We are privileged to live in Yerushalayim. Everyone who is
fortunate enough to live here in the Palace of the King has
many stories about the special measure of Divine Providence
that we experience daily. I would like to share some of my
personal experiences.
When our neighborhood was new, we did not have any stores
close by, but there was a supermarket a short bus ride from
here. One Monday afternoon, I went to the market, bought a
large bag of groceries, and went out to the bus stop to wait
for a homeward bound bus. There are two buses that stop near
the market. The other bus came first and most of the people
on the stop boarded that one.
After the bus left, I noticed that there was a change purse
with some small coins near it on the sidewalk. I asked the
few people remaining at the bus stop if it belonged to any of
them, and everyone replied, "No." I picked up the purse and
took it home. In addition to the coins, the purse contained
a slip of paper that said, in English, "40 denier grey
XL."
The other bus serves two neighborhoods, one frum and
one not. This was late April and the weather had already
gotten quite warm. No one in the non-frum
neighborhood was going to be buying heavy stockings. The
purse had to belong to one of `ours.' That narrowed down the
search.
A friend told me that there is a Lost and Found in our
neighborhood and that the women who are in charge of it are
all English speakers. She gave me the three phone numbers to
contact them. I thought I would go in the order I received
the numbers. I tried the first number. No answer. I tried
No. Two. No answer. Finally, I tried number three.
"Hello," I said, "I understand you take calls for the Lost
and Found. On Monday afternoon, I found a small grey leather
change purse on the bus stop near the supermarket. It has a
zippered coin compartment, a key case and another section for
bills."
"Ah, yes," she replied. "I am very familiar with that type
of purse. I have one myself and I know the person who lost
it will want to have it back. I misplaced mine somewhere
around the house just this week and I am lost without it.
What day did you say you found it? Monday? I'm sure I had
mine after Monday."
"Let me tell you what was in the purse," I continued. "There
were some coins and a paper with information about
stockings."
The woman on the other end of the line immediately
volunteered, "40 denier grey XL?" I found out her address
and happily dispatched one of my boys to reunite purse and
owner.
Story Number Two. One of my sons is quite thin and as a
child he desperately needed a belt to hold up his pants.
Early one busy week, his only belt broke and my son resorted
to walking along, hiking up his pants every few minutes. I
reassured him that all was not lost. I had to go into Geula
and I'd buy him a new belt.
The next day, he brought home a note informing the parents
that the annual class trip was scheduled for Thursday of that
week. They were going rock climbing. I pictured my son
holding onto the rope with one hand and pulling up his pants
with the other. Now I was really motivated to buy him a
belt.
On Wednesday, I finally got to Geula, but that was before I
started making detailed shopping lists. (I seem to recall
that it was that very incident that turned me into an
enthusiastic list maker.) I don't know how it happened, but
by the time I got off the bus that afternoon, I remembered to
get popcorn, nuts and other Shabbos staples, but I forgot all
about the belt! My son came home at 6:30, all excited about
the trip, and asked with a smile, "Can I see my new belt?"
I felt terrible, but it was almost 7 o'clock. By the time I
put supper on the table and took a half hour bus ride back,
the stores would be closed. I opted to try the shopping
center that is a ten minute bus ride from my house. I put
out supper and dashed to the bus. As I sat down, I
recognized my son's friend Moshie sitting in a front seat.
Across the aisle from him was a man who was not from our
neighborhood.
The man had a large attache case on his lap. As the bus
pulled away from the curb, he flipped open the two latches,
lifted the lid of the case, and took out what looked like a
mass of strips of black leather. Then he asked Moshie the
Israeli equivalent of, "Hey kid, wanna buy a belt?"
This was a new kind of belt with a series of ridges instead
of holes. The man had brought a whole case of these to our
neighborhood, only to find that there is no store here that
sells belts. Seeing a well-dressed young man on the bus, he
thought he might be able to make at least one small sale.
Anything is better than nothing.
Moshie negotiated a price, I bought the belt, and I was able
to get off the bus still close enough to walk home. My son
was delighted with his new belt and the trip was a great
success. I have to say that never before or since have I
ever seen anyone selling anything on an Egged bus. Heaven
put that salesman on the bus that evening so my son would
have a belt for his class trip!
One more story. A few years after we moved here, another of
my sons went back to "the Old Country" for shidduchim.
We suggested that he take along the modest but attractive
engagement ring in the event that he found his intended, but
he didn't want to take the responsibility for babysitting
even a small diamond ring in a crime-ridden American city
when his mind was occupied with important things such as what
to say on the first date.
Two weeks later, when he became a chosson, he realized
that he should have taken the ring, but, of course, it was
too late. We asked everyone in the family to try to find
someone going to the city where the engagement was going to
take place. A few days later, one of my daughters-in-law
called. "Success!" she announced. "One of my neighbors is
going to the States after Shabbos. She will arrive in that
neighborhood on Sunday morning and she is willing to take the
ring."
We were delighted. The vort was scheduled for 2
o'clock Sunday afternoon and the kallah would have her
ring just in time. The neighbor, Mrs. Diamond, gave us the
phone number at her mother's house. This was before the
advent of cell phones. My son was told to call that number
about two hours after the flight was due in and arrange to
pick up the ring.
Sunday morning, the chosson called and called, but an
answering machine picked up. He left a few messages. No
reply. Sunday afternoon, the same thing. The vort
was lovely, but no ring. After the guests left, he tried
again. By then, he knew both the mother's phone number and
the answering machine message by heart.
Sunday night, my son decided he and his kallah would
do some small errands and then go to a restaurant for dinner.
They left a message on the famous answering machine with the
kallah's parents' phone number, and they called in
frequently to see if there had been a response. On one of
the check-in calls, the mother asked where the young couple
was.
When she was told the location, she said, "I know you were
planning to go to restaurant X just because of its
hechsher. I forgot to tell you that a new restaurant
just opened under the same supervision and it is a couple of
blocks from where you are right now." The young couple took
all of the information and went to the new restaurant
instead.
They entered the restaurant and were shown to a table. As
soon as they sat down, they heard a young woman at the next
table say to the older woman sitting across from her, "I am
exhausted. In all of my trips back here from Eretz Yisroel,
I have never experienced a delay like that."
The chosson looked at his kallah and said,
"Wouldn't it be funny if that is the lady with the ring?"
"Only one way to know. But who would have the nerve to ask?"
My son smiled, walked to the other table and said, "Excuse
me, but are you Mrs. Diamond?"
"Why, yes," she replied, "and who are you?" "I am—-"
and he gave his name. Do you have a ring for us?" Mrs.
Diamond happily reached into her bag and produced the long-
awaited ring.
Why, the rush, altogether? The chosson was flying back
to yeshiva early the next morning and the kallah was
heading back to her out of town seminary.
If they had proceeded to restaurant X, as originally planned,
they would never have met Mrs. Diamond. No one would have
listened to the phone messages until the next morning. By
then, neither of them would have been there.
Some people would call these events "chance encounters." But
you and I know that they are all directed by the One Whose
palace is our very special home.
