I have always loved pomegranates. I love the splendour of an orchard in full bloom or heavy with ruddy, ripe fruit, the sweet-tart flavour, the anticipation and trepidation that pomegranate season means that the Yamim Noraim, the High Holidays, are fast approaching, holiday meals with family and friends and gold-red leaves in the late autumn or the first burgundy shoots on the bare tree in spring around Purim time. 

It is the most majestic of fruit and also the most spiritual. 

For years in our family preparing mentally and materially for Rosh Hashana, the Jewish lunar new year, includes visiting pomegranate orchards which somehow in my mind brings home to me the concept that in the Hebrew month of Elul, the lead up to Rosh Hashana, "the King is in the field", it's a time when God is especially attentive to our supplications and penitence, a time when we are more aware of His presence. 

I have always loved pomegranates and it feels somehow appropriate that in the wake of the horrific Hamas invasion of Israel on Simhat Torah, October 7th, the first farms where my family and went to volunteer was a pomegranate farm, working alongside hundreds of other Israelis from many different sectors of our society to save the huge pomegranate harvest in a nearby kibbutz suddenly bereft of seasonal workers because of the war. Such a bizarre cognitive dissonance to be surrounded on the ground by the gorgeous late season giant red pomegranates while above warplanes, drones and the occasional Hamas rocket roared over our heads. 

Pomegranates, one of the most well known symbols of Rosh Hashanah, is the most Jewish of all fruits, rooted deep in our ancient Hebrew heritage, woven into our religious and cultural life for millennia. 

One of the special seven species with which the Torah describes the Land of Israel as being blessed with, pomegranates appear multiple times in the bible.

Its striking bell shaped flowers are the inspiration for the golden bells adorning the hem of the High Priest's garment, alternating with pomegranate pendats woven from blue, scarlet and purple yarn. 

The beauty of the pomegranate fruit and blossoms feature in Solomon's Song of Songs and through the ages in Jewish liturgical poetry. 

The crown (calyx) of the pomegranate grows in the shape of a six pointed star, thought by many to be the inspiration for the Star of David as a Jewish emblem. 

There are many traditions associating the pomegranate tree with the tree of life. 

Villages and towns in ancient Israel and Judea, and in modern Israel, bearing names including the word Rimon, pomegranate, like the ruins of the ancient synagogue near the Lahavim forest, close to Beer Sheva. 

And this is before we get to the more spiritual symbolism of the pomegranate as a sign of blessing, as a metaphor for a person who is full of good deeds, a righteous person, the holy nation of Israel, a fruit who's many seeds are said to amount to 613 like the number of commandments Hashem gave to the Jewish people. 

We place the pomegranate in pride of place on our Rosh Hashanah dinner tables and make the Yehi Ratzon blessing "may we be full of good deeds like the seeds of a pomegranate" and "may we be full of merit like the seeds of a pomegranate", but the pomegranate represents so much more than that simple prayer.

It embodies thousands of years of an unbroken chain of Jewish faith, culture, history, art and agriculture.

It is the yearning for our long destroyed ancient Temple in Jerusalem and the pomegranate adornment of the Kohen Gadol's robes and the bringing of the first fruits of the biblical seven species as offerings. 

It is an image that repeats itself over and over again in ancient Jewish architecture and the adornment of synagogues throughout the ages, in mosaics, engravings, embroidered parokhet curtains in front of the Torah ark, millennia old jewellery uncovered in archaeological sites and motifs decorating furniture in synagogues to this day. 

These thoughts and more crowd my head as since that terrible Simhat Torah three years ago working in agriculture has become part of my routine. I have worked so many pomegranate harvests in that time, pruned and weeded so many pomegranate orchards during the winter and spring. Even the small pomegranate tree in my garden has started yielding more fruit. 

Each pomegranate picked, each sucker branch trimmed feels like reaching out to my ancestors through the centuries, Israelite farmers, Judean farmers doing this exact same work in this exact same place. These are literally my roots, my people's roots. A beautiful red fruit that is at once sensual and holy, an ancient blessing for our land, for our nation, an exhortation to be righteous, an aspiration to be worthy of blessing. 

