the human picture

my cat, Nechama, looking back

In the early spring, when the first flowers are blooming, and the cold of winter begins its retreat, we remember our exodus from slavery. We ask ourselves what freedom is. We study the process of leaving slavery, and becoming free men and women. We sit like kings around the banquet table, and give presents to our young, and invite the homeless to sit and eat with us. We lean back on pillows. We go off on vacation. We spend a week in travels and luxury, and spend time with our families. We eat unleavened bread, to remind ourselves, that when you’re starting off as a people, there’s no culture. Bread is just flour and water… and made in 18 minutes… and then you’re off.

and then you’re off ~ (this is a sign that marks a bicycle lane in Jerusalem. The lion of Judah is our symbol of Jerusalem… and I like seeing him ride a bike)

And now seven weeks have passed, and we’ve arrived at the holiday of Pentecost. That time, when we remember the giving of the law. This is the giving of the law, and not the acceptance of the law. Because it was given, and now it’s up to each of us to accept it or not accept it. And each in his own time. Each when he is ready. Some don’t want it, and will never get it.

It wasn’t decided in assemblies or in parliament. It’s not democratic. And it’s not ours to add to it, or to detract from it, though that has happened in very rare and isolated cases through the years. We are not promised heaven. We are not promised peace. We’re not even promised reason. It starts with the ten commandments, and then it goes on and on. 613 rules of life. The intricacies of our life are determined by these laws, and by the way our rabbis and our teachers understand them. It applies only to us, and not necessarily to others.

sheep and goats grazing on the field

At night, we sit up all night and study the law. The festivities are not so great. We don’t usually eat meat. We know there are many rules to the eating of meat… and we’re not ready yet, We eat bread and vegetables and fruit, and fish, if we want. It is customary to eat a lot of milk products. Usually we eat cheese cake. The men haven’t been cutting the hair of their heads and beards for the last seven weeks. Now is the time to cut it. Now is the time to bring order to our lives. The holiday is only one day. In the diaspora it’s two. This is not a time for big vacations. This is not a time for great celebrations. But we drink wine to begin the holiday, and we sanctify the day with a blessing over the wine. Now is the time of the conclusion of the grain harvest. It is also a time of bringing forth the first fruits.

It is on this holiday, that we read the book of Ruth. It is the story of a non Jewish woman, who converted to Judaism, and accepted the law that we live by. She eventually became the grandmother of King David, our most beloved king. And her life story is seen as an allegory of our own experience.

The spring seems short, and now we are moving towards the summer. Freedom itself is very intoxicating. But now we will study the rules and values we have accepted, to give life taste, and harmony, and to help us live meaningful lives.

Some days past, I visited a dear friend who lives in a beautiful, small village, in the desert. We have a number of deserts here in Israel, but the most famous, and that which I love the most, is the Negev in the southern part of the country.

an oasis in the desert

One could get the impression, from watching films, and looking at the photography of deserts, that a desert is devoid of life… sand dunes as far as the eye can see. There are some deserts like that, and I have visited a few. But even in the most barren deserts, there are signs of life to a patient and observant visitor. Most deserts have quite a bit of life in them. They are just on a different level of activity, and so, when first observed, especially if coming from a lush place, where water is plentiful, and there is greenery all around, or from the mountains, where trees grow in thick forests, the desert seems barren by comparison.

a park in the desert

Spending time in the desert inspires a different state of mind. There are more wide open spaces. There’s more quiet. There’s more modesty. In the jungle you see bright startling colors, and hear fascinating, mysterious sounds, as all species compete for a little living space. In the desert it is just the opposite. Everything is low key. Living creatures are often camouflaged, and can’t be seen unless you’re familiar with them, or very close to them. And since your attention is not being appealed to, constantly, there is a tendency to let thoughts linger. One reaches unexpected depths. In fact, the experience of spending a length of time in the desert is something like a long trip on the seas. Those vast distances… looking out at the horizon so far away… is similar in both places.

a desert village

As a photographer, though, I’ve had my share of disappointments when traveling in the desert. Aside from the storms that can be as upsetting as a storm on the sea, there are also many conditions that can affect visibility. How many times, I’ve been in a beautiful spot, and been fascinated by the nature around me… but then, as I try to compose a picture to represent my experience, I find the visibility too low to satisfy me. Haze and dust are common. The scenery is sharpest and most attractive immediately after a rain. But rain is a rare occurance. A very close friend of mine worked on me for years, teaching me to appreciate a foggy or hazy day. And I’ve improved. I can sometimes see the beauty of haze… and making out the lines of scenery, obscured for the most part, by a dust storm. But the truth is, that I am most excited and enthusiastic on those crystal clear days… when you can see all the way to China.

the hotel in the village

The difference between an internal scene and the external reality is much greater in the desert too. The sunlight is so intensive, that I we’re often sun-blinded when looking through a window at the scenery outdoors, and many people like subdued light when living in the desert. The shade, and proper ventilation can keep the air very pleasant inside. And this makes the movement from inside to out or from outside in all the more dramatic.

