My morning routine begins just before dawn with a constitutional walk that takes me as far as the perimeter of the neighbouring Kibbutz. Usually I take the path that leads up the hill past the exercising yard by the stable and continue along the road that skirts the dairy and ends by the kibbutz industrial park ( just two factories) before crossing the road. Across the road is the field, that same field I have written about before.
I mention the path because it too is part of this week's narrative.
For many years Shlomo Rosenberg, one of our "old-timers," handled odd maintenance jobs and the upkeep of paths around the kibbutz. The paths, mainly much-travelled pedestrian tracks are short-cuts between a number of points inside the kibbutz. Once they were unpaved tracks covered with crushed stone, slaked and packed to form a hard surface.
Rosenberg, as he was known to everyone, replete with pick shovel and wheelbarrow was usually found somewhere along one of the paths repairing eroded edges and filling in potholes. Sometime after his ninetieth birthday, age got the better of him. He moved to our senior citizens centre where he died a few years later. Now Rozenberg's paths are paved with concrete and few remember the dusty crushed stone tracks that preceded them
He was a living legend, someone from another era who never managed to keep apace with the ever changing kibbutz community. Content to live a simple austere life, he seemed awkwardly out of place and time as Ein Harod progressed and became more affluent.
As I walked past the field this morning the furrows I saw in the early morning light, turned by a massive John Deere moldboard plough, brought to mind another field ploughed almost a hundred years ago.
I've mentioned the "long field," before, just the same if you remember it don't page down, bear with me and read it again.
In October or November 1911 a number of plough teams were ploughing a field. The field was the longest field in the country; it stretched for one kilometre close to the south bank of the river Jordan. It was part of an experimental land allotment allocated to thirteen people who had formed a collective settlement called Degania. The horse drawn ploughs were turning perfectly straight furrows in the soil. Work had started shortly after dawn and continued with a short break for a simple lunch till dusk. One of the ploughmen was a newcomer to Degania. In those days there were no reception committees and people wandered in and out almost at will. They stayed as long as they worked or were asked to leave.
Earlier the same year the Degania settlers had harvested their first crop of wheat. The yield was good and it left them with a small profit. Had the crop failed the group would have disbanded and the collective settlement later called the kibbutz may have never come into being.
Late in the afternoon the newcomer reined in his horse, pulled out a leather tobacco pouch, took a pinch of tobacco and rolled a cigarette. He lit the cigarette and smoked it, then returned to his work. Unknown to him he had broken a cardinal rule, a basic tenet of the group’s work ethic and the unscheduled break had been seen by everyone in the field.
At the end of the day when everyone had gathered in the dining room for the evening meal the group was silent. There was no mention of the cigarette but the offender could sense the unspoken censure. The next morning before dawn, while the members of the group were still sleeping, the newcomer gathered his belongings and left.
The story of the long field was told to me by one of the ploughmen – the late Shlomo Rosenberg. Rosenberg left Degania and joined Ein Harod shortly after it was founded in 1921.
The nameless ploughman, Rosenberg and everyone else in the field including the horses have gone the way of all flesh. The ploughshares are museum pieces scattered around the country. Only the field remains the same, tilled year in year out since time immemorial.
The Degania group was formed to solve the problem of a deadlock crisis and for the past hundred years there has always been a crisis of one kind or another in the kibbutz movement. Many times the Kibbutz appeared to be on the brink of total collapse. Despite all the crises this collective settlement form has survived.
It is remarkably resilient and so far has defied all the predictions of its demise. Does it possess the moral fibre to ride out the crisis that is plaguing it now?
Let's "rewind" to 1911 and the anonymous ploughman who unwittingly broke a cardinal rule. The rigid work ethic that damned him as a slacker has long been jettisoned along with other outmoded "principles." Admittedly the stigma attached to anyone who didn't pull his weight, to every under-performer, served to deter potential shirkers. I mention this topic because it is a pivotal point in the ongoing debate concerning the kibbutz community's social fabric.