May this coming year bring us blessings like the seeds of the pomegranate, may we all be written and sealed in the book of life and good deeds.

On the afternoon (Israel time) of September 11th I had just seen off a relative at the airport ahead of his flight to Europe. Hard to believe that was twenty five years ago but that afternoon will forever by etched in my memory.

I waved goodbye to him as he went through security then went off to catch the bus to Tel Aviv to meet my husband after work. On my bus the driver had the radio on, a news station, and I remember hearing something vague about an aircraft crashing into a building, but I was sitting several rows back and it was hard to make out all the details.

I remember thinking it was odd, it was afternoon and they were talking about a plane crashing into a tower in the morning, why was it only being reported now?

Only when the bus pulled into the massive Tel Aviv central bus station did I and the other passengers start to understand what had happened and that with the time difference this was a developing story taking place in the morning in America.

The bus station at the time had loads of televisions in and outside its many eateries, barbers and kiosks. People were gathered outside every single one staring in shock at the news reports coming in from New York. Payphones had long queues as people tried to check-in with family and friends. Complete strangers clustered together watching the television screens crying and stunned as we saw the second 'plane crash into the second tower in real time. Shopkeepers came out with cups of water to those overcome, strangers comforted those standing next to them. We couldn't believe what we were seeing, like watching a real life disaster film unfolding on live television broadcast around the world.

As a country which had suffered, was suffering, so many terrorist attacks every Israeli had profound sympathy for what the American people were suffering. There was a strong sense of solidarity with the people of New York, with Americans in general. Israelis felt their pain and shock. Within hours of the 9/11 attacks messages of support for the United States and sympathy with its people along with many American flags started going up in windows, on shop fronts and on vehicles all around Israel.

The 9/11 memorial in Jerusalem's Arazim Valley forest is an expression of that outpouring of sympathy and solidarity with the American people. Inscribed on it are the names of all the victims of 9/11 and a memorial ceremony is held there each year.

 Two news stories from the Modiin area tonight:

1. People have been wondering about the bright flashes in the sky visible all over this region. Turns out Iran launched 15 missiles at Jordan. The interceptions could be clearly seen for miles around, including across the border in neighbouring Israel. 

2. A Jerusalem area Hamas cell was arrested. They were caught with an arms cache, ammunition, explosives. Apparently they were planning a terror attack on a restaurant in Modiin. One of their operatives had gotten himself a job there to scout out the joint and gather intelligence. Oh, and the leader of this Hamas terror cell? He was released from an Israeli prison as part of the 2025 hostage deal in which hundreds of convicted Hamas terrorists were set free in exchange for a handful of Israeli hostages held by Hamas in Gaza. 

Nissim Srussi (not to be confused with the French Jewish singer!) is a pioneering agronomist and wine maker who has spent his life helping agriculture to thrive in Israel's arid south. He grew up on a moshav in the Negev, his family were among the founders of Gush Katif and then decades later had to start from scratch after losing everything in the destruction of Gush Katif. He rebuilt his life in the Negev, creating the Carmei Mevurakh winery and vineyard.

The saline soil in the desert near Beer Sheva where his vineyard is located was so salty that no one believed it possible that anything could be grown there, there were barely any weeds or native wild plants growing there when Nissim decided that this would be the sight for his newest project. Today it is home to a thriving vineyard which is going from strength to strength against the odds, an island of vivid green in the midst of the barren yellow-brown of the dry season desert.

The abundant rains of the most recent winter/spring rainy season have produced a bumper crop this summer, flushing out more of the salts from the ground and nourishing the vines, making them stronger and healthier than ever.

