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The new year.
New beginnings. Life starts afresh.

Cantor Moishe Oysher intones the
ancient words of the Reader's Meditation,

ushering in Rosh Hashanah,
the Jewish New Year,

5716,

observed in this season
by Jews throughout the world.

"Turn now all afflictions into
joy and gladness," the Cantor sings.

"To life, and peace,
for us, and for all Israel."

As a special feature, appropriate
to the Jewish high holy days,

this station presents
Man on a Bus,

a drama of one group,

whose afflictions were indeed
turned into joy and gladness,

and who found a new life

in a new world.

Jerusalem.

Care for a guided bus tour?

I know it the way
you know Fifth Avenue,

or Main Street,
or the street where you live.

Welcome to my home town,
the capital of Israel.

In England, they tell me that
a man's home is his castle.

In America...

In America, a man's castle
is his TV set,

while in Rome and Paris, everything
seems to happen at sidewalk cafés.

But, here in Israel, everything
seems to happen on a bus.

My name is Nahum Ben-Israel.
I drive a bus.

Why, just last week, a mother
had a baby on my bus.

She wanted to
name it after me, but...

well, that would have been
against tradition.

For ten years now,
I've been driving a bus.

Oh, not the same bus.
You see, I like to get around.

Sometimes to Hebron,
often to Haifa, Acre...

You see a great many things.

You find a lot of people
to talk to.

You know what surprises me
on these trips?

The changes.
All the time, changes.

If you let a week pass,
and you go by again,

you don't know
the place anymore.

The only thing you can depend on
is the fact the next time you see it,

it'll be changed.

Home is where you go
and they have to let you in.

The next time I pass,
the new buildings are up,

and the people are moving in,
and calling themselves "old-timers".

Now, you take my last trip.

A special run can be exciting,
like a punch on the nose.

Do you know what I mean?

This is the run, from Eilaf
to Beersheba, into the Negev.

It's not an easy trip.

It looked like an ordinary run
I'd been making twice a week.

Miriam looks old
and finished, doesn't she?

Well, don't let her looks fool you.

For forty years, she's been
working in the settlements,

and better than holding her own.

Working in the fields,
working in the barns,

and taking care of the babies.

Raising her chickens,
fulfilling her ideal

of what she owes to this world
she's made for herself.

Now, she's come to take
Mr Stein, her good friend,

to a Malben home for the aged.

It's been a hard life for him.

He didn't ask Miriam
to come and get him.

She came on her own,
knowing what a comfort it would be

to have someone familiar along
on this journey to a new life.

Life has not always been
so considerate to Mr Stein.

This is Tobias.

He'll tell you he's sixteen,
but he's only twelve.

I'm taking him back to the
youth home he's run away from.

He wanted to be a pioneer
in the Negev.

Rachel is from North Africa.

It takes time to get her
to believe she's here with us.

But music helps.
She likes music,

if what the kid is playing
is music.

To some people, music is
better than it sounds.

That's Saul,
a clerk from Tel Aviv.

He's been reading
books on farming,

and now he's going out
to help plant the fields.

It isn't like selling
nylon or cheese.

Enoch is a colonist,
a farmer on the frontier.

Hard and dangerous work.

He's a strong, silent man,
good with animals.

That's his dog, Prince.

They're on their way to
Beersheba for a day or two,

just to see the sights.

Sit down, Tobias!

You don't wanna fall down
and get hurt, do you?

Then, as night came down,
it happened.

I was taking a short cut
through a little-used bit of road,

when the motor began to act up.

- Can I give you a hand?
- Thanks.

The motor really made a noise!

Oh, be still, golden one.
This is no time for talk.

The engine block has cracked.

Do you know this place?

I know it.

Any danger of attack?

Who knows?

We're only about two miles
from the border.

- What's the matter?
- What happened, driver?

Well, we're in a little trouble.
The motor block has cracked.

We're gonna have to sit it out
here for a while, that's all.

- There must be something...
- There's nothing I can do right now.

We'll have to wait
till tomorrow morning.

You think this is trouble?

What we in North Africa
went through!

Compared to that,

a stalled bus means nothing.
Nothing!

She's right. Grown people,
a sharp, smart boy,

we're all acting like fools.

Yeah, but what's
going to happen to us?

I know. Let's eat.
I have enough here for everyone.

