Rabbi Yosef Garzon had an unlikely chavrusa — a simple farmer with a big heart. Over the past three years, this farmer had grown tremendously in his avodas Hashem, becoming meticulous in his observance of Torah and mitzvos.
By trade, he was no ordinary farmer. He ran a massive agricultural operation that spanned many acres of fertile land, and on the side, he managed a government-licensed hunting company. Among his official contracts was one with the cities of Rechasim and Haifa to eliminate the wild boar population that ravaged the area. In just one year, he had legally exterminated over six thousand wild boars!
Then came what the media called “the shark disaster” in Hadera.
Every winter, sharks would swim close to the shore near the Aharon River, drawn by the warm water spilling from the electric company’s power plant. Locals would gather to photograph them, swim near them, and — sadly — sometimes tease or harm them.
But that year, tragedy struck. A man was attacked and killed by a shark. After days of searching, only a few bone fragments were recovered — just enough to identify him.
Public outrage followed. “What’s next?” people demanded. “Will we wait for the next tragedy to happen?” Their fears turned toward another danger: a neglected crocodile farm near Chamat Gader.
Years earlier, the farm had been established to breed crocodiles for their skins, prized for their luxury and status. But after animal-rights activists petitioned the Israeli High Court, a new law banned killing animals for their hides. The once-profitable farm was abandoned, its reptiles left to grow wild and hungry. They began preying on each other and occasionally frightening the locals.
Teenagers, ever daring, discovered the desolate site. They climbed the fences, tossed rocks, yanked at their tails, and filmed “crocodile selfies” walking away laughing and alive...until the “shark disaster” made headlines. Then came a chorus of voices: “The next disaster will be here.”
Authorities decided the crocodile farm had to be shut down. Permanently. They approached none other than Rabbi Garzon’s chavrusa, the seasoned hunter, to carry out the elimination. He submitted a professional bid of 125,000 shekels. But another, inexperienced contractor offered to do it for 25,000.
Initially, officials leaned toward the lower offer, but reconsidered: “We’ll go with the expert,” they said. The date was set. It was the 9th of Av.
The farmer reviewed the calendar and froze. Tishah B’Av, the day when we mourn the destruction of both Batei Mikdash and refrain from eating, drinking, or engaging in business.
He sighed deeply. 125,000 shekels in one day. His partners — not-observant Jews — urged him to accept. “Do it,” they said. “You’ll faint, drink some water...”
But he stood firm. “I’m fasting. Come what may.”
He withdrew from the job. The inexperienced man was hired instead.
The job went horribly wrong. Some crocodiles weren’t properly euthanized. As they were loaded for disposal, several leapt off the truck and escaped, sending workers fleeing in panic. Miraculously, no one was hurt.
Soon after, the farm’s owner, who had been trying to sell his crocodiles to Morocco, discovered that his “property” had been slaughtered. Enraged, he filed a multimillion-shekel lawsuit against everyone involved: the Nature and Parks Authority, the hunters, and the local officials.
When the news broke, Rabbi Garzon’s chavrusa realized the full scope of what he had been spared.
“If I had known the trouble this would cause,” he said, shaking his head, “I wouldn’t have touched it — not even for half-a-million shekels profit!”
He looked up and smiled faintly. “No one listens to Hashem and loses. What may seem as if you’re doing it for Hashem — is in essence for yourself.”
