In need of rain? Ask a government minister
Filed under: Environment, General, Israeliness, Life, Religion
I feel like a fish that has been left out of water too long. I’m literally gasping for rain. Being one of those foreign transplants from grey, rainy Britain, Israel’s warm climate is a frequent source of joy. But while I enjoy the heat and the sunshine, I still need the storms and rain of winter to help me get through the long, hot, barren, endlessly blue and sunny summers where I seem to suffer a kind of reverse seasonal affect disorder.
Oh for a good heavy rainstorm...
This year I’m not the only one. Even the most hardened Israeli sun-lovers, who normally complain of depression after just one day of rain, are protesting. And with reason. It’s been the driest January since Israeli records began, and it comes after four other exceptionally dry years.
From 1980 to 2007, the available volume of water in Lake Kinneret was 328 million cubic meters a year. This year it will be just 45 million cubic meters. Prof. Uri Shani, head of the Water Authority said the probability of Israel having such a dry winter, after a series of four dry years, was practically zero – but when did probability enter into global warming.
There are all sorts of plans afoot on how to deal with this water crisis – plans which quite frankly should have been put in place a year or two ago, but possibly the most kooky of the lot comes from Agriculture Minister Shalom Simhon, who has come up with the idea of changing all the mezuzot in the Israel Water Authority offices.
Under Jewish tradition, a mezuzah is a piece of parchment inscribed with specific Hebrew verses from the Torah, which is put inside a special case and attached to doorframes as a kind of blessing. Some people like to kiss their hand and touch the case as they go in and out of the building, for good luck.
Simhon’s big plan, then, is to change the blessings inside these mezuzot in an effort to change Israel’s luck with rainfall patterns. The minister explained his logic by telling other ministers that when Labor was at an all-time low in the polls, he changed the mezuzot at the Labor House, and the party doubled its strength.
Good to know the water crisis is in capable hands, eh? Perhaps we should also consider bringing a tribe of native Indians across to do a rainfall dance. Of course water rationing, and a desalination plant or two might also help. But hell, what would I know, I’m not a government minister.
Drought brings three faiths together in prayer
There were three men standing beside the Kinneret, a rabbi, a priest and an imam. Sounds like the start of a joke, but you can be sure it wasn’t a laughing matter for any of the three. They were praying for rain.
And when you look at the state of the Kinneret, you can’t blame them. I was there for the round the Kinneret cycle ride just a few weeks ago, and the water had receded an alarming distance from the shore. People were sitting close to the water’s edge, next to signs hammered into the ground reading Deep Water.
Where has the water gone?
And it’s not that we’re seeing any signs of a wet winter to come. On the contrary, the weather in Israel right now resembles, well, a desert. Hot and dry during the day, cold during the night. Lips are chapped, skin is dry and itchy, and who knows what’s happening to agriculture – it’s horrible.
So that’s why Rabbi Shlomo Didi of the Jordan Valley, Ian Clark – the priest of the Scottish church, and Muhammad Dahamshe, the Imam of Kfar Kana, got together to try to ease the situation with a little combined prayer and a whole lot of artwork from the dozens of artists who came to paint the service.
“A joint prayer does not consider differences of religion,” Didi told a reporter from an Israeli newspaper. “There is one god, we are all human beings and are all praying to the same god.”
“The dismal condition of the Kinneret threatens each and every one of us,” added Shimon Kipnis, general manager of the Scots Hotel, which offered up its beach for the prayer service.
“We see how the shoreline is receding and that the water level is nearing the black line.’ The purpose of this event was to unite all the religions and offer a joint prayer to the creator of the universe, that he bless us with a rainy season.”
Well, let’s hope their prayers are answered. It sure doesn’t seem that way right now. The forecast for the next few days according to Israel’s Meteorological Service: Warmer and drier than usual.
Running the Circuit
It wasn’t the New York Marathon, but the 10K race I ran in last week was big enough to attract star runners from all over Israel – even though there were no cash prizes for the winners. It was the first marathon I ever ran (even though I’ve been seriously jogging and running for nearly 10 years), and a great introduction into Israel’s running culture.
This is the third time the race I ran, called the Benaya Marathon (named after Benaya Rhein, who was killed in battle in Lebanon), has been run, and this year it attracted over 250 runners from around the country. While the first one was an ad hoc affair, where anyone who wanted to could run, the last two have been handled by a professional marathon management company, which gave all runners an electronic chip that recorded everything there was to know about the race – time, route, speed, pace, etc. Results were listed by age group, and about 15 minutes after the last runner crossed the finish line, the list of who came in what place was displayed, followed by the presentation of trophies to top runners in each category. It’s professionally run, but it does cost 50 shekels to register.
Never having run a marathon before, I treated the whole experience as an extended workout, running the 10K instead of doing my usual circuit on the treadmill. So, for me, the marathon was more of a “personal best” thing, and I was happy to beat the time I predicted I would make for the route. But there were quite a few competitive runners there, who apparently follow the circuit of mini-marathons, preparing for the “big ones” – the Jerusalem and Tel Aviv half-marathons (the latter had over 7,000 participants this year!), and the uber-race, the Tiberias Marathon, which follows a 40+ kilometer route around the southern Kinneret. That’s where the big money is – $25,000 for last year’s winner, Kenya’s Leonard Mucheru Maina, plus an additional $15,000 because he broke the course record. The winner of our race was David Raskai, a policeman who is a serious runner, having come in first in a raft of races over the past year. And yours truly? I’d rather not say – It’s a personal best thing, remember?
Riding the Kinneret
For cyclists in Israel, it’s one of the biggest events of the year – every November thousands of them descend on the Kinneret (the Sea of Galilee), to take part in the round-the-Kinneret ride.
We were planning to do it last year, but my husband – a mountain bike fanatic who likes to leap off large boulders and throw himself down steep hillsides – fell off his bike on a sedate family biking trip in Hiyarkon park and injured his knee.
This Saturday – barring any last minute falls – we’ll be setting off at 6.30am with the 10,000 or so cyclists expected to take part in this popular fall event.
I must admit, originally I was planning to take part in the 65 kilometer ride – right around the Kinneret, but I got cold feet when we drove there a week ago and I realized that the road, which always looked rather flat from the window of a car, was actually pretty hilly; and the other side of the Kinneret vanished threateningly into the haze, an alarmingly long distance away.
Still, I can’t make too much fuss, my 10-year-old is planning to do the long route with three of his friends, and a couple of parents more used to cycling long distances than I am (my idea of cycling these days mostly involves sitting on a spinning bike in an air-conditioned room for an hour with loud dance music and a teacher shouting encouragement.)
He’s either a great deal fitter than me, or he just can’t envision how hard it will be. I suspect the latter. I’ve warned him it will be hard. I’ve warned him he’ll be cycling for at least four hours. I’ve warned him that his butt will ache for days afterwards, and that the last 20km will be the hardest thing he’s ever done – but he won’t be swayed. Two of his friends did it last year and they’ve been boasting about it ever since. He may be 10, but it’s his manhood at stake.
We’re doing the 31 km ride, joined by my eight-year-old who is particularly interested in the medals they give out to all participants at the end (will it have a bicycle on mummy?), and my two and a half year old, who will travel in style in a pull-along buggy, milk, snacks and toys at an easily reachable distance.
It promises to be a beautiful day, and perhaps, after all the rain this week, the Kinneret will even be a little fuller. If any readers are taking part, do let me know – we can wave at one another as we go round.
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