Okay, it wasn’t that Moses, but so rare is it in Israel to have someone call themselves Moses instead of “Moshe”, that when our elderly winery owner introduced himself to us, for an instant I summoned up a vision of Charlton Heston and the Ten Commandments. He then went on to serve us tea and cookies, and the spell was broken.
A week ago Ben and I signed up to join a group of volunteers going to help out at a small family vineyard located “somewhere in the Judean Hills”. This was particularly appealing to us since it would be outdoors, it involved wine, and there would be a bus that would pick up volunteers from two locations: one not too far from me, and one right around the corner from him. What could be more perfect?
The first pick up (mine) was at 6:45 a.m. and we were sternly advised to be there early, since the bus WOULD NOT WAIT. And because we were all Anglos, we naturally complied, with lots of time to spare. The bus duly pulled up at 6:45, we got on, and the bus went nowhere. We waited. Why? Because the Israeli organizer was late. Of course he was.
From there the trip went smoothly; we picked up the rest of the group at Ben’s location, proceeded south and east, and eventually pulled up at the entrance to … Britannia National Park? Were we lost? The bus driver thought so, and would go no further. This set the tone for the rest of our time with him. Even by Israel’s standards, he was exceptionally uncooperative. Phone calls ensued, and eventually a rattletrap of an old station wagon appeared — driven by Moses himself — and it led the bus up a long entry road and into the park, through a modest parking lot, towards another smaller road leading down a hill. The bus driver put on the brakes again. Too narrow, too steep. No matter that Moses had welcomed many buses before. There followed more phone calls, more drama, and eventually he was persuaded to continue — but not all the way of course. So we got out and followed the station wagon on foot for the last few hundred meters, down into four small vineyards tucked unto a pretty valley which, for all we knew, might have been part of Britannia Park. Here we met Moses and his son.
To our disappointment there was no winery in sight. It turns out that it is located in a nearby Moshav, where they craft about 3,000 bottles of red wine per year. The vineyards themselves are scattered about and are home to three varietals: Petit Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot. Below you can see Ben in front of some Petit Syrah , looking more and more Israeli every day.
We could see right away that the grapes had already been harvested, and the vines pruned, so it was not immediately obvious what we would be doing. We found it was very simple work, taking down the two levels of wires (hence the gloves) that had held the vines upright. (As the vines start to regrow they will be reinstalled.) Afterwards there was a bit of heavier work to do, pulling up irrigation hoses that had been grown over.
It seemed to me that the grass was unusually high between the vines which made it a bit of a challenge to actually find the irrigation hoses. Moses explained that it had been some time since the Bedouin had come by with their sheep and goats, who usually take care of keeping the place tidy. But we noticed them later, eating their way in our direction.
We were a pretty big group, so we made short work of our assigned tasks. As the organizers pondered our next move, Moses’ wife Dalia arrived to offer us more cookies. In some ways the two of them are a quintessential Israeli couple; his family fled Romania after the war, her family was expelled from Yemen, and here they are knitting the north and south diaspora back together.
Since small wineries are not the most profitable of ventures, Dalia has worked outside the business, including as a tour guide; so she had a wealth of knowledge about the area. She gave us a little talk, part of her way of thanking the volunteers for coming.
Past these vines, in the distance, you can see a flat topped hill. This is Tel Azekah, now an archeological excavation. In the past, its elevated location made it an excellent site for a fortified town, which is exactly what it was, off and on, since the Bronze Age, some 5,000 years ago. I say “off and on” because as the armies of numerous empires swept through the area, the town was destroyed and rebuilt many times.
The ancient Judean town of Azekah guarded the Elah valley which you can see to its right. It was there that young David, still a shepherd, slew the giant warrior Goliath with a single slingshot, in one of those epic adventures that led him to become the most famous King of Israel.
Dalia also told us that archeological work has uncovered evidence that grapes have been grown for wine in this very area, at least since the Bronze Age. And since I like to bring a story full circle, I welcomed her reminder that when Moses (the biblical one) sent scouts into the promised land — perhaps to this very spot — they came back with a single cluster of grapes so large it took two men to carry it. Forget milk and honey — there would be wine!
Back to the point of our visit, which was to help Moses and Dalia, our organizer conferred with the two of them and it was decided that we would get back on the bus and they would take us to another of their vineyards for a further couple of hours of work. This was fine with us. Personally, I was hoping these vineyards might be close to the winery, since one of my goals of the day was to actually buy some of their wine, for completely altruistic reasons of course.
We walked up the road to the waiting bus and its driver — ah yes…the bus driver — a factor that had been overlooked in this “other vineyard” plan. Needless to say he did not exactly embrace this change of plans. In fact he outright rejected it. On what basis I do not know. More discussion followed, then a call to the bus company. Moses and Dalia tried to intervene, and finally someone else showed up to try and talk sense into him. Since this was all in Hebrew and Arabic we did not exactly get the direction in which all this was going, but eventually we were told to get on the bus, and off we went — back up the narrow road, through the parking lot, along the park exit road for another 500 metres, at which point we came to a stop. We were still in the park.
There would be no more vineyards that day; that much was clear. On the other hand, we weren’t leaving right away either; so we sat at some picnic tables in the clearing, and chatted with the other volunteers. Dalia and Moses went off somewhere in their station wagon and when they came back, it was with a picnic! I honestly cannot say enough nice things about this couple and their hospitality.
Our Moses is here on the right. (I am on the left in the pink hat.) Dalia, sadly, is not in view. They brought us olives, and two kinds of pita sandwiches; one stuffed with cheese and one with a special tuna and egg salad recipe from Moses’ aunt’s diner in New York. (Apparently it was famous.) And there was wine. Yes! Their own wine, from their own vineyards. Perhaps a bit too early in the day, but that was our bus driver’s fault.
The wine was delicious. The volunteers were great. Our hosts were a delight. The surrounding biblical history was fascinating. And despite his best efforts our driver did not ruin the day — but he did cost Moshe and Dalia two hours of our work.
To make it up to them, Mike and I will, at the first opportunity, visit the winery and purchase copious amounts of wine. It’s the least we can do.
Fabulous writing, Lil, and great photos! Thank you for introducing us to Moses and Dalia and the grumpy bus driver. I felt like I was right there.
What a story, and so typical. A happy ending is almost always to be had, if one has the attitude of gratitude, which you clearly do, and a large dose of PATIENCE!!