From Merom Hotam HaCarmel, where his emissaries established the Zichron Yaacov colony at the beginning of the first aliyah, his officials purchased Arab estates and established Jewish colonies named after his family, starting in Givat Ada, Pardes Hanna, Bat Shlomo, the Meir Shfeya youth village and finally the Moshava Binyamina.
At the end of the War of Independence, the Arab villages of Sabarin, Cindiana and others were destroyed. Moshavs Aviel, Amikam, Givat Nili, Aloni Yitzhak School, Kfar Glikson, and Kibbutz Regavim were established around Givat Ada. To the east and south, near Pardes Hanna and Karkur, the moshavim of Kfar Pines and Ein Iron and Kibbutz Mishmarot were established. Almost every locality got to sit on a lush spring and gave it its name.
The springs feed four main streams that descend from the arch of the hills to the valley, the largest and westernmost crocodile stream of all, Nahal Ada, Nahal Barkan and Nahal Mishmarot. The waters of the streams irrigate the Generous Valley and the farmers grow vineyards and olives, fruit orchards, and tall Washingtonian palm trees and wild thunder that have become the hallmark of the Generous Valley.
Young Danny Gold at retirement age ranged from the desire to continue to be involved in the pizza business that put Tabin and Tacillin in his pocket to the dream of retiring completely and dedicating himself to his love of horses. He bought a farm in Moshav Amikam, set up a dream farm with beautiful horses. He devotes many hours every day to taking care of them and goes for a ride in the valley fields. While I was at the place a horse was cut in the leg, and a few days later a foal was cut in the mouth. I have seen Danny treat them with concern, sensitivity and attention. From time to time he and friends go on long journeys across Israel, which he has already done four times, each time on a slightly different route than the previous one.
Danny received a call from Tamar Sack, a friend and resident of Amikam, about a wanderer in a trailer looking to place the wagon, and head to rest at a local farm, and said yes. Despite my modest request for a nice place and nothing more, Danny offered me all his kindness, connected me to electricity, water, hot showers and a refrigerator, thus gaining a respectable karma in the paradise of the God of Caravanists. The farm is located on the outskirts of the village near Nahal Taninim and a few minutes walk from a pool of water and a mulberry tree that overlooks it and this season gives guests plenty of black and sweet strawberries. If there is a paradise this is about what it looks like. Said it before before… So what.
Water to Caesarea
The abundance of springs around their depths caught the attention of the Romans as early as two thousand years ago. In those days the Jewish king Edom Herod built the port city of Caesarea and saturated it with water from a lower crocodile stream. The city grew and swelled and the bottom aqueduct was no longer enough.
“Complaints began to be heard from the residents that they were paying too much property tax and even water they were getting sparingly,” Mickey Golan told me with his characteristic bastard seriousness. Mickey came as every year for one working day to maintain the Mei Kedem project, the aqueduct carved in the chalk rock handcrafted by the Romans since “the Romans had limited engineering knowledge, and yet carried out amazing projects, do you know why they succeeded?” Mickey asks me as we walk upright in her dark mother, the headlights illuminate our way, and Mickey’s badge is raised and drops loose stones that endanger those who walk in it. “Why” I ask after rubbing my mind and not finding. “Because they were not afraid to do and make mistakes, they dared, made mistakes but that’s how they learned and progressed over time.”
I knew Mickey in the early days of my wandering period. He is a veteran caravanist who has been traveling for ten years, and the only one who built a wood-burning fireplace in his trailer and dared to go through a snowy winter cut off from the world in the Golan Heights. Mickey is also the man we all step on the iron ladders and pegs on the cliffs he installed on the canyon routes from Mount Hermon to Eilat. Mickey read my first articles and came to me at the Steph Reserve one morning, invited himself for coffee, and announced that he had come to meet me.
We have since spent a few days together, and I have learned to listen to his fascinating stories that flow like a truly abundant spring of Caesarea’s waters. Mickey lived the construction of the aqueduct to the fullest of his limbs. From him I heard that the Romans descended to the belly of the earth through hewn shafts with steps, until the engineer stopped them, divided them into two groups, and ordered them to dig in one direction with an upward flow slope and the same downward slope. .
