The Promised Land: We Never Promised it Would Be Easy

Let me give you a glimpse into the inner workings of a JVO blogger. As I go about doing my thing, I’m always on the lookout for good blog-worthy topics for JVO. I have a running conversation with myself, weighing and often rejecting blog ideas. Sometimes, I reject a popular, juicy, made-for-the-blogosphere topic because, oh my god, does the world really need another article about the Dov Hikind blackface controversy? (Anyway, John Stewart’s “The War on Purim” summed it up so well, there really is no need to write anything else.)

 

And sometimes I come across something that really pulls at me, something that I just have to write about, even if I’m not really sure what I’m going to say. This is what happened to me last week. I read an article called “How Israel Beat the Drought.” It is a fascinating and informative article about how Israel, a country in one of the driest regions in the world, has essentially ended its water crisis.

 

The water shortage is not over because of the two winters of torrential rain we experienced, but because of something else—conservation and ingenuity. According to Alexander Kushnir, head of Israel’s Water Authority, Israel’s intense, blunt, dramatic conservation campaigns worked, reducing our water consumption by about 10 percent. (I still remember our first vacation up north, seeing a sprawling billboard with the message: “Even in your summer rental in the Galilee, use the smaller handle [to flush].”)

 

But our true salvation lies in the desalinization plants dotting the coast of Israel. Desalinization is, essentially, taking seawater (here, from the Mediterranean) and making it usable. While the Water Authority is cautious to urge Israelis to continue using water conservatively—after all, we do live in a desert—the desalinization plants are an incredible achievement, accounting for about half of Israel’s water source and effectively guaranteeing that when we turn on the taps, something will come out. (Not a foregone conclusion in other Middle Eastern countries).

 

Even recently minted Israelis such as myself felt the effects of the water crisis. Not letting water run while we wash dishes, doing laundry only when we had a full load, filling up the bathtub halfway—saving water was part of our daily lives. We live and breathe water conservation.

 

So it was amazing, and even a little anti-climactic, to hear, “OK, everyone, go home, party’s over, water crisis averted.” It received little fanfare in the press—of course, with our neighbors in a state of war, our government as-yet unformed, and shady stories of suicidal Mossad agents—perhaps it is logical that “Your kids can now each take their own shower” did not receive as much ink.

 

But something about this story grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. What about it is so fascinating? As I pondered, discussing it with myself, I realized that this water story (a story which began well before desalinization, which started in the 1950s, when David Ben-Gurion made the decision to build Israel’s National Water Carrier) reflects the heart and soul of this country.

 

Our land is called the “Promised Land.” Adam and Eve were deposited in the “Garden of Eden.” Yet, this land is far from paradise. The summers are hot, hot, hot. Winter temperatures may not reach the icy coldness of the northern US, but our buildings and infrastructure are not designed for it, so homes and offices can get cold, cold, cold. A great swath of our land is desert, not naturally arable. Water, as we’ve learned, is not plentiful.

 

This, God, is our “Promised Land?” Our “Garden of Eden?” Where are the year-round moderate temps, lush greenery and frozen drinks with little umbrellas?

 

Israel, at first glance, seems anything but promising. But that’s the point, and the beauty, of this land. It does not yield its secrets easily. You have to work to create the beauty, the lushness and the water. In fact, God tells us this in the beginning—when he places Adam in Gan Eden, he says he put him there “l’avdah ul’shamrah” (Gen. 2:15). To work it and to guard it.

 

A desalinization plant, as unromantic and unglamorous as it may seem, is actually the manifestation of God’s words to Adam long ago. We can have this land and all of its beauty, its glory and its treasures, if we are willing to work to find them. This is a paradise—for those who roll up their sleeves and dig deep, who look past the dry desert and envision our promised land. And when we toil to guard and protect it, we are rewarded with breathtaking beauty, fertile farmland and even plenty of water.