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11 Tammuz 5764 - June 30, 2004 | Mordecai Plaut, director Published Weekly
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Home and Family


Saga of a Returning Seminary Girl
by Debby Friedman

Part II

This true story happened many years ago, before the age of credit cards and modern telecommunications technology.

Synopsis:

The author finds herself stranded in Zurich airport with an invalid airline ticket. No one at home in Los Angeles answers the phone and at her father's business, no one will accept the collect call...

Dissolving into tears, suddenly a family of blue-eyed, blond parents, accompanied by two similar-looking children, appear on the scene and offer to take her under their wing.

"Come to us! We're very wealthy, you know. I'll give you new clothing and lovely things. We'd love to have you as our guest."

This was, you must admit, pretty unbelievable. I was a little annoyed, though. Who did this lady think I was, some vagabond? I thought my clothing looked pretty nice. Besides, they were very obviously not Jewish, and the last thing I needed was to be kidnapped by people offering me new clothing and lovely things.

"That's very kind of you, but I think I'll just stay here and try calling my parents a bit later. They'll know what to do."

Then the man spoke. "What you need, young lady, is a new ticket."

"I know, by I only have $10 in my wallet. I don't think a new ticket can be purchased for that amount." Smiling, I hoped they realized I was joking.

"That is correct," said the man. "I will buy you a new ticket. Come, let's all go to the different airlines and see when we can get you on a flight to Los Angeles."

First I tried to make sure that I had heard correctly. Then my smile disappeared into the bottom of my jaw as it clunked down.

"Please, Mr., uh,..."

"Schellenberg. Arthur Schellenberg." He put out his hand for me to shake. I dramatically dropped my purse to have an excuse not to take his outstretched hand, and then made an obvious effort to find a tissue.

"Mr. Schellenberg, that is such a kind offer, but I'm sure..."

"No, no. I insist. Money is no problem for me. Come, let's go." And off he went, down towards the main lobby of the airport. His wife nodded to me encouragingly. With a prayer in my heart and a firm belief in Hashgocho Protis, I followed, figuring I could always make a getaway if anything seemed suspicious.

Swiss Air had the next available flight, but it was only departing the following morning. As Mr. Schellenberg spoke with the ticket agent, Mrs. Schellenberg said that I must come spend the night in their home, since my flight was only going to be the next day. She again tried to `bribe' me with the new-clothes-and- lovely-things bit. I firmly stood my ground. Thanking her for her graciousness, I was having a hard time convincing her that I would be wonderfully comfortable in the airport lobby.

"Well, if you won't come to us, we must put you up in a hotel nearby," she insisted.

Now Mr. Schellenberg turned to me. "The ticket actually costs more than I have on me at the moment. I will send my chauffeur with the money, and he will meet you, say, upstairs at the entrance to the restaurant, where we met, in about two hours' time. As soon as you have the money, come here to this agent to purchase your new ticket. I've told him to expect you."

"She needs money for a hotel as well," his wife said.

"Fine, fine. And I'll throw in some spending money for you, too," he decided.

This couldn't be happening, I told myself. It doesn't happen to nice, frum Bais Yaakov girls coming home from a year in seminary. The Schellenbergs bade me goodbye, but not before I got their phone number and address.

Having nothing better to do, I went again to see if my guitar had been found (it hadn't) and then went upstairs to the overseas operator. Perhaps now I would be able to reach my parents.

"Can you please place another call for me?" I asked the lady at the desk.

She obviously recognized me, because she looked at me with pitying eyes. She should only know what had happened since she last saw me!

Entering one of the booths, familiar with the procedure, I waited for the phone to ring. The shrill "brrrring" was music to my ears. I picked up the phone and cried, "Hello! Hello!"

"Debby! What on earth are you doing in Zurich? Is that where you are? That's what the operator said!" It was wonderful hearing my father's voice.

"Oh, Daddy! I tried calling you about an hour ago, but Louise wouldn't accept the call at the office, and there was no answer at home."