It's been a long road for this small family run and owned kosher winery and vineyard to get to this point. In summer of 2014 Nissim and his family were getting ready to plant 12,000 grape seedlings before Tu B'Av, a crucial planting date the summer before a shmitta year. But then the 2014 Gaza war, Tzuk Eitan, erupted and overnight all the young men in his family who were going to help with the labour intensive task were drated. He was left alone with his wife and two daughters - and the 12,000 seedlings. He thought he was about to lose everything again but his daughter put a post on social media and it was seen by someone from Hashomer Hahadash, one of the organisations helping farmers in need. The next day they sent Nissim 135 volunteers aged from 8 to 80 and within three days the vineyard was planted, just before Tu B'Av.

His extended family are very involved in helping out. During the summer you can meet young and old relatives in distinctive red family Carmei Mevorakh t-shirts coming and going at the vineyard, helping out however they can at this critical time of year.

Since October 7th he has once again suffered from labour shortages, especially during the busy harvest period when he has found himself needing to rely on volunteer help to pick all the grapes.

It was our honour to join the Southern Exposure agricultural volunteer group to help out this summer and learn more about quite literally making the desert bloom.

Grapes of love

The grape harvest is in full swing, incredible how in the middle of our bone-dry yellow-brown summers so much of the countryside is still vivid green because of all the vineyards, growing numbers thriving around the country, even deep in the desert, as they did in ancient times, but more about that later.

Last week was the festival of Tu B'Av, 15th of the Hebrew month of Av. It's a festival dating back to biblical times, a celebration of the grape harvest but also described in ancient sources like the Talmud as a day on which single women would wear borrowed white dresses (so as not to shame anyone who couldn't afford one) and go out dancing in the vineyards to attract a potential suitor. That custom has mostly faded over the centuries, but instead it's kind of morphed into a Jewish festival of romance, lots of music events out in nature (especially in the vineyards of course), wine festivals, romantic dinners, heart shaped cakes in the bakeries, love in the air.

The morning of Tu B'Av was by chance all the first grape harvest I volunteered at this summer. It was in the middle of the Negev desert, wilderness all around and then a vivid patch of green on a couple of low hills - vineyards and even more surprising, right below it a lush field of tall corn. Grown with recycled water.

The Negev region has recently received a wine appellation designating it a distinct wine growing region, as it was in ancient times. There are dozens of successful wineries in the area today, many, like the one I worked at last week, inspired by research into historic grape growing techniques uncovered in archaeological digs. Later in the week I had a chance to learn more about that too, but I think that will have to be another post.
This was the first batzir (grape harvest) of the season at this small family owned and run kosher vineyard winery in the Negev desert.

We were so lucky to have gorgeous weather, part cloudy, a gentle cooling breeze to mitigate the summer sun, all of which made it easier to appreciate the stunning views. Despite the mid-summer heat it was actually quite pleasant in the vineyard, at least for most of the morning. There was a breeze in the hills and the lush vines gave a little shade, especially if you sat on an upturned bucket to pick, low enough to be shaded by the greenery. We started work around just after 6am and finished before 11am, just as the sun was high enough in the sky to produce a fiercer heat.

We were picking Chardonnay grapes, among the earliest to ripen. The Negev is known especially for its white and rose wines, though this vineyard also had some red varieties like Malbec, Marselan, Cabernet Franc and Barbera. I'm not a big wine maven but I'm learning so much from working at vineyards around the country. I think vineyard work has become some of my most favourite agricultural work, from the shaping and maintenance of the vines while they are dormant during the winter to the exuberant summer harvests, there is something so magical about grape vines, whether for wine or table.

Much of the work has a meditative quality to it, wending your way along the long, often extremely long, rows, sometimes in terraces on rocky hillsides, sometimes among lush lowland farmland or plateaux of rick dark soil left by long extinct volcanoes or rocky desert wilderness or even sandy desert dunes. It's stunning to me the variety of environments in which vineyards can thrive, and that's just in my tiny corner of the world. Grape vines are truly remarkable. Picking grapes is very social work, you meet people working the other side of the vine across from you, next to you, conversations naturally strike up, stories exchanged over the gentle clip clip of the pruning shears and the plop of grape bunches into the waiting crates.
We were a diverse bunch that morning, a group of local young people doing a year of post-high school volunteering, volunteers mostly from the Jerusalem area from pensioners to primary school kids, mostly Orthodox Jews, a few Christian tourists from Europe and east Asia, and a group of veiled Bedouin women from a nearby village.
But what about the wines you ask? Well we have been promised tastings next time we come to help with the harvest at this place, hopefully in another couple of weeks. The grapes fresh from the vine are incredibly sweet and delicious.