looking out at the bright day

I haven’t yet learned to appreciate air conditioning. But luckily enough, I do like heat. Especially when it is dry heat. In the dry heat of the desert you don’t sweat all that much… and I feel a certain purity, spending time in such conditions. The pictures included in this post, were taken when the visibility wasn’t all that good, and trees seen in a distance have a slightly blurred look to them. I will soon post some desert pictures taken in better conditions. But I have to mention that because of the scarcity, water and greenery are specially appreciated in this environment. And there is water there too. There are underground pools of water, and springs… known to the local residents, both animal and human. You can go through distances of harsh landscape… rocks and dirt with little signs of vegetation, and then come across an oasis and be overcome by the rich conditions.

playing a small clay flute

And I will never forget the wonder of observing colored shimmerings on what would seem like barren dirt hills. Later I found that there were tiny flowers that were able to stay alive on those harsh hills, and when seen from a certain distance, they lent their colors to the scenery.

a celebration

dill plants in my mother’s front yard

dill or fennel?
I have always liked dill very much, as a spice. I like to include it in the marinade of pickled cucumbers… and with rice, and other foods. But have not been a special fan of Fennel wheich is very popular here, and included in salads, and sometimes pickled itself. After posting these pictures, I got some mails as well as comments, which raised the possibility that maybe what I had photographed was fennel, and not dill. I wasn’t sure, and started searching for information on the two plants. My daughter, Rivka, who has been a chef in an earlier incarnation of her professional life, suggested that the plant was fennel, and I give a lot of credit to her opinion.

But reading botanical texts, I found it difficult to be sure which plant this was. I saw pictures of both, and they look very much the same, though they come from different families of plants. And strangely enough, they have very similar names in hebrew. The dill is ‘shamir’ and the fennel is ‘shumar’. The leaves of the dill are supposed to be a little more delicate than that of the fennel, and the seeds are a bit thinner. Eventually, I found a reference to the possibility of confusion between the two plants. The solution, I read, was to eat leaves from the two plants. The leaves of fennel have a liquorice taste. I went back to visit my mother again, and snipped two leaves from the plant… washed them and tasted them. They had a slightly spicy taste… but not that of liquorice. I believe that what I have photographed here is in fact, dill. But I’m still not 100% sure, if just because some people have questioned its identity.

Occasionally a friend will tell us about a wonderful piece of music he has heard. And then we listen to it, and it does nothing for us. Or about a beautiful woman. And then we meet her. And she is nice. But not so beautiful. It happens all the time. And that’s what they mean when they say, “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”. When it comes to art, the same is true. If we see something we really like, it means that what we’re looking at or listening to, answers some question within us, or supports a point of view we already have. There is a link between us and the art. But what moves us, what inspires us, what calms our soul, won’t do the same for everybody. Its subjective. It’s a matter of taste.

There are so many reasons to become involved in art. Some wish to give expression to their thoughts, their ideas, their sense of beauty. Others want to find a way to connect to people. They find the words don’t come to them readily in social conversation. Maybe they are frustrated by conventional manners, or social expectations. In the creation of art, they are able to overcome certain difficulties or inhibitions that limit their ability to communicate.

Some people have been in a low down place, devoid of hope, tortured by the difficulties of life… and found courage, and sanity… sometimes even joy… in the work of an artist. And they wanted to pass it on; to help others as they have been helped. They want to be an artist like that artist that enlightened them. Some are lonely, or have little sense of self-worth, and are desperate for acknowledgement as a human being, or approval, or friendship, or respect.

Some artists find the pleasure in the act itself. They don’t have to be appreciated by others. It is enough for them to be satisfied with what they themselves have done. It is enough for them to feel good about their work. They can put it in a drawer, and not show it to anyone. Especially, if they’ve already had the experience of running around to gallery owners, or agents, or publishers, and being refused again and again.

By the look on facebook, or on some blog platforms, for some people, it is very important to be liked. The more likes the better. They will spend the better part of the morning, or the evening, handing out likes to others, if only to obtain a lot of likes on their own page. What are all those likes about? How many likes does one need in order to be satisfied. My guess is, that it is a chase after something that can never truly satisfy. And most of all, because not all of those likes are sincere. What we really need in this world, is a few people we can truly relate to. And relating to someone, takes quite a bit of work. A person with a thousand best friends might be suffering from a delusion.

But there are a select few, who can tell the story of a sunset, or the call of a wild animal, in such a way, that many others… even those who don’t know him or her, will feel a twinge in their own hearts and guts. When I was lonely, I used to find people like that, hidden within the covers of books in the local library. I would feel they were my friends though some of them had been dead for quite some time. I would follow them, trying to read all they had written… or to see all of their images, even though they were not flattered by my attention. And if they were alive, they didn’t even get a piece of cake out of it, because I’d discovered the book in the library and not paid to read it.

And then there’s art for arts sake. I always looked at that, as I would at a prayer. Something that transcends my own particular position or circumstances… something for which I don’t expect to get a reward… not necessarily meant for my friends’ ears. When I look or listen, or read art like that, I feel an affinity to the message in the art, and not that much to the artist. It doesn’t matter if he’s a drunk, selfish or anti-social. What gives pleasure is the art itself.