Bmakom shein anashim, hishtadel lihiyot ...a tractor man

Unfortunately today Israel appears to be in a constant state of danger; the rise of Hamas, the threats of Iran and the international pressure on the government to continue to make painful unilateral concessions in the name of the dream of a future peace. Sitting here in New York City I find myself often steaming over my morning paper frustrated by my distance and inability to help, and terrified as to the future of my beloved country.

However, I take strength in my personal experience from a couple of summers ago, when I spent six weeks in Israel, in midst of the Israeli-Lebanese War. This experience and lesson can best be personified by two words: “Tractor Man.”

Need a little more explanation? Let me tell you a little story…


About a week before I was leaving back to the States for the summer, a few friends finally managed to drag me away from my work to take a nice day tiyul out to Ein Gedi. The day started out simply enough. We packed up food, plenty of water and actually managed to get on the right bus.

The only question was where to get off.

Realizing we were approaching Ein Gedi, we consulted the bus driver who informed us that we had in fact missed our stop. In typical Israeli bus driver manners, he let us off at the next stop with no other instructions as to how to find our way to the hiking sites. No matter, being the resourceful women that we were, we headed to the information booth at the gas station across the highway. Having consulted a map on the side of the booth, roughly equivalent to a schoolchild’s drawing, we started walking along the highway confident we had figured out the way.

Then the shoulder to the highway disappeared. Then it started to turn uphill. Note to self: walking alongside of a busy highway, in middle of the day, in the Israeli sun: not a good idea.

Having hiked for over twenty minuets with no nature reserve in sight, we collapsed under the first semblance of shade, unsure as to our next step. We realized we clearly had misjudged the direction, but could hardly fathom turning around and heading down that hill again. Tired and confused, we just sat for the moment.

And then he came… “Tractor Man”

We saw him from a distance. A dark skinned, skinny man in a big floppy hat, driving down the hill in his tractor. Despite every warning from my parents not to talk to strangers, I flagged him over to the side of road. The minute he began to speak I really started to worry. In a high pitch, almost girly voice, with a thick Middle Eastern accented Hebrew he asked me- “pretty, pretty girls, why are you sitting on the side of the road? Pretty girls are you lost?” However sketchy this man looked and sounded, beggars can’t be choosers and we were in desperate need of some help, so I stood along the side of the highway and explained our situation to Tractor Man.

With a big smile Tractor Man explained that we “pretty girls” had managed to walk about 2 kilometers uphill in the wrong direction, but no worries, he would save us. He said he had seen many lost tourists in the area, but so many people mistook him for an Arab that they would not stop him for help until they were desperate. But, as we pretty, pretty girls were so nice and sweet- he would save us. And save us he did. He gave us a large bottle of ice water and drove off down the hill in his tractor, only to return ten minutes later with his truck which we all piled into. Not only did he drive us over to Ein Gedi nature reserve, he actually took us to an ancient Synagogue which was in the area and attempted to entreat the cashier to give us an exclusive tour of the area.

Interesting story - but not seeing the relevance?

We never expected our “savior” to come riding in to the sunlight on a beaten tractor, but despite the off putting appearance and mannerisms, Tractor Man was a sweet man just looking to help a fellow person out of a jam.

In short, things aren’t always how they first appear.

The same holds true to what the situation was in Israel that summerl, as well as in general. The first week of the war, my mom called me up and insisted that she was watching “Israel go up in flames” on television. This was not a single perception of the matzav, but a consensus of the numerous friends and colleagues who were concerned enough to call and email to check up on me.

And truth, while I knew that even as I sat in my dorm, my classroom or my office in Yerushalyem, katushas and kassam rockets were falling just miles away in the northern and southern regions of the country, I could easily forget at the same time. Day to day life in most of Israel had continued just as it had days, weeks and months before the war broke out. Each day I waited with my 8:30 bus crew for the sluggish 21 bus to make its way to our stop. Each morning I picked up my chocolate milk from the makolet by my think tank If it weren’t for the nature of my work which had me examining Middle Eastern policy and international politics, I could have easily gone the summer oblivious to what was happening and leading an enjoyable summer vacation. However odd and inconceivable that may sound based on the images that were flashing across the international media, pictures sometimes are deceiving. Even in a state of war, Yerushalyem remained a quiet safe haven, far removed from the violent and terrifying images people perceived.

At the same time, the peaceful image, or perhaps mirage that we constructed for ourselves living in Israel that summer, also was not the reality. While the pictures on television were a distant threat, the war hit home with many of us on a very personal level as the summer progressed. Other than my boss, there was just one other worker, Shlomo, in my office. Though a constant annoyance with his teasing and tendency to randomly break out into a “Bob Dylan classic,” he was always there to help, entertain, or simply serve as a distraction. One day I was in the office and in desperate need of some help, totally stumped on my project, but Shlomo was no where to be found and was not answering his phone. My boss walked in about midday with the simple announcement that Shlomo was called up reserve duty in Lebanon. By the end of the summer I had four friends serving in the army, four amazing guys who had to put their life on hold, and in danger to help protect our country.

And as the summer progressed my 21 bus was no longer just filled with weary passengers traveling to and from work, but with families with their belongings packed high in an assortment of rag tag luggage- duffel bags, pocket books, trash bags. Families fleeing from the North swarmed into Yerushalayem, filling empty dormitories on campuses such as the Yeshiva University campus in Bayit Vegan with whatever they could carry. I was lucky enough to befriend an amazing and special family from Tzfat, which was forced to flee after having spent two weeks in a bomb shelter. This family of seven kids was overwhelmed when they were welcomed into a simple 3 bedroom apartment, and was insist ant that they needed only one room for their use and others families could move into the rest of the apartment. As I got to know Reut, Yehudit, Bat – El and the rest of the family, I realized that however peaceful and unaffected my summer was in spite of the war, many others were not as lucky.

Things are not always what they seem, and it’s our responsibility to look past the obvious and attempt to recognize what is really there. Perhaps as students with little income and less free time, we don’t appear to be the ones who can help pull Israel through this tough time. But maybe, just maybe, each one of us can be a Tractor Man and help put Israel and our fellow effected Jews back on the right course towards a more peaceful and serene future. We each can do our part, making our own contributions, whether it is through prayer, political action or simple words of support to those in Israel today. Don’t let appearances fool you, each one of us can have a powerful impact in our own small way.

Each one of us can be a Tractor Man for those lost on the side of a busy highway.