By Esther Kruger

Rabbi Landau advertised a trip to Israel in late autumn with the Sar-El program when my daughter, Sharon Demb, asked, “Do you want to go with me, mom?”

Immediately, I said, “OK,” reacting as most mothers might when asked by their daughter. Of course, I was thinking that I would accomplish what Sharon had during her previous TRIP with Sar-El: I would handle working in the kitchen and cleaning latrines.

The Sar-El program calls for volunteers to do tasks for the Israeli army, releasing soldiers for other activities. The Ner Tamid volunteers consisted of five people: Rabbi Landau, my daughter, myself, Bette Milstein and Alan Heller.

One day, we were honored when Gen. Aharon Davidi, the program’s founder, visited and spoke to our group.

Preparation for the trip included some reminiscing about my last visit to Israel 30 years ago. You can well imagine my surprise when I arrived at the new, modern airport in Tel Aviv and, upon leaving it, saw the beautiful new highways and the traffic that made me think I was on the 695 Beltway. What a surprise, to see the modern skyscrapers, architecture that included glass walls and Israeli white or gray stone. One group of tall buildings in Tel Aviv, the Azrieli towers, consisted of triangular, square and circular buildings. Quite a sight.

Being in Israel was extremely uplifting because I was with people in our group who were strangers, but we got along so well.

After an exciting weekend spent with cousins and friends, some of whom I didn’t even know I had, it was time to learn where we’d be stationed in the army. My inner brain told me, “They wouldn’t put volunteers in dangerous areas.” Boy, was my inner brain wrong!” A bus drove our group from Tel Aviv all the way to the border with Lebanon: about a two-and-a-half-hour drive on a beautiful, new highway, past mountains, a few communities, manicured farmland and natural beauty all over the place.

Arrival at our base, located near Kiryat Shemona, meant that we had to “fit in.” Uniforms were issued and I thought, Now I’m a soldier!

From the very first greeting to the last goodbye, the soldiers were so friendly and appreciative of our being there. They were very polite to us and helpful whenever necessary. They told us, “Don’t worry. You’re safe. We’re here with you.” And they were. Wherever I worked, there always was someone on duty watching over us and on call. We were right on the Lebanon border, and that in itself can be a fearful thing. But there was never a moment of fear in me the entire time I was in Israel, whether getting on a bus or entering a restaurant. I felt very safe there.

At meal time, it didn’t matter if the soldiers were hungry. The volunteers always were honored with going first on line. Our accommodations were simple and crude, but adequate. A knock on the door, and a pretty, 19-year-old photographer-soldier introduced herself because she had heard a familiar Bawlmerese. It took but a few minutes of playing Jewish Geography and I knew the girl’s cousin, who used to live across the street from me.

We came to Israel to work. My first job was in the kitchen. The following days found me painting, while others (including Sharon) were working with barbed wire and pulling up weeds at an outpost near a border village so that any enemy infiltrators wouldn’t be able to hide in them.

In the evening, our group congregated in the meeting room, where our Sar-El leader brought us up to date with current events and led discussions. Our group of 19 volunteers came from around the globe, including three non-Jewish men from Norway, another from Alabama, a Jewish lady from Florida, another from Las Vegas and a man from New Zealand. Each had a different personality and background. Remarkably, everyone got along.

Throughout the entire trip, I appreciated that my daughter had asked her to join. One day, our group took a tour to Tzfat. We also visited Tel Hai, where I learned about Trumpeldor’s heroics. The camaraderie of the whole group — working together, meal time and traveling — was just terrific.

Hopefully, what we accomplished was a help to the Israeli army. Nevertheless, I’ll always have the heartbreaking feeling that 18, 19, and 20-year-old children are preparing for possible war. Let’s hope not. My constant question: Why can’t people live and let live? Everyone could enjoy the neighborhood where we were.