Here, hold this, Mr Stein.

I'm pleased to meet you all.

My name is Miriam Rifkind,

and I'm...
I'm 76 years old,

give or take a year,
more or less.

You? Driver?

- Thank you.
- No, thank you.

- For you?
- Oh, thank you.

I'm taking care
of Mr Stein here.

I am being sent to
a home for the aged.

This is new country for me.

But, imagine...

In the village where
I am being sent,

even the old are useful.

I will have companionship,

I will be able
to plant things,

to grow things.

Now, I feel,
for the first time, I'm...

I am coming home for real.

Of course, Mr Stein.

But us old ones,
we can take it, huh?

It's good. It's good bread.

I remember the last camp
I was in, in Europe.

No food, no shelter.

Just barbed wire.

And every day the fear.

The fear of the vile SS.

We'll die here.

Why must we die,

when the war is
so near its end?

If we had something to eat,

we could hold out.

In the wilderness,

God fed the children of Moses
on manna.

It dropped from heaven.

The Americans have come.

They've freed all the people
in the camps on the main road.

- They are coming here?
- No, but they are picking up

all the people who
can reach the main road.

They have big trucks.

How can we reach
the highway?

If we had food,
we'd get strength to walk.

Look... Look...

That's food. We can...
We can reach the highway.

Then, freedom!

So, you...

you see the age of miracles
was not past for us.

We were fed from the sky, and
on the long trip here we were fed.

Orange juice from our own fruit!

Strong and sweet like life, hmm?

It's good.

Not bad for a wedding!

Your wife should make as good!

We were supposed to have
real wine at my wedding.

Tobias, where'd you learn
to play that music box?

At a youth home.

But I wanted to work
like a man,

like a pioneer.

Now, they're sending me back.

Don't run away until you're bigger.
You'll find plenty to do.

Yes, that's what I find
so new here.

There's work for everyone.

Hard work, maybe,
but work.

The feeling of doing something.

Where I come from,
North Africa,

there is very little to do.

Very little chance of anything.

You stagnate in the sun,

and over us hangs
no hope but dread.

What a beautiful bride
my son has!

Aaron has worked so hard
for our wedding.

There are few
young men among us.

Most have gone.
Aaron is one of the last.

Anyone here know Aaron Felldi?

Yes, we are to be
married this afternoon.

He went out to get me
a wedding present. He said that...

Why, is something the matter?

- Then you're not a relative?
- I'm his mother.

What are you talking about?

He is in no trouble.
He's a good boy.

He went to get his bride
a wedding present.

He didn't tell what.
A surprise.

Aaron Felldi is dead.

A street riot.
These things happen.

This is all we
found on him.

Here, take it.

"We are happy to inform you

"that your application
for transfer with your wife

"to the State of Israel via Marseille

"has been cleared."

My wedding present.

I've heard it said
that where there is an end,

there is also a beginning,

that good and bad came about
for me in a single day.

I was just one of
tens of thousands of people

who had applied for a chance
to leave for Israel.

There is an organisation called
the United Israel Appeal.

They use money raised in America
for just such things as this,

to help people like me
start life over again,

in a country like this,
and to help build it.

D'you know, when I
first came here, I thought

I would probably live in
a tin hut, or a tent,

but instead they're able
to send us to real homes,

in permanent settlements.

There are some people
who never stop caring.

My wife and I
came from Middle Europe,

War...

Terror in the camps,
the horror trains...

Just Rose and me.

A man and his wife,

wandering, hunted.

"Saul," she used to say,

"Someday we'll reach a place
where we're really wanted,

"where we can breathe."

We wandered,
and we ran in fear.

Underground groups helped us.

It means you must
go to bed for six months.

- Rest, treatments.
- No, we're moving on.

- It will kill you.
- You don't understand.

It will kill my husband
to stay here.

No hope, no future.

We'll make it.

Only, Doctor,
don't tell him anything.

Would you think of me?

It's no use going on
running and hiding.

I'll stay with you.

- If something should happen to you...
- We'll see it through together.

- Like cattle.
- We're going on.

Yes, so long as you
stay with me.

Destroyer Brighton approaching.

Ship running refugees ashore.

We'll move in and remove all passengers
to concentration camp in Cyprus.

Small boats being launched,
trying to reach shore.

We can't get away.

- Keep rowing.
- They're firing at us!

