I feel compelled to share this heartwarming story with you that happened to me on Friday: I was waiting in line at the ATM in the Old City of Jerusalem. As I was taking my credit card out, my wallet fell out of my hand and slipped into a grate covering a sewer four feet below. “What did you drop?” asked a man walking by.
“My wallet,” I answered.
“Oh, I dropped my keys down there once.”
That didn’t really make me feel any better. Somehow I managed not to despair as I thought about the fact that all of my cash, credit cards, keys, and ID were in that wallet. I also needed to catch a bus to Sderot soon and I now had no money. I walked to one of my rabbi’s houses and asked his wife if she had the number of the city’s sanitation department. She said no, but to bring her kids to where it was. “They’re smart,” she said, “they’ll figure something out.” I showed them where it was and went back to my room to get some wire hangers.
By the time I got back, one of the kids had come back with an iron rod and a thick rope, and a group of French tourist girls were standing around. We tried fishing the wallet out with the hangers, unsuccessfully. Then we tried to pry the drain cover up with the iron rod. After several attempts, I, my rabbis’ kids, and the French girls were able to lift up the forty pound piece of metal. I was a bit hesitant to go in to the open sewer, as I was already wearing my Shabbat clothes. Before I knew it, one of the French girls lowered herself into the sewer, and picked my wallet up with her feet. As she did so, all her friends starting singing something in French, what I imagine is the French equivalent of “way to go” or “2-4-6-8″. I thanked them and they disappeared.
My wallet was just a bit dirty on the outside and nothing had even gotten wet. With a big sigh of relief I thought this debacle was over. However, as I was replacing the drain cover with another guy, it fell down into the sewer. Now there was a forty pound drain cover four feet in the ground, and a gaping hole in front of an ATM on a busy street. I could not conceive of any way to get it out and resigned myself to calling the city. But an Israeli man and his son walking by decided to stop and help. Immediately, his son dropped down on his stomach and tried to lift up the drain cover, but it was too heavy. After several failed attempts, the son managed to tie the rope around the drain cover, and together we all lifted it up and replaced it. I tried to offer to pay to have the son’s clothes cleaned, as he had made his white shirt and black pants completely filthy. He refused, saying he’ll just throw them in the washing machine and they went on their way.
I cannot imagine another place in the entire world where a bunch of total strangers would stop and help someone in need. Where a young girl would lower herself into a sewer to get out a stranger’s wallet. Where a man and his son would put in a lot of effort and ruin their clothes, again to help a stranger. I am not sure that the concept of “stranger” even exists in Israel. Because when I walk around, even if I haven’t met the people around me just yet, I never feel estranged.
With Love from the Holy Land,
Elisha
