Israeli kibbutz experience still draws lots of overseas volunteers
“Karin Ya’akobi can still smell the bitter stench of decaying orange rinds from the piles of horse feed that greeted her the night she arrived at Kibbutz Kfar Masaryk in 1979.
“I get up in the middle of the night and I still smell the orange peels,” Ya’akobi said, noting that the rotting fruit odors were a stark contrast to the spotlessness of her native Sweden.
“Then they put us in these houses made of asbestos, but we had the best time in our lives. We didn’t understand; I didn’t know what Israel was.”