Dear Kibbutzniks Part 1.

Dear Kibbutzniks,
So I realise that we volunteers come and go from your lives like tides. We stay at your home for a few months, make a few mistakes and leave. We're usually far from our families and our friends, we're usually female, and we're usually under twenty-five. Hell, most times we're still in our teens.
I understand that on a Kibbutz volunteers have pretty much the social status of, let's say, I don't know, rats. Attractive rats. Attractive rats that you guys want to fuck. So maybe that metaphor isn't working. Maybe it is. After all, you're all so pushed for variation in the female population here you'd probably screw a rat. If it was big enough. And maybe even if it wasn't.
In my time here -which may be brief if someone actually reads this, but hey, I'm really not holding my breath for that to eventuate- I've come to accept that you think of us volunteers in three ways. Sure, there are some exceptions, I'm not dismissing your entire community, just the majority. It's a generalisation; that's pretty much what I do.
1) Slaves: we do the shit work you don't want to do. Packing your fruit, cleaning your toilets and your dishes, making your food. Those kind of things. I'm okay with this. It's fine. I didn't come to a Kibbutz thinking, wow, I'll finally be treated like the princess I really am inside. Jolly Jeepers I'll sleep on beds made with fine linen and bake myself in the sun until I resemble a well rested leather hand bag. No. I came to a Kibbutz well aware of the fact I'd work like a dog, sleep on a metal-framed bed with a chip-wood base, communal sheets and some kind of bug infestation that keeps me up at night. Well rested I am not.
2) Disposable Vaginas: what a beautiful world you live in. Maybe you should explain the never ending round-about of vaginas that come into it to the Palestinians. Who needs forty-seven virgins and a bad case of "Mum I just exploded myself" when you have a constant flow of vulnerable young females coming into your life? Did I just solve the middle east crisis? I think maybe I did.
3) Potential Gene-Pool Diversifiers: Hey, I just made up a word. Good for me. Anyhoo. Kibbutzim are small communities. The families here are old. The gene pool must be shallow. So here we come, ready to live the Kibbutz dream. Maybe we'll fall in love with a long-haired, Fabio-like apple picker who'll teach us the joys of the simple life and make love to us under apple trees or some such shit. We're willing, we're ready, and you're waiting in the wings for the standards to drop until any man capable of speaking in full sentences with both verbs and nouns seems to have the verbal skills of John fucking Keats. And then you strike. Wham! Six months later we find ourselves imprisoned by perpetual teenagers, probably impregnated, and looking at a long -long- prospect free future where the skills we've learned in the actual real world don't mean dick. Yippee! Sign me up.

Sincerely,
Helenahandbasket