A tribute to Michel Nisenbaum

On my first visit to southern Israel after October 7, I visited the destroyed police station in Sderot. A small memorial had been set up in honor of the 20 police officers killed there that day. At that moment, it was one of the most meaningful and thoughtfully designed memorials related to the attack. On the right side, there was a narrow path lined with photos of some of those who lost their lives, not only in Sderot but in other places as well. I decided to walk along and read the names. In the middle of it, I saw his face: Michel, the guy of the tomatoes.

Before October 7, I had visited the Otef Aza (the area surrounding Gaza) several times. I’d explored kibbutzim as part of my gap year, visited the Path to Peace Art Project in Netiv HaAsara, and spent time in Sderot. But my favorite place by far was The Salad Trail, an immersive educational farm experience in Moshav Talmei Yosef. Visitors could learn about Israeli agricultural innovations while enjoying fresh produce like strawberries, carrots, herbs, and of course, tomatoes. I had the chance to visit four times, and every time, our guide was the same Brazilian guy who always told the same jokes: Michel.

Michel was always kind. Each time I visited, I learned something new about agriculture—a subject far from my expertise. The last time I went, in July 2023, I was leading a group. During lunch, I sat down with Michel and my team to chat. He opened up about his life, the challenges of moving to Israel as a Latin American, his family, and his various work ventures. What struck me most about Michel was his resilience. He had built a life in one of the country’s most challenging regions, juggling multiple jobs and responsibilities, yet he always had the energy to share his passion for agriculture with enthusiasm and joy. He turned a topic that students often found dull into something memorable. He left a lasting impression on everyone who met him, including a Colombian student who had the privilege of hearing his tours more than once.

Today is Tu Bishvat, and I can’t think of a better way to honor Michel’s life than by remembering him through what he taught me to appreciate—planting seeds and nurturing life from the land.

He was taken from us while performing one of the most heroic acts imaginable: rescuing his granddaughter. His memory is now a seed planted within all of us who had the privilege of knowing him, and his legacy will grow as tall as a date palm.

May his memory be a blessing.