13/8/98
Wee,
faraway Ezuz
Doron Akiva is the most eligible 41-year-old bachelor
in town, but he's just not meeting any nice
single women.
Next door, 10-year-old Yonatan admits
there aren't too many other 10-year-old kids.
In fact, he's the only one.
There are some things you do without
when you live in one of the tiniest communities
in the country -- and the most remote.
Ezuz is the Pitcairn Island of Israel.
There are no single women above the age of 12.
All nine women here are married, and nine of
the 10 men.
There are not many Israelis who could
point to Ezuz on the map, even if they could
find a map that shows it. Ezuz is 12 kilometers
south of Nitzana, with the Egyptian border 2
km. to the west, and a major fault line directly
underneath. It's 48 km. to the closest school.
It's a long, long way to the nearest garishly
lit supermarket or high-density apartment block,
and eons from the nearest whiff of polluted
air. But at night, the stars are just inches
away.
Sounds nice.
Sounds boring.
ג€Boring? Hah! Never. There's always something
going on,ג€ says Celia Friede, serving up a fresh
cup of saline tea in her mobile home (everyone
is about to start sinking foundations for permanent
dwellings).
All right, then, what's the most exciting
thing that ever happened? She replies instantly:
ג€Nineteen ninety-one. It snowed.ג€
These folks are not nuts. They're not
sociopaths, or urban misfits. They love the
desert, the wide sky, the trafficless tranquility,
but mostly what they love is this spot, right
here.
Celia's husband Dror -- they, together
with Doron, were the original settlers -- makes
me wonder if perhaps it's the city that's boring.
ג€We created this by ourselves. We're
developing our own businesses. There's always
new things: coming through a crisis, buying
animals, absorbing a new family.ג€
ג€Believe it or not,ג€ Celia says, ג€sometimes
we have to get away from it all.ג€
Now, that's nuts: This is where
you go to get away from it all.
ג€No, really. It gets to a point where we have to
escape from constant visitors. Sometimes on
Shabbat we run away, as far as possible into
the wadi, with a picnic basket, and we fry sausages
on a fire or something, and that's where we'll
spend Shabbat.ג€
Remote, remoter, remotest.
ג€We couldn't go any further into the
wilderness because this is where the road ended,ג€
Dror says.
The villagers shop once a week, in Beersheba, an
hour's journey. News? Not even ג€Yediotג€ delivers
here. They listen to the radio. Pizza? Not even
Domino's delivers here. Run out of cigarettes?
Tough luck, bub.
They weren't actually the first ones here. There
are Turkish ruins a century old, and archeological
memorabilia from the Persians, Nabateans, even
the biblicals - all within three kilometers.
A veritable historic beehive abuzz,
this Ezuz.
IF YOU want to make friends here, don't suggest Ezuz resembles a hippie commune.
That got Dror hot.
ג€No! No, no, no! We're normal people, not
anarchists looking for a boundless world free
of authority. We're Israeli citizens, from the
far Left to the far Right, productive people
working together to build a small community.
We're not hippies.ג€
Yeah, but they're not exactly a bunch of accountants
either.
Gali and her husband Ofer run Be'erotayim Tours,
showing wide-eyed city folk the desert on donkeys,
jeeps or bicycles. Dror and Celia have 200 head
of sheep and goats, producing cheeses under
the label Tzon Be'erotayim. Doron, a Nature
Reserves ranger, is planning to start up an
olive grove -- unless, of course, he meets the
perfect woman who drags him back to Tel Aviv.
Dror had told Doron of his life's dream during an
army reserves stint in 1982. Doron informed
him such a place exists, and brought him here.
The three pioneers moved in 13 years ago.
Living in the middle of nowhere suited all of them:
Doron, a Tel Avivian; Dror, a moshavnik; and
Celia, raised on a plantation in a frontier
region of Kenya. And it was perfect for Gali
Hartuv, originally from Moshav Kidron, near
Hadera. ג€You have to love the desert. You have
to like being alone a bit.ג€
A bit?
ג€Actually, on a moshav, you're much more detached
from others. Here, we live close together. We
have strong neighborly ties.ג€
Need a cup of sugar? Don't even ask; just take some
(their homes are never locked).
This sort of interdependent communalism can be hazardous.
People tend to keep score of favors given and
taken, and silent resentments fester.
Says Gali: ג€We have to be sensitive to each other.
We've learned to respect privacy.ג€ In this country,
thatג€™s a breakthrough.
FOR THE 12 children of Ezuz, this will prove to be either the best kind of upbringing, or the worst.
ג€Is it fair for them?ג€ Dror echoes my question. ג€Maybe
it's not; this is the way we chose to live.
But we don't want them to suffer from our lifestyle,
so we give them access to what most children
have -- computers, TV, video (they get electricity
from a generator).
ג€They do everything, but in less quantity. They don't
go to a mall every day; maybe they'll go once
a month. It's true, they lack some of the tools
of city kids: they don't deal with money very
well, and they haven't yet learned to choose,
say, in the mall, because they're wide-eyed.
I think in time they'll close that gap.ג€
But on the other hand...
ג€Think of a child in Tel Aviv,ג€ says Celia. ג€He lives
on the fourth floor, he'll come home after school
and climb all those stairs, lock himself in,
and watch TV until his parents come home. If
he wants to go out and play, he has to watch
himself on the street. His parents are going
to worry.ג€
ג€You know,ג€ says Dror, ג€I suppose if we lived like
this in the city, we'd be considered poor. But you can't compare standards here and there. We're not poor.ג€
Having realized their dream, the people of Ezuz have
conjured up another: to expand their lonely
colony to maybe a few dozen families. (Shortly
after my visit, another family was due to join
them.)
But who would come to live here? You're so ...
ג€Far?ג€
They've
heard this one before. Celia chortled. ג€Far.
Maybe Jerusalem's far. Y'know, there was
a story about us in The Jerusalem Post a few
months ago. My sister in France read it on the
Internet, saw my name, she got all excited and
sent me a fax.ג€
Is France far? Is Ezuz?
