Category: Israel

Ingredients
1 liter of goat milk
1 spoonful of yogurt
50 ml of 5% vinegar
1 teaspoon of salt

1.  Take 1 liter of 85-90 degree goat milk and put it into a bowl.

I am breathless. You ask me why, but I am too excited to tell you. You clap your hands in front of my face, but I won’t blink. You push me with all of your might, but I won’t move. Because standing in front of me is about twenty goat babies that are small enough to pick up.

2. Add a spoonful of yogurt to the milk. Mix.

I stick my hand in front of the first one I see and it rubs its head against my fist. I pet its back, and it steps closer to me. I gasp as it starts chewing on my hair, but I let it continue. It barely has teeth anyways. I stand up, but obviously, the goat doesn’t want me to leave, because it jumps up onto its hind legs and puts its front ones on mine. I almost shout out in glee but catch myself in time. I don’t want to leave, but I see more eager goat babies waiting, and I regretfully let go.

3. Add 50 ml of 5% vinegar to the mix. Let it sink.

The first place that I go after that is the baby goat playground. It is made up of a wooden platform about five inches off the ground, two wheelbarrows which hold hay, a bucket full of hay, and an old desk. There are six more goats prancing or laying down on the playground, and I stand next to the one in the corner. I put out my finger and start petting it with my other hand. This one sucks my pointer finger in a soothing way, as it has no teeth. I start standing up but slip a little bit, and end up crouched on the floor. The baby goat jumps onto my back.

4. Mix very gently pulling in to the middle until it is all one clump.

I screech. The goat releases its pressure and plops down on my back. Then I laugh. Two more goats come over and all three are now either gnawing on my phone pouch, pants, or shoelace. While my sister is getting this all on camera, I fight to catch my breath. Finally, I use all of my strength and stand up, my sweater covered in dirt and dust. I stick my finger out so they would suck on that, and so my pants would not end up in the kid’s stomachs, and I laugh at how the day is going so far.

5. Drain out as much of the liquid left over as possible.

As I brushed myself off, the farm worker asks my family if we want to see how the goats are milked. Everyone eagerly says yes. Everyone except for me. “I don’t want to leave the baby goats.” So everyone heads off in the other direction as I get back to becoming part of the dirt. There is a game the goats and I like to play. It doesn’t have a name. Instead, it has a feeling. Actually, a few. Joy, surprise, awe, and so many more. It goes like this: the goats start chewing up anything they can find on me. Every time I am overcome by cuteness. In about five minutes, I fear that my clothes will not be there anymore when we get back, so I pull away from the baby goats. They gallop over to me, and the goats try to pull me down so they can reach my ponytail. Most of the time, they don’t succeed. Sometimes they do. And other times, I plop down myself so one of them will lay on my back.
After we have played the game about five times, I get curious. I am a curious person. I wanted to see how they milked the mama goats, and if we could do it ourselves. So I brush myself off and start walking towards the milking station.

6. Add a teaspoon (or according to taste) of salt and very gently mix in again. Pour out the rest of the water.

I don’t know exactly where I am going. I barely even know what I am looking for. All I can do is head in the direction that I saw my parents walking in. It doesn’t take long to find them though. They are not standing next to anything I would imagine. The thing they use to milk the goats is a machine and a big one. The farm worker sees me and smiles. As I near, she tells me how the mama goats came through a door in the morning, they got connected to suctions. The milk comes out with a gentle pull. I study it from all sides and then run back to the baby goats, as I figured that it couldn’t hurt to play a little more.

7.  Add a teaspoon (or according to taste) of salt and very gently mix in again.

One of the amazing qualities of this goat farm is that they treat the goats better than commercial farms. They contribute to this cause by letting the babies and the mamas be together. he moms are in four separate big cages, broken up by age, and with more than enough space for all of them. The separation between the wood that holds it up is about one foot, large enough for the babies to go through, but not the moms. That way, the babies can roam wherever they want, and still be with their moms at any time.

8. Pour out the rest of the water.

I play with the kids some more, not knowing that in twenty minutes, I will get a surprise. And it comes in the form of a herd. Twenty minutes have now passed, and about five people have joined me to see the goats. Finally, the person who they were waiting for arrives. He is carrying a bucket full of something that looks like a mixture of corn, hay, and cat food. Every one of the goat’s perks their ears up, and at the same time, stampedes to the outer edge of their pen. That is when I put the puzzle pieces together: it’s food time.

9. Put in a grid container, and keeping it in the container, place it in a Tupperware. (The Tupperware catches the excess liquid.)

A dog comes running in, obviously excited for the most eventful time of the day. All of the baby goats are either milking, playing with me, snuggling with their moms, or playing amongst themselves. More than half were outside the mama goat yard. The dog will soon change that. He starts running around the yard, nipping at the baby goats’ tails as they sprint to get to their mothers. After five minutes of this, there are only a few brave kids left. They are running around, either trying to find their mothers or maybe taunting the dog for not being able to catch them. I don’t know which. After all of the goats are finally in their pen, the guy with the bucket steps up and starts pouring the food into the trough. The goats are ready to eat. The grown-ups eat the whole variety, but the babies only eat the cat-food-like stuff, and the older ones can have the hay. I take a few pictures and run to show them to my family.

10. Let it sit for one hour.

After I show them the pictures, I have to go back to my baby goats. They are still not fully recovered from the dog chasing them around, so they are not quite as playful as before. But one of them seems untouched and is the brave one who gallops over to me and starts rubbing her head against my knee. None of the others comes over, but I am perfectly content with just this one ball of cuteness. Then my sister steps in to play. Only that is not what she is here for.
“We have to leave,” she says.
I stop petting the kid, and my chin juts out.
“I don’t want to leave,” I exclaim.
“Well, mom and dad and I want to, so if you don’t want to come with us, that is alright, but you will have to catch a taxi back to our hotel.”
“Mom wouldn’t leave me.”
“But I would.”
“I am not coming.”
My sister rolls her eyes and starts walking towards the car and shouts one final thing.
“I am eating all of the goat milk butterscotch if you don’t come soon!”
I was in the car within the next five minutes.

11.  Take the cheese out from its container, and lay it on a plate.

I looked out my window and said goodbye to all of the goats that made me smile. I didn’t know I could, but I managed to smile at the ranch, and glare at my sister all in one look. I knew I would miss the ranch. Its people and goat cheese and animals. I knew it would be my favorite part of Israel. But you can’t come back if you never leave. So goodbye goat barn, until we meet again.

12. You are ready to eat.