When the opportunity to volunteer in Israel to do goat-herding came up, Ian Lobell, a California native, jumped at the chance. The tip of his finger had recently been chopped off while cutting flowers, and after an emergency surgery saved his finger, Ian knew he needed to do something that would give his hands a break. Goat herding, it was.
Nestled right next to the West Bank, with long barrier walls running up and down the adjacent hilltops, was a small family-owned farm. The foreign workers had left, and the Israeli farmers had been called back to the army. Eager to help, Ian arrived, certain it would be easy work, walking alongside the goats for several kilometers. Having spent periods of his life exercising at Barry’s Bootcamp, Soulcycle and as a Crossfit enthusiast, at 56, Ian was certain he was physically prepared for the work, and would barely even break a sweat.
As a novice goat-herder, Ian was told his role was to walk alongside hundreds of goats, and to make sure they don’t get distracted from the path of finding new patches of fresh grass to graze. If goats should wander off, he simply had to redirect them by making some noise, throwing a rock and at times running after them. No small feat, given the steep incline of the rocky hills, and the way the gravel beneath his sneakers shifted with every step he took. Some goats were natural leaders and wore bells to maintain the attention of the followers. Sometimes this wasn’t enough, and the disciplinarian-human or animal would step in to keep everyone aligned. Together, it was three of them; Ian, the farm owner’s son and a religious guy from a settlement town who listened to consecutive Torah podcasts the entire time.
Quite certain that the farmers casually interchanged the word “miles” with “kilometers,” and the walk was indescribably longer, spanning the hours of 7 a.m. to 1 p.m. straight, Ian trudged along, often at very quick pace, becoming winded by the steep, rocky hills; the parched ground; and the constant herding work. But under the endless monotony of the blue sky, blanketed by the still, warm air, Ian, who isn’t religious, felt indescribably connected to our ancestors. Walking the same paths, the same foothills, carrying a staff in hand, and spending hours practically alone in the Judean Hills, with hundreds of goats to tend to, he understood the significance of the work, how the solitude afforded by the hours-long meditative marching could make one turn to God, in loud or whispered conversation. The searching of the soul, the spirituality-seeking moments walking amongst wandering animals, and reining them in, was not unlike the wandering of our own desires, of our eyes, our minds, away from our mission, our service of God that nourishes us and keeps us alive. And sometimes all it takes is a little knock, a tapping of a pebble on our shoulders, reminding us of the direction in which we are supposed to travel.
It wasn’t lost on Ian that the shepherds of the past did their work in order to feed the tribe by providing sustenance to both animal and human alike, that there are multiple levels of life that need to be tended to, in order to build us up as a nation. This, afterall, is why Ian came to Israel after October 7 in the first place.
As Ian crested one hill, about to descend another, he saw up ahead the foreboding eyes of strangers, critical and sharp, cutting holes with their glares from neighboring villages. For a few minutes, he didn’t feel safe in the open spaces, with nothing but a tremendous flock of animals surrounding him, an army of bleating, quivering cashmere, but he forged on, determined to not be defeated by this task in any way, relying on his faith, the strings of connection spun by the forefathers thousands of years before. The ringing of the goat bells, a melody of painted direction, leading the way along the path from which he wouldn’t stray.
Sarah Abenaim is a writer, life-coach and journaling workshop curator, who lives with her husband and kids. To be featured in one of her “Out There, In Here” stories, please reach out to her at [email protected] or to David Siegel at [email protected]. To learn more about how you can make an impact in the war effort, check out https://tinyurl.com/Rinat-VolunteeringinIsrael.
