Whatever you are, be a good one

For kibbutznikim, hard work isn’t just a value—it’s an identity.

Stemming from a leftover pillar of communism, the belief persists that if you give your best, that is enough. You may be an engineer, but your job means little if you aren't giving your all.

The thought is that everyone’s capabilities differ, but that doesn’t devalue them as a person.

If an individual does their best in any job—whether it's a high-value profession or a so-called "unskilled" task—members are expected to give their own personal version of 100%.

I assume that when the kibbutz was small, homogenous, and focused on survival, this ideology was easier to embrace. Everyone had a place, and work needed to be done regardless of the skill level of the task or the individual. 

You’re a pilot?

Cool. The kids' diapers need cleaning and everyone else is trying to kill malaria. 

Everybody's got to put in those diaper-changing hours...

But today? We no longer live in this echo chamber built on survival. People don’t want to do the manual or low-skilled labor necessary for a community to function. 

And I, as an advent follower of Mr. Moneybags, definitely did not want to ruin my resume by working in the cow farm. 

But alas, the kibbutz saw my free-market loving aura and decided that I needed to learn a bit about work. 

So, my adventures in the dining hall began… 

The Dining Hall Diaries

For the kibbutz, effort was the measure of value. For me—a self-proclaimed ‘capitalistic princess’—this was a hard pill to swallow.

Up until that moment, my life had been a careful ladder of experiences, each rung chosen to impress some future employer I hadn’t even met. Side hustles, internships, and work experiences, my days needed to be a tactical trajectory towards middle-class success. 

So, when they assigned me to the dining hall, saying I was unhappy would be an understatement.

For context, the communal dining hall is open almost seven days a week, with three meals a day. It was dirty, smelly, and manual labor. And it started at 5 AM.  

What section of the CV does this even go under?

Essentially, I was miserable and I hated everyone. 

Except for the workers.

The employees of the dining hall were a diverse group of individuals: Bedouins from the village nearby, second generation Ethiopians, and Druze. Very few workers were from the kibbutz, and since I left the dining hall, there is almost none. 

The dining hall employees may not be kibbutz members, but they knew all of the tea about the kibbutz. The gossip, the drama, they knew better than anyone about how the kibbutz was run, and they had wonderful relationships with all of the kibbutz members.

Their camaraderie with each other and with their customers was palpable. 

They were the most dedicated workers I have ever met.

They worked night shifts, morning shifts, during their holidays, and over their fasts. They were never late and I never heard them complain.

Unlike me… 

While any shoulder brush or passive aggressive comment would give me a small aneurysm, they would brush it off with a smile. When I doled out exaggerated eyerolls and annoyed huffs from any strange request, they provided patient service. I was judgmental, even appalled, but they were always there to meet me with a joke and support. Where I brought entitlement, they brought grace. Where I felt trapped, they found dignity

They did what they needed to do, and what’s more, they smiled.

We all spoke a mishmash of languages, but we managed to have fun together and understand each other. 

The workers in the dining hall made it so that I didn’t even hate coming in. They were a group that accepted me when I couldn’t accept myself, and were kind to me when the world felt upside down. 

They embodied the kibbutz spirit: whatever you are, be a good one without even having to be kibbutz members. 

The Changing 100%

I am not going to pretend I enjoyed working in the dining hall, because I really didn’t. I had some hard and unpleasant experiences and encounters that to this day frustrate me. 

But I can say that like with many life experiences, I gained unexpected insights. Such as: perhaps, the American and hyper capitalistic need to professionally advance comes at a high cost. 

While us capitalists are looking for the next step in the ladder, we lose compassion for ourselves. 

There is something so forgiving in the idea that today, I am giving my current 100%. The job doesn’t define me. It’s simply what I’m doing right now, for reasons that are valid.

Whether it’s to be closer to home, motherhood, learning a new language, or any other legitimate life occurrence, the hustle of professional advancement sometimes leaves little space for self-compassion.

 It’s even harder to accomplish when employers are looking for 90 years of senior level experience on the basis of a resume, without any of the empathy that might be necessary to consider talented candidates. 

There is something beautiful about valuing someone’s achievements in comparison to themselves, and not to the market. That while you were working at some "lower-skilled" labor, such as the dining hall, you did a great job and that was enough. 

This is what I can give in the moment, but it doesn’t define me as a person. My resume and work experience are just a list of my best efforts. They might not be shiny and impressive, but they did give me value. 

And what’s amazing about life is that your 100% is always changing. At the dining hall, I learned to smile when I didn’t want to, and to find fun in a job that had absolutely no career progressing significance. 

13 years later, my 100% today may look very different, but it’s still based on the same foundation. Put me anywhere, give me any task, and I will give it my best effort.

I’m there to work.

However, this self-compassion is a privilege.

I can be forgiving of myself because I do not have to worry about putting food on my table. I do not have to look 5 years down the road to get a certain standard of living that will provide for my family.

I have my kibbutz safety net, which will take care of all my needs regardless of my income. 

I have 6 Coursera courses open right now… 

Thirteen years later, I’m still chasing my shifting 100%—though now it looks less like scrubbing trays and more like opening six Coursera tabs I may never finish…

So, based on my experiences, which system is right: socialism or capitalism? 

Unfortunately, I still don’t know the answer. I still wake up at night sometimes with the pressure of finding relevant experience, building blue prints for my future profession(s) with delusional upskilling and courses I will never finish.

(I have somehow convinced myself that I still have the chance of becoming an astronaut if I just finish this online physics course). 

It's not gonna happen...

And while I sometimes miss the dining hall’s quiet dignity, I know that’s no longer my 100%. 

It’s a really hard balance. Hustle vs acceptance, earning a living vs actually living. 

In addition, there are other things to consider :work-life balance, friends, hobbies, and ambitions which are totally healthy to have. Encouraged, even! 

So, whatever you are in this moment, I hope you are a good one. And while the horizon may look blurry from where you stand, right now—you are enough.