Watching the sunset from a lookout near Bat Ayin, a small yishuv in Gush Etzion, I was overcome by the sheer beauty of the landscape. Below me, the red-roofed homes of the yishuv were arrayed against the colorful hues of the sky, and in the distance, other yishuvim lay scattered among the brush-covered hilltops. On the horizon, the waters of the Mediterranean Sea sparkled.
I was on an outing in Gush Etzion, sweet memories floating in my mind of when I had called this place home. What an incredible zechut (privilege) it is to live and breathe the air of our holy land. In fact, in this week’s parsha, Va’etchanan, the tremendous importance of Eretz Yisrael is conveyed by the 515 prayers of Moshe Rabbeinu as he pleaded with Hashem to enter the Land. Now, having finished the Three Weeks of mourning over the Beit Hamikdash’s destruction and our national exile, let’s take its message to heart. The initial cause that led to this catastrophic period was the negative reports of the Spies upon their return from Eretz Yisrael. Let us correct that disastrous mistake by sharing some holy highlights of real life in Israel in our times.
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One of my favorite songs in the gan (preschool) where I worked this past year had me recalling my former tremping (hitchhiking) days, when I lived in Gush Etzion. The song, “Anashim Tovim Be’emtza Haderech, Good People in the Middle of the Road,” speaks about coming across kind, helpful people as we go out and about. Although I’m sure many would wonder about the safety element in tremping, in truth, citizens living in the Gush and other areas of the country where public transportation is limited rely heavily on tremping to get around; there is simply no other choice. Indeed, although I am now the grateful owner of a Mazda, I will always have a nostalgic view of my tremping days and the multitudes of chasadim (kindnesses) I encountered along my way.
Take, for example, the time I was waiting at Tzomet HaGush, the large junction in Gush Etzion that is the appointed and guarded spot for taking and offering rides. The driver of a large pickup truck pulled up alongside the bus stop and offered a ride to Yerushalayim. A man at the Tzomet climbed into the front, and after a quick hesitant look at the driver, I climbed into the back. According to the “rules” of tremping, trempees are to sit quietly: that is, no talking on your cell phone. As we approached Yerushalayim, the driver’s phone started to ring. He took the call, putting it on loudspeaker, and I heard a woman’s voice carry on a brief conversation in English. It suddenly dawned on me that the woman was a student at the midrasha where I was working, and I was getting a ride from her chatan! Before leaving his truck, I made sure to tell my friend’s chatan what a lucky guy he was, and I later told my friend what a mentch of a man she was marrying!
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Another time, I was patiently waiting at the Tzomet with a friend for a tremp to get back to Bat Ayin. As is common, cars stopped, rolled down their windows, and called out to the people where they were going. Priority is given to those waiting first to hop into the car offering a ride. As I stood there scanning the road, a couple of teens crossed the street, and one wearing a cowboy hat approached us and asked if we were going to Bat Ayin. After answering in the affirmative, I was pretty surprised, to say it nicely, when he then asked me how old I was! Not sure what he was up to, I gave him a guarded look and asked him what he wanted. He quickly explained to me – convincingly, almost pleadingly – that his family car was parked in the lot across the street, but since he only had his learner’s permit, he could only drive with an adult above a certain age. After verifying that he really had his permit and that he knew how to drive, I figured why not do him a favor and allow him to do me a favor in return by getting me home. “Mr. Cowboy” turned out to be a good driver, and I returned home with a warm feeling of the joys of living in our homeland, where we’ll all one big family!
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Probably my biggest tremping adventure occurred when my friend and I ventured out to the burial spot of Eli Hakohen in ancient Shilo for the hilula (yahrtzeit). I had seen a post about visiting the burial spot and felt inspired for some meaningful davening at the ancient holy site. It was a rainy winter evening, and as we boarded the bus, I wondered about the probability of us managing to get to Shilo, find the location, and return to Yerushalayim. As we headed north towards the West Bank, I approached the driver and asked him Where to find ancient Shilo. He told me which stop to get off, but when I explained we wanted to reach the burial spot of Eli HaKohen, he told us we were better off alighting from the bus sooner, visiting a cafe for a drink, and heading back to Jerusalem. He insisted that the site would be full of botz, mud, and impassable from the torrents of rain.