- They've got us!
- Row! Here, let me help.

Look! The shore!
We've made it.

Saul, we're home.

We made it.

Without you, darling,
we never could have done it.

You brought me here. You've...

She had brought me through.

Later, the doctor wrote me
what she had done.

Do you see now why

what she paid for
is so dear to me?

Why I want to work on
the land she's buried in?

That's why I've
been a clerk.

Counting, adding,
giving out sheets.

Share to book, water pipe.

The work is still going on.

You mention
United Israel Appeal.

You said that
they had helped you.

Do you know what
their help would mean to me?

It would mean that

my life was worth saving.

It would mean that these hands
that have turned pages

and pushed buttons
on machines in offices,

could do what I've
always wanted them to do.

Work close to the earth.

I'll have a chance to...

to plant with these hands.

I'm going into cotton.

I'll plant. I'll harvest.

Any man can be
a good clerk, but me,

I'll have my hands in the land.

These organisations,

United Israel Appeal, and

Jewish Agency.

Why, they're just
names you've heard,

but, all of a sudden,
they mean something.

Even a life.

Your life.

A worthwhile life.

In the border troubles,
I lost my mother and father,

defending the settlements,

but I got along,
till they put me in the youth home.

I carried the water bucket
to the port workers.

I helped the men who were
building the big pipeline.

But then
they came to get me.

They said I was
too young to work.

Just a minute, hero.
We're here to help you.

Who needs your help?

Don't you want to read?
To enjoy some music?

Music?

Say, this place
you want to send me,

they teach music, too?

Why, certainly. Do you want to
play the piano, or the violin?

None of that fancy
indoor stuff for me.

- How about an accordion?
- Maybe.

Now, what's your name,
and where are you from?

Tobias.

So they put me
in the youth home.

They taught me music there.

They taught me to work
the big machines, also.

But I wanted to be grown-up
too fast, I guess,

so I ran away.

I guess I'll stop running away

until I really know something.

It's not shameful to be helped.

Of course not, son.

Mr Stein, would you
like to take the boy's seat?

You could sleep better, huh?

You come up here, son.

I want to tell you something.

I've got a cousin,
Sam Fischer, in New York.

An organisation's
taking care of him.

Imagine! The New York
Association for New Americans.

He was going from
camp to camp in Europe,

always dreaming of America,

and a girl he'd known years back
who managed to get to New York.

From country to country,
camp to camp,

and then one day,
after all the forms,

and the quotas,
and the affidavits, and the letters,

he made it.

He made it to America.

But, when he got to New York,
he knew nobody.

Sam Fisher.

They gave him something
he'd almost stopped hoping for.

So, it's never shameful
to be helped, hmm?

Now, you go to sleep.

Grandma'll take care of
your music box.

It takes so long to grow up.

That is only from your end,
little boy.

God bless you,
and long life.

You all going to sleep
forever, hmm?

And how is
my golden beauty, hmm?

Right, everybody stay in the bus.

I'm not trying to scare you.
I just want to take a look around.

What is it?

Part of a boundary stone,
two or three thousand years old.

Why, that's ancient Hebrew.

The land of...

Israel.

Sit down.

Need any help?

Need help?

Need any help?

Who needs help?

We're starting a desert resort.

Why have I told you
about the people on that bus?

Not to hear myself talk,
believe me.

You see, your generosity
in the past

helped the people on that bus
get as far as they've gone.

Yes, that's right.

Your support of the UJA
has made it possible

for the United Israel Appeal
to hasten the progress of Israel.

To help its people build
houses, and roads, and settlements.

To carry out great programmes
of human reclamation

in their modern democracy.

And this in turn has made it possible
for the Joint Distribution Committee

to help the aged
and the helpless in Israel,

as well as the sick and the poor
and the homeless in many other lands.

They still have a long, long way to go,
and most of it's uphill.

Don't let them get stranded now.

You see, your support for the
nationwide United Jewish Appeal

will give these people
courage and hope,

food and shelter.

But, most of all, a future.

Yes, that's right.
A future for those there,

more coming,

and more waiting to come.

So, open your hearts, and give
them what they need to carry on.

This...

This is a boundary stone
for all of us.

Help build it into the
life-saving programme

of those who appeal
to you today.

Support your United Jewish Appeal
through your community campaign.

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