I am blessed with the uncanny talent of always finding out things late:
The best ENT doctor in our Kupat Cholim – but he doesn’t accept new patients anymore.
The best shoe sale of the year – 75% off brand names for one day – only to find out the following day.
Sometimes it’s not too late – like the amazing ongoing shiur in my neighborhood that I joined – but why didn’t I hear about it two years ago?
I recently found out about something – that everyone else seemed to know – from Dassie, the 23-year-old girl from a disadvantaged home who comes to me for English lessons. She lives in a subsidized apartment with other girls who, for various reasons, cannot live in their parental home. Dassie works in a kindergarten, is finishing a B.A. in Business Administration, and is full of dreams. One dream she recently fulfilled was to own her own car. A few months ago she bought a 17-year-old Subaru. Since I dread bringing in our car to the auto repair shop, I asked her how she manages with the hassle and expense of repairs. She replied condescendingly, “You no know Yedidim?? They fix for me everything. I call with phone and they come soon. No money pay. Good boys.”
And so I was introduced to Yedidim. Had I known earlier, I could have used them on multiple occasions…
A few weeks ago, my daughter Techiya was on her way from Beit Shemesh to a meeting in Jerusalem. Waze showed heavy traffic on the Tel Aviv-Jerusalem road and sent her a different way. She obligingly followed instructions and found herself on a small, unfamiliar road. At one point she was instructed to turn onto a dirt path. She hesitated, but the car in front of her made the turn, so she followed on the bumpy path. After a few kilometers, her little car couldn’t continue like the 4×4 ahead of her.
Stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no person, car or house in sight, she phoned her husband. He was in the middle of teaching and couldn’t pick up. She had no idea where she was and how to explain her location, even if he could have been able to come. Desperate, she phoned her business partner and asked her what to do. “Haven’t you heard of Yedidim? Take down this number and phone them for help! Like her mother, my Techiya had not heard of Yedidim.
Within half an hour, a tall burly man driving a huge jeep came to her rescue and towed her to a main road.
This week I was treated to a story about Yedidim, from the other angle, the side of the volunteer.
Unbeknownst to me, Danny, the brother of one of my daughters-in-law, is one of Yedidim’s 58,000 volunteers. He was in the middle of working out some complicated measurements for an eruv in a new settlement when he got the call for help. The caller spoke in Hebrew with a thick Arabic accent. Danny hesitated. He was immersed in an important job, a mitzvah. Was he required to drop everything to help an Arab? Should he pass on the job to another volunteer? And what if this call was a dangerous ruse…
The volunteering spirit overcame his hesitations, and he left his unfinished job to answer the call for help. Danny was pleasantly surprised when he arrived at the scene of the vehicle on the side of the road. It was a Hatzalah ambulance that had conked out!
Two men with Hatzalah vests emerged. One was wearing a kippah, and the second man, his Arab partner, identified himself as the caller.
“You see, he explained in his thick accent, “we all work together to help people in need. Sometimes it is their car that needs repair, and sometimes it is their body. What is important is that we all help each other when in need.”
I really don’t wish to need neither Hatzalah nor Yedidim. But if I do, I know how to find them!