“Here the Romans carved according to the plan” Mickey shows me a quarry right in front of us “but the Roman suddenly heard the group opposite coming from the side. Stop for a moment Stefanos he told the butcher and together they heard the pickaxes beating until the door opened and the miners hugged happily. “Mickey confidently explains to me what went through the minds of the Romans” they just carved along the crack in the rock because it was easier for them “and so we walk in the canal for a long time, you and a bucket in hand, and with us goes an impressive whole army and hew the tunnel that later becomes water On arches and brings the living water to the new city of Caesarea that was just built for it two thousand years ago. “First they built a dam on Nahal Taninim, raised the water there and moved the lower and lower aqueduct to Caesarea” Mickey completes the big picture for me “but the city grew and the water was not enough and then the engineers went to Mount Horshan above Amikam, caught every spring they found, And the springs of Nahal Swallow were farthest from all, and they dug tunnels in the rock that led to the main tunnel, and all these drops of water joined the high aqueduct that watered and silenced the claims of the residents of Caesarea.
The next morning I made a hike between the Tabor oak forests and the vineyards of Nahal Snunit, a tributary of the crocodiles. Passed a few morning cyclists and in the vineyards worked some Thai agricultural workers who thinned the vine leaves. I navigated by a cloud pillar map and reached the shafts of Nahal Swallow. Access down into the tunnel was relatively easy though a bit muddy. Down in the tunnel a lot of water flowed. I left the clothes at the bottom of the shaft and went out with a flashlight to my head to get to know the tunnel that has not become a tourist site, in the meantime. At times I walked upright in clear water that reached to my waist, and elsewhere I crawled in water and mud that just covered most of the tunnel. The bowed head within the dark cavern felt in the clouds, like the heads of world explorers of old.
Every day towards sunset, even on Saturday, Haim and Gal Kimershlag and their three children from Kibbutz Regavim get on the old and battered family van, and travel a short distance to the donkey farm across Road Six. The van is wearily laden with old breads, donated by a local bakery, bags of old vegetables and other goods worthy of donkeys ’palates. They ascend beyond a creaking gate and falter up the neglected road to the top of the mountain, where dozens of donkeys living on the farm are already waiting for them.
“It’s a donkey’s paradise,” says Gal, made from the bread and thrown to the donkeys. “There’s a hierarchy here” Haim explains to me that fifteen years have passed since he found a cute donkey tied to the gate of the horse farm he had, and has since fallen in love with donkeys. “This male is the ruler, the alpha male, even though he is neutered, and he is the one who will separate hawks and quell the riots, as a ruler should do. And this donkey named Sima is the first among the females. Sima pushes her head under Chaim’s hands and gets caressed with eyes closed with pleasure. Then she makes her way to the back of his back and massages it with her long forehead. “She is completely human” claims Haim and Gal and the children nod in agreement.
“I was born in Pardes Hanna,” Haim tells me. “When I was an adult, I moved to Tel Aviv and ran a successful business. One day I came to visit an old friend at Kibbutz Regavim. I realized that money is not everything in the world, and you can live simply and happily with less money.” He left the city, rented a kibbutz, rented a hill and set up a horse farm there. The farm did not succeed but since the first donkey appeared he started doing for the souls, his, of Gal and the children and especially of the donkeys. “Sometimes I pass an Arab village and see children beating a donkey with a stick. I can not stand it, and immediately buy the donkey and bring it to the farm. Roaming donkeys come here, and those who have been abused, cuts on the face and body, a cut tail. There are donkeys here traumatized and run away from anyone. “Everyone has gotten used to me and loves me.” Haim talks about them affectionately and the deep emotional connection between him and the donkeys, and between the whole family members united in their affection for donkeys is evident.
They have about fifty donkeys and Chaim tries to be no more, “I castrate them but there are still new towns every year. I sell donkeys from time to time but only to those who prove to me that the donkeys will live in good conditions, for example in fenced palm groves in the Arava. green”. I ask him how much it costs to maintain a donkey paradise. “The expenses amount to more than four thousand shekels a month, like a mortgage,” he laughs, “I could have already bought a house for the amount I invest in donkeys, but I’m not sorry, I love donkeys and prefer to invest in them than at home, and it gives me personal satisfaction and love.” The family”. Now Haim needs working hands of volunteers and help buy a fence to replace the crumbling fence.