We watched the opening of the last World Cup, hosted by Qatar, on tv screens set up outside a pavement cafe in the southern Jordanian port city of Aqaba.

A mostly local Jordanian crowd with a smattering of overseas tourists, both Western and Arab, sat together watching the pomp and ceremony and the opening Qatar vs Ecuador game in good spirits, sipping traditional Jordanian coffees and teas, munching on baklava and dates, quite a few puffing away on nargilla hubble bubbles.

The chaos and uncertainty of the pandemic was starting to lift, there was a sense of hope and new beginnings.

Today, the last day of this year's World Cup, Aqaba was targeted by a volley of Iranian missiles, intercepted by US anti-missile defense systems and Israeli Iron Dome systems across the border in Eilat.

War clouds seem to be gathering again over the region, including the Gulf states and previous World Cup host Qatar, which had thought their vast wealth and playing both sides would grant them immunity from any potential Iran war or regional instability.

It was a sweltering day to be working in a greenhouse but it was such a satisfying day's work despite the non-stop shvitz.

My companions were two incredible volunteers who despite physical/health constraints are two of the most enthusiastic and dedicated farm volunteers I know, people with a deep love of Am Yisrael and a smile and friendly word for everyone.

There's something meditative about a straightforward farm job, like trimming leaves from a tomato plant, you have to think, yes, but you get into a rhythm of the familiar and you can immediately see results as the "jungle" of stray leaves and shoots evens out into a colourful neat tapestry of bright cherry tomatoes hanging on the trimmed vines.

Today's work was further enhanced by two podcasts, though admittedly I did not understand a word of the first one because it was entirely in Thai. The presenter had a very pleasant, relaxing voice though. I enjoyed just listening to the music of the language while I clipped and pruned, at once focusing on NOT CUTTING THE STRINGS OR TOMATOES, while being soothed by a monologue in a language with which I have almost no familiarity. The Thai worker listening along seemed very intent on his work and the speaker, when I walked past he was smiling a warm contented smile as he listened and clipped the vines.

The second podcast was playing from the phone of a high school student from the village, a serious young man who works at the farm after school and through the summer.

He was on a channel aimed at helping young people prepare for national service and he was listening to an interview with an educator at a yeshiva pre-army programme talking about his life story and experiences.

It was absolutely fascinating, the man being interviewed (who's name I didn't catch) was deeply thoughtful, someone with great conviction and deeply held beliefs, but also someone who didn't gloss over experiences he found challenging or painful, but instead talked about how he grew from them, how they fashioned his world view and most importantly to him, how they shaped the way he performs his job as an educator who teaches classes in Gemara, Krav Maga and wilderness survivalism.

He said a great many things and if my hands hadn't been busy trimming cherry tomato vines I would have taken notes, but one of the things that stuck with me in particular was his comment that what marks Krav Maga as an Israeli martial art is how it draws from a Sabra ethos of using whatever you have to hand to protect yourself, a shoe, sand, and likewise survival skills are predicated on knowing how to make full use of your environment, being able to create what you need from what there is, not from what you wish you had.

He said spiritual, mental and soul survival should be thought of in the same way. What resources do you have to hand? What can you use to build up your mental and spiritual strength when you need to? Everything you have experienced, everyone you've ever met, all your knowledge, all the history of those who came before you, so many tools that people often fail to see or lack the creativity to explore or think about, even when maybe they are right in front of them.

I asked the youngster what he hopes to do during his army service. He answered with a slight air of bewilderment because this is the most obvious thing in the world: he wants to be a combat soldier when he finishes secondary school so that he can protect his home and community located near the Gaza border.