In an article that appeared earlier this year in the Jewish daily Forward the author provided a sobering survey of the hundred year old experiment that hadn't yet failed. Referring to the fanfares and fireworks of the centennial celebrations he said, "The celebrations are tinged with melancholy, though. The institution of the kibbutz has survived its first century, but the hope of pioneering a new and better model of human society has not. Over the past quarter-century, most of Israel’s 270 kibbutzim have abandoned the founders’ socialist credo, “from each according to his ability, to each according to his need,” and replaced it with the new “privatized” kibbutz. Today’s kibbutz boasts differential salaries, shuttered dining halls, individual home ownership, private bank accounts and investment portfolios and, of course, richer and poorer kibbutzniks. Only about 80 kibbutzim, less than one-third, still preserve the old egalitarianism."
The crisis that caused the present division in the kibbutz communities can be traced to the attempts made by the kibbutz federations and their affiliated member kibbutz communities to resolve their financial debts.
Although an understanding of the root causes of the debt crisis is important . and relevant to any analysis of the kibbutz today, I want to avoid dealing with it mainly because it’s a side issue, a time consuming digression .
Initially many of the kibbutzim heavily in debt embarked on extensive privatisation including a differential salaries payment system.
In an effort to cut costs they privatised almost everything that was formerly supplied by the kibbutz without payment.
The privatisation of water, electricity, food and a number of services has been accepted almost universally in most kibbutz communities. Kibbutz members receive allowances for all the items privatised so paying for them hasn’t impoverished the kibbutz member. He/she is thriftier. Indeed the axiom “waste not want not “ is applicable to this situation.
The real bone of contention is the differential wage system.
The people in favour of a differential wage system claim that members who work harder fill more responsible positions and generally contribute more to the community deserve more than a token recognition. The wage disparity in many kibbutz communities that have adopted a differential wage system now places them on a par with the general society. They have created a nouveau-riche economical elitist class within a close-knit social entity – the kibbutz. Provision for pensions in cases where the kibbutz neglected to pay into pension funds is now paid for mainly by the people who earn more. They pay proportionately more to support the kibbutz social and cultural infrastructure. Therefore it’s not surprising to find growing discontent, a reluctance among the better salaried members to support the senior citizen sector, members with special requirements as well as services and facilities they consider to be superfluous, simply a waste of money.
A random glance at neighbouring communities in the Jezreel Valley reveals that many of the privatised kibbutz communities have closed their communal dining rooms, laundries, cut back on cultural activities and generally have become more introspective. There is less communal sensitivity and concern.
The move from the traditional collective society to a highly privatised community occurred gradually. Initially the kibbutz communities adversely affected by the economic crisis of two to three decades ago were the first to “pare the fat.” By and large they managed to survive, some recovered well.
However, the social fabric that was once the hallmark of the kibbutz society has frayed a lot.
Currently an internal struggle is taking place in many of the remaining collective kibbutz communities. The situation is almost identical in every case.
The members who stand most to gain economically from a transition to a differential wage system are trying to convince their fellow members to support them in their efforts to bring about the change. Understandably they tend to trade the term differential for something more innocuous, less threatening. Therefore they define the change as a renewal, a revitalisation of the kibbutz community. So far I haven been able to identify any organised l body promoting and supporting the proposed change.
The other camp, the people trying to preserve the traditional collective kibbutz community, are well organised. They publish at least two weeklies and one monthly. They run seminars and hold meetings to promote their cause. Surprisingly many of them would stand to gain if the kibbutz were to adopt a differential wage system.
The privatisation of a collective community is irreversible. At least it appears to be so far.
The people who advocate the change to privatisation emphasize individual responsibility for livelihood. Their slogan “no more free meals” hinges on a claim that the traditional kibbutz supports to many freewheelers, work-shirkers and under-performers. The new system, they claim, will eliminate the work-dodgers.
The hapless ploughman at Degania was no slacker. He was the victim of an over zealous dedication to the work ethic.
Ill-equipped with no more than hearsay and random observation at my disposal I have tried to identify our own under-performers.
My conclusions are as follows:
1. There is always room for improvement
2. Not everyone branded a slacker is really doing less than required .
3. The phenomenon is marginal and common to every society. It certainly doesn’t warrant changing the community in order to correct it..
In the meantime we manage to coexist well. So far Ein Harod Ihud has rejected a proposal to change the system. We remain a collective kibbutz community.
Degania Aleph on the other hand has privatised.
Have a good weekend
Beni 4th of November, 2010.
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