The Red Moose Farm
Not far away, at the top of a high hill between Aviel Givat Ada and Amikam is the Red Moose Farm. Surrounded by a strong fence and a network of electric cables as if the king’s gold treasure was kept in it. I inadvertently touched the cable while taking a close-up photo and was hit by an electric shock that knocked the phone out of my hand. Beyond the fence the red deer, erect ears, look at me curiously without fear, and remain in the shade of the trees like the heat of the day.
My friend Tamar heard about the place and distorted her face “They are raised for meat, it’s pretty awful, how can you eat such cute animals” Arnon from Pardes Hanna wrote in the WhatsApp group that because of the slaughter the training of the elk meat is difficult and not edible, but an in-depth song canceled the answer Celebrities who come here to choose the elk meat.
Suddenly the male of the generation arrives with long, branched horns, he raises his head and chews the thorny hard leaves of the Tabor oak. He approaches the fence and I look closely at the wonderful velvety rays on his head. This is the season when moose grow their horns, strong males proudly carry on their heads the heavy horns and abundant testosterone hormones and declare their masculinity to other males and warmed females, according to the principle of heaviness coined by researcher Amotz Zahavi.
I was reminded of a visit I made about ten years ago to Altai, Siberia. There, not far from the border of Mongolia and Kazakhstan, the elk farms popped up like mushrooms after the rain, and I think there were red elk there too. It was late spring and the Altai meadows were green and filled with colorful flowers. At the farms, the beautiful moose followed the crowns, cut the horns in the velvety stage and released them without power. At the end of the mating season, the rays fall off anyway and next year they will grow a new pair of glorious rays, which will once again remain in the towers’ warehouses. I asked them then why all this. They enthusiastically said that the Chinese are purchasing the horns to improve the manpower and are willing to pay over a thousand dollars for each horn. Suddenly the thought crept into my head, perhaps here too stories were spread about the elk meat and in fact the precious antlers are the confidential and main product of the farm. I have not yet been able to locate the farm owner who will solve the mystery for us.
At dusk before returning to the horse farm I stopped near Alona Cemetery. The crocodile stream flows there under a hill laden with tangled Tabor oak trees, creating clear pools trapped between rocks, where you can wade in the spring water, a kind of bath of nature. Meron sat there and with skill and love on guitar, Orly sang well-known lines in Portuguese and Hebrew, I hummed mostly to myself and tried to remember the lyrics of the song “The Train of Eleven” that Gal Costa once sang. The water flowed in a harmonious ripple and rural serenity landed on me and on everyone כולם How important it is to have a magical place in the bosom of nature to which one can escape from the world. Everyone should have such a place.
The call went to a night music meeting in the Alona Forest, or was it a deep forest. The milestones passed in Shoshu in the WhatsApp groups of fans of the genre, an inverted barrel on a pillar, white handkerchiefs tied to bushes. Bending under an iron gate and passing through the enchanted forest thicket into a clearing with a top shed and a small bonfire that quietly whispers its word and spreads a pleasant and heartwarming warmth.
The words emerge strongly, “All the soul will praise Hallelujah… In thanksgiving in thanksgiving… Even out of the darkness we will walk in the light.”
Guitar delivers subtle sounds, percussion joins in the form of a Bukhari drum, jumbo and darbuka. Lots of percussion. On a night of song-knowing voices, a pot with cocoa warms up over the coals, and is blended with a pinch of cashews. The bonfire was the symbol of the tribe, the formation and unification of the pioneers. In the orchards of the Baron’s colonies the pioneers sang Russian songs translated into Hebrew, the wind blows cool we add another toothpick to the fire… Today the grandparents sit and sing together as before “angels are in the sky and I saw some here on earth” drink cocoa instead of potato cartouches To be together “and” Open up your hurt “. A guest from space would find no difference.
At the end a wide-brimmed hat passes between them all. How much to put the question is asked… In Dana, generously, this is the answer…
Map of the Generous Valley
Source: כתבות – מסע אחר by www.masa.co.il.
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