Journey into Zionism: Animal Farm

Kibbutz Ketura is kind of like a modern-day Noah's Ark in itself with so many animals running around: we've got cows, goats, rabbits, horses, camels, cats, scorpions, and, get this, donkeys. While the presence of most of these brutes is pretty self explanatory (income and/or decoration, I can only assume), you may be surprised to learn why Ketura is home to a herd of donkeys.

You see, one of our main exports here on the commune is dates, which are located in perfectly symmetrical rows of date palms just across the highway from the residential part of the kibbutz. The orchard lies adjacent to the Jordanian border, which is literally a five-minute walk from the volunteer lodging (trust me on this one). In order to preserve the uniformity of the date tree matrices, we've employed a number of donkeys to eat the fallen fruit and prevent offshoots from growing, and, despite this being a religious kibbutz, you'd better believe that these day laborers have to work on Shabbat.

It got me thinking. If I were a donkey whose sole purpose in life was to eat one item which would constitute my entire diet, what kind of food would that be? While dates are definitely delicious and a good choice for some, I'm deterred by their high caloric content and excessively sweet overtone. Indeed, I relish snacking on dates ripened and candied, but only in small quantities. That leaves me with quite a few other choices for my ideal diet:

1. Persimmon. (Or, as the Heebs say, Affarsimone.) My initial thought was that I would be in absolute heaven if I were a persimmon-eating donkey; however, I assure you from personal experience that devouring too many persimmons has a crippling effect on the stomach. There was a time when I would consume two, three, even four persimmons every day. Just thinking about their subtly sweet taste and firm yet juicy texture makes my mouth water. But there came a day when even one bite of a persimmon would send me into agonizingly painful stomach convulsions, causing me to cower on my bed in the fetal position for two hours at a time until the cramps subsided. I had to swear off the forbidden fruit for about a month until I felt that my intestines could once again handle the apparently toxic outer skin, and since then I've been unable to eat more than one fruit per day. In conclusion: Persimmon donkey? I don't think so.

2. Pomello. Mmm, pomello. They're these giant citrus fruits that are kind of sweet, kind of tart, but not overbearing in either of these areas, with a perfectly pulpy consistency that makes feasting on these jumbo grapefruits both pleasurable and satisfying. However, I've been told that too many pomellos (and/or Vitamin C) can cause violent shilshul (diarrhea), which will ruin even a donkey's day.

3. Dragonfruit, also known as pitaya in Hebrew. Dude, we grow those too! I always thought dragonfruit was one of those made up flavors, like blue raspberry or lemon-lime. However, I promise you that it is indeed real as I used to literally eat them for breakfast during the 3-week dragonfruit season last fall. The exterior is spiky and purple, which peals off to reveal what looks like an oversized, radioactive, magenta kiwi. The fruity taste is somewhat understated and hard to describe, but I had some pitaya sorbet from Yotvata on Yom HaAtzma'ut and it pretty much resembled frozen heaven. But I'm pretty sure that if my entire diet consisted of dragonfruit, I'd probably turn purple, or at least my teeth would be permanently stained and then nobody would want to kiss me.

4. Falafel. Nah, too greasy. Plus, nothing compares to Falafel HaGesher (the fast food stand across the parking lot from Merkaz Klitah Ye'elim in Be'er Sheva) so as a falafel-eating donkey, I would be forced to compromise my standards. Next.

5. Dim Sum. A lot of people think dim sum is just a way of eating a fabulous brunch, but I truly believe that dim sum is in fact a way of life. I can say with pure honesty that, given the opportunity to be a donkey, I would indeed choose to dine on dim sum for every meal. And while I'm reluctant to give into obesity before securing myself a husband, my hips are currently under control since Israel hasn't yet embraced the phenomenon of the Chinese dumpling - and as a result I am going through some serious withdrawal. I glare at every beastly feline sauntering down the sidewalk and envision it barbecued, shredded, and stuffed in a bun. All I want is for some kind of animal that feeds on its own waste (on the farm or in the sea) to be salted and wrapped in steamed dough, and then to magically appear in a push-cart in the kibbutz dining hall. Is that really so much to ask? Come on, Jews! A gazillion Chinamen can't be wrong! Isn't it time for Israel to serve me some dim sum?