Give Peace A Chance

If I’d spell out tales about the hippie festival I participated in over Passover’s weekend it would get tacky. I’m not gonna go romantic about plowed fields washed with fluorescent moon-glow, or describe hundreds of people dancing and sharing stories all night and all day long. It was a freak-show time machine from an era acid was holy water and holy water was wild music, and I Love it. I needed to put aside thoughts of job-hunt and social crudeness, and went all out 150% high on soberness.

Did I find peace in the Northern Negev? No, I didn’t. But neither did I come back into a different time-zone. The ordinary world switched to the summer clock during the days I spent without electricity or running water. There was a hose in the field some 20 mins walk near the festival area, for people to shower together in the open air. Free water, and free Love. This festival was not for everyone, but those it was for could do about anything as long as they didn’t hurt anyone. Giving and Loving and Sharing; sounds venerably naïve, eh? An inch more and I’ll get to the chase.

Following every meal in the Rainbow Gathering, a bunch of wild musicians got up to hop among guests, sing and play the same song over and over again. The chorus went like this: “The more that I give, the more I got to give. It’s the way that I live, it’s what I’m living for.” Dancers and kids joined the musicians with a magic-hat and whoever could, donated some shekels. In a matter of minutes more guests joined the hat-party and celebrations went on for hours every time.

At the end of a three month job-hunt in Tel Aviv (gratefully, during which I did have a gig or two), there was nothing I wished for more than to disappear for a while in an open wilderness. To use the spring’s healing power and Passover’s freedom vibe as leverage. It took me three days to crave the city again; not because I couldn’t handle nature’s quietness, but because wind and fire wouldn’t pay my student loans. Or by local Gypsies: I’m tied by Babylon’s chains.

Some 10 years ago when I rambled Israel with nothing but a Tuba on my back, a sleeping bag and some spaghetti, the Rainbow was a place where old people told me what to do while I was freer than any of them. Today, I’m a part of The Machine, and all the old people are gone. I like those sweet Rainbow rules that keep people from hurting each other. The focus of those who participate today is not strict hippie rules, but caring for and respecting others. In the city, I’ve been missing it a lot lately.

And the theme of this blog – integration in Israel. My good friend from Vancouver used to insist on proofreading my writing every time I had pieces to submit. That’s the way I believe the world should work, he said whenever I wanted to praise him for his unconditional generosity. In Israel I have at least 5 close friends who could proofread my work, but if I ask them for a 20 mins session they stop taking my calls for a week. I can’t blame them; everything seems to be so busy here. It’s a feeling you can only know when you live in a place.

Whenever it comes across that I could use a helping hand here, I see people’s eyes narrow and shrink just a bit into their cavities, and they become defensive. Is it really that hard to give? It doesn’t matter I don’t want anything from them. It doesn’t matter that if they’d lend a hand it would bring them joy and cost nothing. It doesn’t matter that the best way to elevate your own ship is by raising the tide so all ships raise together. In the Rainbow it didn’t matter.

Back when I lived in Los Angeles, things were way different than Vancouver, but also different than Israel too of course. Both in L.A and in Israel I learnt very fast that most people couldn’t care less about you unless it serves their own interests. The difference was that in L.A the first answer was always that it is possible. In Israel the first reaction is usually that it’s not and that it’s hard; difficult is a key word here. What’s wrong with sending people off with a smile on their face?

During my four day long weekend in the desert, giving and sharing was a privilege and a joy. It was the whole point and mindset of this gathering. It could be money for the magic-hat, music to spread with joy, open-hearted stories to share and listen to, or humility, and willingness to help others picking up firewood or working in the kitchen. Honestly, when we face unconditional giving, our hearts open up like care-bears and we start pooping unicorns out of our bellies. It is possible, even if it seems difficult to imagine.

It’s giving that makes the world go round. When I was dropped back off in Tel Aviv, I couldn’t stop smiling. The Rainbow filled me up with pain and hope, which in the city came across as openness and joy. As the song goes, the more that I give the more I got to give. Rainbow is people at their best, said the guy who gave me a ride back from the desert. The Rainbow is volition not a result, I retorted. It’s a losers’ game, he added. We never really win without losing too.