Surveying what was going on outside the window of the bus, I had noticed the ferocious rain rushing downhill over the tires of the cars parked on the side of the road. On the other hand, if it was pouring now, I calculated, chances were the rain would lighten up or stop altogether by the time we got there as storms usually blow over pretty fast around Yerushalayim. My friend and I were outfitted with boots and rain jackets with hoods, and I had brought an umbrella. I figured there was nothing dangerous about mud.... Still, maybe it was best to listen to the driver, who surely knew the area a lot better than we did. I consulted my friend to see what she wanted to do, and she optimistically asserted that the harder it was to get there, the greater it was to go!
The driver must have thought we were nuts as we got off the bus at the designated stop. Following his instructions, we crossed the busy street and started trekking upward on the road leading to the yishuv, where we were told we would find ancient Shilo. I felt gleeful and fairly confidant that the rain had indeed stopped as I thought it would, which made our walk a lot easier, especially since it was now early evening and it was getting dark fast. My friend, however, was now concerned that perhaps we were not on the correct road and recommended that we try to tremp up and ask for directions on how to get there. The only problem was that no cars were coming our way. Without getting discouraged we continued our ascent, and lo and behold, a car’s headlights soon brightened our path. I waved it to stop, and the good Israelis beckoned us to hop in so as to give us a lift to the yishuv. We were surprised that they didn’t know where we could find the burial spot, but they were more than willing to help.
After dropping off another fellow, who occupied the front seat, the kind driver made a phone call to try and get directions for us. Hanging up the phone, he offered to bring us as close as he figured we could get, and a few minutes later, he dropped us off outside a courtyard with a building inside. Scouting around the area, we still had no idea where to go. A car was parked outside the fence of the courtyard and, sure enough, a man was inside the building. We approached him, certain that he would know where the site was. But to our consternation, he too was unsure. Although he was rushing off to catch Mincha before shkiah (sunset), he did a quick search on his phone, told us to jump in his car, and drove around the corner, literally, where we found the entrance to the archeological site. We thanked him profusely and enjoyed a meaningful tefila at the site of the mishkan and burial spot of Eli Hakohen, inspired by the hashgacha that Hashem had sent us in the form of such kind people who helped us along our way!
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After my year of tremping while living in Gush Etzion, as adventurous and interesting as it was, I decided to buy a car and regain my independence. People often wonder how I fare on the Israeli roads. Frankly, contrary to the beliefs of some others, I consider Israelis to be wonderful drivers! Sure, many are hurrying to where they need to go, which can sometimes lead to impatience and honking, but in general, I have not had any negative experiences, baruch Hashem, in my encounters. I find that, most of the time, other drivers give me and others on the road the right of way when turning, changing lanes, or entering a roundabout. The highways and road signs are well marked, with no need for EZ-Pass, because the toll roads charge vehicles by camera, a much more efficient system, I believe. As I travel, I try to focus on the awareness that every daled amos I travel in Eretz Yisrael is another mitzva; every rock I drive over, even the layer of dust that covers my car and windshield, is holy because this is admas kodesh, holy soil.
The more we appreciate and share the beauty of every aspect of Eretz Yisrael, the closer we will get to the Geula (Redemption), as it says in Sefer Tehilim 102:14-15, “Atta takum t’rachem Tzion – You will rise; You will have mercy on Tzion.” When will Tzion be rebuilt? The next pasuk answers, “Kee ratzu avadecha et avaneha ve’et afara yichaneinu – For Your servants desired its stones and favored its dust” – that is, when Jews, whether living in Eretz Yisrael or outside of the Land, truly desire and appreciate her.
