the country. And in the middle of all this is the Association for the Improvement of Women’s Status, with its many initiatives from embroidery to traveling libraries. At the edge of the Negev Desert, the Bedouin traditions meet with modern aspirations and a stern will of self-determination, of stepping out of the boundaries of tradition.
This, I reflect, is Israel, beyond the noise of the media, beyond the commonplace ideology. Israel is a meeting place—and it has been so for countless generations. A place where you could lose yourself or find yourself. A place of the soul, and I hope my travelers feel the same.
Learn more about the Association for the Improvement of Women’s Status and see how the organization is empowering Bedouin women.
Discover the fascinating contrasts of Israel with OAT.