"We must have been on our way. But what on earth are you doing in Switzerland?"

I explained everything to my father. "This is all unbelievable," he exclaimed. "What Hashgocho Protis! Had you reached us earlier, the Schellenbergs would have walked right out of that restaurant and not paid any attention to you. Even if I were to wire you the money for a new ticket, where would I have wired it to? Debby, c/o Zurich International Airport? Where would you have stayed? What could you have done with only $10?"

I agreed wholeheartedly.

"Listen, maidele. Hopefully this is not some kind of mean joke. It doesn't sound like it to me. Go meet the chauffeur at the agreed-upon time. But if you feel that something suspicious is going on, run away immediately. And please call as soon as you have the ticket in your hand!"

We said goodbye and I took out my Tehillim. The two hours passed quickly and I soon saw the operator directing a man in my direction.

"Are you Miss Sterling?" he inquired politely.

"Yes, I am."

He carefully handed me an envelope. "This is from the Schellenbergs. They said that if you need any more money, you should call them. They have made reservations for you at a hotel right near the airport. Goodbye and good luck."

"So this wasn't a joke," I thought to myself, thanking Hashem again and again. Not only would I get back to Los Angeles on time but Hashem had also supplied me with great material for my first class!"

"Thank you. Thank you so much. And please send my warmest wishes of gratitude to the Schellenbergs. My father will reimburse them as soon as I arrive home." The chauffeur left and I was really on my own now. Well, not exactly. I sure felt the Ribono Shel Olom with me!

I went back down to the lobby and purchased my ticket. Then I called my parents to let them know where I would be staying overnight, got very clear instructions as to how to be very, very careful, took my luggage and made my way to the hotel.

The rest of my journey was uneventful. Aside from the fact that I was faint from starvation until I got my kosher meal on the flight, I was bursting with excitement from the whole episode. The whole thing was like something out of a book -- totally unreal! I could hardly wait to tell my friends.

You may think that the story ends here. It does, basically. But there was an interesting twist you might want to hear about. After all the hugs and the kisses upon seeing my family, my father asked for Mr. Schellenberg's address so that he could thank him and pay him back. My father wrote a lovely, warm letter, calling Mr. Schellenberg "a modern-day knight in shining armor."

A couple of weeks went by and I was well into my teaching job when we got a nice, friendly letter from Mr. Schellenberg, thanking my father for his warm words and saying that it had been unnecessary to repay him. But he didn't send back the money... He also invited us all to join him and his wife in their chalet in St. Moritz. If there had been any doubt as to his wealth, it was now erased!

Since my father enjoys corresponding, he replied right away to Mr. Schellenberg's letter, which was answered promptly. In his third letter, my father mentioned something about our being Jewish. We were all waiting for another letter from Mr. Schellenberg, just out of curiosity. The letter never came. My father wrote once again, and still, no answer came back. That's when my father hit upon something really interesting.

"You know," he said, "I wouldn't be surprised if our Mr. Schellenberg turned out to be an anti-Semite."

"Why do you think that?"

"He didn't know you were Jewish, did he? Our last name certainly doesn't sound Jewish, and you don't necessarily look Jewish. With a name like Sterling, he must have thought you were of Anglo-Saxon descent." He began chuckling. "I was just thinking," he continued, "if Mr. Schellenberg is indeed an anti-Semite, he must have been gnashing his teeth when he read about our being Jewish."

My father, very perceptive about people, must have been right because years later, we came across an intriguing news item. A certain Mr. Schellenberg was captured after having successfully hidden his Nazi past for many years. He was accused of committing atrocities against Jewish victims during World War II.

We don't know for sure if it was `our' Mr. Schellenberg, but we do know that Hashem has many messengers to help His precious children.

Author's note: It should be noted that this story took place thirty years ago. Although one still had to be on guard, the world then was a more trusting place. Today it would be truly unwise to follow an unknown person or accept favors from strangers in this manner.

 

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