PJ Media

As I tend to my beehives on this late summer afternoon, I can’t help but think that this simply has be the perfect hobby for anyone who likes to sneak away from it all a few times a month.

The truth is, making the rounds of my hives shouldn’t be all that time consuming since I really don’t have that many. But my small bee-yard’s setting in a pretty meadow overlooking a cherry orchard and that makes it terribly tempting to dawdle and stretch out the time I spend here.

Between checking each hive, I sit down in the tall grass and watch the worker bees come and go on their endless foraging flights. I often bring a snack and a cold drink with me to enjoy while watching my bees at work.

What’s funny is that my kids have also figured out that, beyond the necessary labor of lifting the heavy honey supers and checking the health and arrangement of the bee colony in each hive, there is an attractive element of lazy escapism in their father’s quirky hobby. It’s gotten to the point where they now argue over who will get to come help me on any given outing to visit the bees.

One of the things I’ve been pondering on this particular late summer trip is how perfectly timed the honey harvest is, falling just before Rosh Hashanah.

Of course the bees have no idea that their honey – a year ’round treat for most – will be especially in demand in Jewish homes in a few days. Yet, the culmination of their spring and summer labors seems perfectly timed to ensure our holiday tables are well stocked with sweet amber honey.

One of my secular Israeli friends once gave me – his religiously observant buddy – a good natured prod by saying that the custom of dipping apple slices into honey for a sweet new year is simply the result of chance. He said that if our tribal ancestors had wandered in the tropics for 40 years rather than the desert, we’d be heralding the New Year with sugar cane and pineapple rather than apples dipped in honey. It is only the convenient abundance of honey during the end of Israel’s seasonal cycle that has made it an obvious holiday symbol for sweetness.

If I were of a mind to be mischievous, I’d have asked my friend how exactly one draws the line between chance and G-d.

But so many religiously motivated wars have been fought within sight of where I tend my hives that I simply smiled and decided to let my friend think he’d won the point.

For my part, I’m happy just sitting in the grass and accepting what my bees have to offer without looking too closely at the possible religious implications. After all, does it really matter to the sincere wishes of both religious and non-religious people that the coming year be just a little better than the one we’ve left behind?

Most Israelis I know, regardless of their religious leanings, are tickled to receive a jar of my honey for the holidays.

The most secular Israeli understands the message and is completely comfortable with its symbolism.

How that honey comes to be on our Rosh Hashanah table is what has brought me to this terraced hillside in my veiled white suit.

“The job of the beekeeper is to give the bees a lot of space to do what they would normally do if left alone in more modest quarters.”

These were the first words I heard from the Israeli beekeeper who would end up mentoring me through the learning process of this odd hobby. He explained that the only limits to how much honey a hive could produce were the number of bees in the colony… the amount of nectar-producing plants in the immediate area… and the amount of space you give your bees to build their combs.

One of my friends once asked me if it wasn’t cruel to steal the bee’s honey when they’d worked so long and hard to make it. I answered that I would never dream of taking all the honey from my bees. That would indeed be a cruel reward for all their hard work.

It’s the bumper crop of honey that I’ve tricked them into putting in my honey supers that I take at the end of the summer. I always make sure to leave the bees with more than enough honey to see them comfortably through the worst possible winter.

After all, even though my bees – like my secular friends – may view the passing of seasons somewhat differently than I do … we’re all entitled to a sweet New Year.

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David Bogner, formerly of Fairfield, CT, lives in the West Bank city of Efrat. Since moving to Israel in 2003, David has worked in marketing in Israel’s defense industry. David blogs at Treppenwitz and is an amateur beekeeper .