Here's why I love going to the ulpan. This weekend marks another holiday, Tu Bishvat. I've heard some people equate it with Arbor Day in the US, since many Israelis go plant trees. But it's more like a fiscal/agricultural new year, the point where devout farmers calculate how much of their harvest they need to tithe. It's a minor holiday — we don't get any vacation — but, my ulpan, in the spirit of elementary schools worldwide, diligently marks all holidays, especially those involving food (which, as far as I can tell, is all of them. Did I mention the sufganiot we were given before Hannukah, and the school assembly — complete with hymns and skits — we had afterward? Great stuff). In the middle of class, the principal of the school personally delivered a tray of dried fruit and nuts, the traditional food of Tu Bishvat (all of which come from trees and bushes — get it?).




I admit this looks a bit like a turd, but it's actually a dried carob bean. It was the highlight of the fruit tray. I always seem to end up reaching for the strangest thing on offer, and this was it today. It tasted oddly familiar, a little waxy but savory, and I couldn't place it until I looked it up in the big dictionary we have at home (the Hebrew word wasn't in my pocket dictionary, and my teacher's description of it was, uh, a bit lacking. I suppose it's assumed that everyone in class is Jewish and therefore are familiar with the details of the holiday).

I have to say, the dried fruit available here is tremendous. The raisins are cheaper than those you get in the States, are three times the size and sweeter. Dates, apricots, prunes — all big, juicy and cheap. Having become addicted to dried fruit as a dessert thanks to the Burrington clan, it's such a treat to have consistently magnificent fruit on hand. And, in general, fresh food here always is incredible. It's no wonder much "authentic" Israeli food is salad. The unusually long growing season and the unusually short distance which fresh food has to travel — at most 150 miles from farm to plate — makes for great quality.

I first realized things were different when, during my first week here, I wanted to eat cucumbers raw. I've never wanted to do that; plain cucumbers are gross. But not these. These are sweet and savory and so good. Hm. I wonder if this is like eating sushi in Japan: it's excellent when you're there, but it prejudices you for the rest of your life. I hope that's not the case. But if it is, well, I think I'll be willing to suffer.