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Chloe Baker

The Fruits of my Labor and their Invaluable Reward

I was raised on my father’s tales of his days as a kibbutz volunteer, tirelessly harvesting fruit in fields near Eilat. He spoke of cherries and watermelons with reverence, treating them like precious gems destined to be exchanged for something truly significant, like money or jewelry. I could never understand his deep satisfaction in spending countless hours picking fruits. 

Years later, as I reflect on my father’s tales of toiling in the kibbutz fields, I never imagined I myself would have my own set of unique experiences picking and planting fruits and vegetables on various kibbutzim in Eretz Israel. Little did I know that these fields of green would become so special to me, and represent a symbol of true inner peace. 

I first discovered my love for working in the fields during my year in Seminary. Being close to a kibbutz, my friends and I would occasionally help out, surrounded by rows of young avocado trees in the hot Israeli sun. In those moments, I felt a deeper connection to the land and a renewed sense of purpose, reminding me of my father’s stories. 

On our first day, we spent hours carefully scanning each row, laughing and encouraging one another. There were moments I wanted to give up, thinking I might never find the perfect avocado. Yet, like the mitzvah of Shmita teaches us to trust Hashem’s plan, I learned to rely on the land to provide.

The thrill of discovering my first avocado is something I’ll always remember. My big bin was no longer empty. I had something to show for myself—a physical item representing the time I had spent working in the fields. Slowly but surely, my basket began to fill until I could no longer lift it. To me, this was a massive accomplishment. Right in front of my eyes I had a bin of newly acquired assets—my gold coins and diamond necklaces—found in the form of large green ovals from the fields of a kibbutz. That day in the field, I did not just find new avocados, but I also found a new sense of self. A new purpose in the simplest sense. I wasn’t working to impress anyone, or at face value, gain anything. However, in the end, I gained much more than my two hands gave. This experience taught me the definition of real hard work, and that oftentimes, the most rewarding tasks can actually be the simplest ones. 

Two years after my first transformative experience working the land, I didn’t expect to find myself back in the fields again – but life has a funny way of pulling you toward what you need most. This past semester was rough, and I felt an overwhelming need to recharge. Yet, as I was thrown back into the fields during winter break, I quickly learned that real rejuvenation doesn’t come from sitting around passively or isolating yourself from responsibilities or other people. The real rejuvenation I needed came from working the land. I was reminded of the rewarding feelings I once felt in seminary in the avocado fields. Suddenly I began to forget about the stress of receiving my final grades, and focused on the task at hand. It was one of the most zen feelings I have ever experienced. 

As Jews, we don’t have the privilege of isolating ourselves from our responsibilities, especially at a time of war. A Jew always has a part to play and is always being called upon to create meaningful change. That looks different for everyone, but for me, on this “break,” the meaningful change that I and my peers were called on to create took place in various fields in the land of Israel.

Being swallowed by mud in a cabbage patch, planting rows of lettuce, picking carrots straight from the soil, and battling some of the largest weeds I’ve ever seen were just some of the experiences I had this past winter break in Israel. Each one of these instances has left its mark on me and taught me something unique. No past experience prepares you for what the next adventure in the fields could look like. 

When I first worked in the fields during my year in Seminary, the greatest lesson I learned was that the land would eventually provide, and that Hashem would too. I understood that lesson well. But now, as a third year college student recovering from final exams, the act of planting lettuce and picking weeds brought a different lesson to light: when life gets chaotic, the best thing we can do is focus on the task at hand. One action at a time, one line at a time. 

What I love most about working in the fields is the inner peace it brings. There is something incredibly grounding about being in the middle of nowhere, focusing solely on the immediate task—completing the row you’re working on. In that space, there’s nowhere to go, and while thoughts may come and go, eventually, they fade away. You become one with the land, a part of something much bigger than yourself.

Throughout my various experiences working the land, I have harvested more than the physical fruits and vegetables; I have collected precious moments and life-long lessons. Each one is a ripe, unforgettable memory. I now understand my father’s stories in a way I never could as a child. His reverence wasn’t merely for the cherries and watermelons themselves, but for the meaning and purpose they represented. The significance of working the land doesn’t come from the physical reward of the fruits alone, but rather from the life lessons that one becomes equipped with. These lessons were the underlying themes of my fathers stories, and the lessons I have learned through my experiences in the fields are some I am most proud of. The truth is, the fruits of our labor have invaluable reward. 

Note: This piece was originally published in The Yeshiva University Maccabee Review in 2023 and has been updated in 2025 to reflect the writer’s more recent experiences.

About the Author
Chloe Baker is a student at Stern College for Women, majoring in political science and journalism. She has a keen interest in national security, diplomacy, and counter-terrorism. Chloe is the senior opinions editor for The YU Observer and a Writing fellow at CAMERA. She enjoys learning Sefer Tanya, exploring the world around her, and is an enthusiastic fan of manicures. She dreams of one day living on a kibbutz.
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