My Ladyfinger

This morning, as I made my way to the greenhouses, I was filled with a sudden joy.

I am the man who, here in the heart of the Negev Desert, has sown, nurtured, and raised with my own hands that which thousands of people all over the world put on their tables. I told myself this with no little pride.

My chest swelled in the purified air. As they do every day, the vanilla-hued dunes reared skyward in the same place, soft and crisp, and my hand lifted to wave hello to them. A light breeze toyed with their grains of sand.

Yesterday, I promised the children we would go out in the afternoon to enjoy some sand surfing. I love to hear their joyful cries echoing in the silence of the desert. To my ears, it is the sound of poetry. We returned to the house just before evening, out of breath and filled with the happiness of a day spent with loved ones. Yes, I envy my children’s youth, while, at the same time, I congratulate myself for having made some correct choices in my life.

Most of the time, this entire expanse, this desert, is ours alone. Hikers come here only during the holiday season, which is when the army removes the checkpoints from the border road and reinforces its patrols across it.

In this primordial landscape, I, Eytan Kahan – who, a mere nine years ago, was a city dweller working as a food products importer – have managed to grow, using hydroponics, a unique strain ofgourd, called...