Porat Weaving and woman of valor — March 1952
If your eyes focus on the woman and the loom, you might imagine yourself in an exotic and authentic market scene. She sits cross-legged and barefoot on the floor, an infant in her lap, her beauty and grace accentuated by heavy jewelry and a flowing abaya. But then the image collides with jarring anachronisms: a crowded tin hut, narrow metal-framed beds crammed tightly together, cooking pots, personal belongings, chickens - and a crawling toddler.
You are not in a North African bazaar, but in the hills of Ephraim, overlooking the Jordanian border and the Arab town of Tulkarm. This is Moshav Porat, a newly established cooperative settlement, home to 90 families from the famed “Cave Dwellers” community of Tripoli, Libya.
For centuries, this Jewish community had lived in relative isolation in North Africa. It remains unclear whether this isolation was voluntary, as a means of evading persecution, or imposed by law. In any case, prior to their immigration to Israel three years ago, approximately 5% lived in caves year-round, while the others used the caves as summer residences. Some were merchants, artisans, or civil servants who lived in well-built houses in addition to their caves.
All 90 families are interrelated, the result of centuries of intra-community marriage. Their mother tongue is Arabic, and those who lived near cities also speak Italian. They are now in the midst of a difficult transition to agricultural life. The Jewish Agency has assigned them a full-time agricultural advisor, yet challenges persist.
Though each family was granted 25 dunams of quality land and a house, farming is hindered by a lack of water infrastructure. While water sources exist nearby, no pipes connect them to the moshav. Even once water arrives, each family will need to pay separately to have it brought to their kitchen. The housing units are identical: bare concrete shells, consisting of four walls and a concrete floor. Even the inner walls of the two bedrooms do not reach the ceiling.
Mrs. Rahamim, a 31-year-old mother of six, recalls: “In our old house with eight rooms, one room was bigger than this entire new home. But we could not stay. They were massacring Jews.”
Every man in Porat serves as a watchman, defending not just his home, but also Israel’s unprotected frontier in this region, which lacks a standing military presence.
The only furniture is foldable beds supplied by the Jewish Agency, covered with thin, worn blankets. Nearby tin shelters - once homes - now serve as storage units, representing the second phase in their immigration. The tents that preceded them serve as a stark reminder of the first stage.
Until the land could be cultivated, women’s weaving became the primary source of income in Moshav Porat. The art of carpet weaving had been practiced by the cave-dwelling Jews since ancient times. Every stage of the lengthy process - washing the wool, dyeing, winding onto spools, and spinning - was done by hand. Even the looms were crafted manually by a village carpenter following a traditional design. The warp threads were nailed to the top, and the weft was threaded by hand, pressed down using a tool resembling a fork. On larger carpets, two women would work simultaneously, side by side, following time-honored patterns.
The carpets typically featured alternating stripes in contrasting colors, with geometric designs at both ends. Young girls, aged eight to ten, were gradually introduced to the craft under the guidance of their grandmothers, who still wove alongside them. After the wool was washed, it was worked with the fingers of the left hand, while being wound onto a large spool held in the right hand. Since spinning wheels were unfamiliar to them, an instructor was sent to teach their use.
The Tripolitanian carpet weavers were first discovered several years prior by a social worker from the Jewish Agency. She approached the WIZO organization to explore possibilities for marketing their carpets, organized production, secured the necessary raw materials, and introduced modern adaptations to better suit consumer tastes. However, the traditional patterns remained intact, with only size and color palettes being adjusted. WIZO’s store was among the first to purchase these authentic works.
The carpets quickly gained popularity, demonstrating their commercial potential. At that point, a small company was formed to promote domestic and international sales, while ensuring continued use of original raw materials. The company’s shareholders were young, enthusiastic individuals who strongly believed in the future of Israeli handcrafts, provided support could be secured during this critical development stage.
Ruth Dayan, a former Jewish Agency social worker, was then in England, researching export opportunities for Israeli crafts while attending professional training courses. The second partner was Arnie Simon, a young Canadian who had immigrated to Israel three and a half years earlier, spent six months on a kibbutz, and later became an economics student at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem.
The third partner was Mr. Rahamim, a tall and dignified man who spoke excellent Hebrew. He served as the general secretary of carpet weaving in Porat, acting as the village’s coordinator - receiving raw materials, distributing them throughout the moshav, and later collecting and forwarding the finished goods. However, in recent months, the situation had become significantly more complex. Locally sourced wool was no longer sufficient for production needs.
Cotton, which was needed to enhance the wool carpets with decorative patterns, had disappeared entirely from the market. It was available only on the black market, where prices were drastically higher. As a result, production costs increased, driving up the price of the carpets. On top of this came heavy government taxes, making domestic sales nearly impossible. The three partners of the “Eshet Chayil” initiative believed that export was the only viable solution. If a significant portion of the output could be exported, Porat would qualify as an exporter, and the government would allocate them wool supplies.
Regardless of the solution, this would not be merely a tragedy for ninety families whose livelihoods were at risk - it would mark the loss of one of Israel’s oldest traditional crafts, a loss irreparable and culturally profound.