When we talk about faith, we usually think about religion, spirituality, or a belief in something greater than ourselves. But the Israeli documentary series הטרמפיסטים (“The Hitchhikers”), created by Yair Agmon and Elad Schwartz for Kan11, offers a different perspective. It shows that faith can also exist in something as simple as a car ride with a stranger.
Since its debut in 2017, The Hitchhikers has become one of Israel’s most unique and human-centered documentary projects. Each short episode takes place inside a moving car. The hosts pick up real hitchhikers, people they meet on the side of the road – and talk with them as cameras quietly record the journey. There’s no script, no agenda, and no studio lighting. Just two people, a shared ride, and a conversation that unfolds naturally.
A sense of trust drives the series. Every time the car door opens, the filmmakers choose to believe that the person entering has something worth hearing. And almost every time, they’re right. Each episode introduces a different voice from Israeli society – religious, secular, Arab, Jewish, young, old, right-wing, left-wing, and everything in between. The car becomes a small microcosm of Israel itself: crowded, diverse, and full of contradictions.
In one recent episode, Simcha, a member of Kibbutz Be’eri, describes the morning of October 7th. The moment she lost her daughter, and the unbearable uncertainty of that first week. In another, a deeply religious man insists he is the Messiah, his conviction both unsettling and oddly touching.
Then there’s Osama, who was sent to prison as a teenager for throwing stones. Years later, he became a tough Palestinian police officer – until he met Israelis who told him they genuinely cared about Palestinians. Today, he says he’s left behind old ideas of masculinity and simply wants to live “with love and acceptance.” And there’s Suzanne, who left an abusive husband and has built a new life with the help of a Facebook group that opened her world. Her story bridges East and West Jerusalem, resilience and grace.
None of these people are celebrities or politicians; they’re ordinary citizens, often overlooked in national conversations. But when they speak, the viewer is reminded how extraordinary “ordinary” can be. For a country as noisy and opinionated as Israel, The Hitchhikers is a rare space of calm. It doesn’t try to prove a point or deliver a message. Instead, it restores something we’ve lost in public discourse: the simple belief that people – even those with whom we disagree – are worth hearing.
The show’s later seasons, including one dedicated to the heroes and survivors of October 7th, deepen this theme. Many participants speak about loss, resilience, and the fragile hope that follows trauma. These conversations aren’t always easy to watch, but they’re full of quiet courage. In a time when Israeli society feels fractured, The Hitchhikers reminds us that empathy and listening are still possible, and that might be the kind of faith we need most right now.
The Hitchhikers turns faith into something concrete and visible. It’s what happens when you open a car door to a stranger, when you listen without judgment, and when you trust that there’s more connecting us than dividing us.
