View from the rooftop of my hostel. I see the Dome of the Rock and the Jerusalem Center. But what is that Christian church in the foreground?
I flew over to Israel by myself, with plans to kick it in Jeru on my own for a few days before my sister and Dad (and sister’s friend) would meet up with me on Sunday. I arrived on Friday afternoon.
So I jumped into a Sherut (group taxi – think ten passenger van) outside the airport, and told the driver to drop me at Jaffa Gate in the old city of Jerusalem. I had read that there was a hostel just inside the gate, and I figured that would be a good place to start.
The taxi driver did the typical international driving thing, and pulled over in the middle of an intersection, right behind a blind turn, to drop us (me and one other girl) off at the gate. With cars whizzing and swerving around us, the driver handed us our bags, we tried to pay him, and at the same time get directions to our intended hostel. The whole thing was very fast and very chaotic.
And then he was gone. I turned and pulled my one-wheeled suitcase across the intersection. I was halfway across the street when I realized the taxi-man had not given me my camera bag out of the back of the van!
But the Sherut had driven off. And I didn’t know anything about it! I didn’t even have a receipt with a company name. I panicked.
I rushed into the old city, got a hostel room ASAP, and dropped my stuff so I could run out and figure out how to get my camera back.
I asked the little (teenage) boys at the hostel to help me find a phone number for the airport – thinking they might know the name of the taxi companies? But they were very unhelpful, just texting on their phones and otherwise ignoring me.
So finally I ran down into the street.
A street hocker that had talked to me on my way in to the city asked me if I had found my hostel. I said yes, and then told him a little bit of what had happened with my camera bag. I was REALLY trying not to, but I might have teared up just a little bit.
And then the street hocker (an older gentlemen, I don’t even remember his name), took pity on my and told me to sit down on the steps and he and I would watch for another sherut. He got me a water and told me that the sheruts from the airport are all the same company, and they came by the Jaffa gate often. He said if another one came, maybe they could talk on their radio and find the driver that had driven away with my bag.
After twenty minutes when no other Sheruts had come by, he asked if I wanted him to take me to the office of the company. He said it was about five minutes across town. I said yes! He said it might not be open. It was about five thirty at this time, on Friday evening. The Jewish Shabbat starts at Sundown on Friday evening, and almost all business close. Still, he said if I knew where it was, I could come back the next evening when they reopened, and inquire about my bag.
The Old City at sundown. I think this was in the Muslim Quarter,
and it was during the call to prayer.
So we set off across the city. The five minute walk turned out to be about thirty minutes. I didn’t mind, but I was amazed that this kind man was taking so much time and effort to help me!
At one point we stopped and talked to a taxi driver. He couldn’t call the other drivers, but he did call the office and find out they were open until seven!
When we finally arrived at the office, my street hocker friend translated for me as I answered some questions about my ride from the airport to help them figure out who the driver might be. After only a few minutes, the man decided he knew who the driver was, and called him. But the driver was already off work, and at home for the Shabbat. The office called his cell phone and he did have my camera bag! Safe in the back of his sherut! So he said I could either go get it from his home (halfway back to Tel Aviv) or wait until the next day and he would bring it to the office.
I opted to go get it right away. My friend went with me and we rode out to the address given to us by the taxi company. It took another forty minutes or so, but finally we found his house and he gave me my camera bag, everything untouched inside!
It was a miracle that in a city as large as Jerusalem (and the suburbs, almost back to Tel Aviv) I was able to meet one person who was able and willing to help me track down a taxi driver that I knew absolutely nothing about.
The man who helped me showed such generosity and kindness and empathy. That experience really turned my heart towards the people of Israel as being wonderful and kind.
Since I’ve been home so many people have asked: “Did you feel safe there?” And my answer is “Oh yes!” because I truly felt like if I ever was in any sort of trouble, there were so many good Samaritans (or Jews, or Arabs) that were ready to help me in any way they could.
*Now I do want to say, in all my years of being a photographer, I mean since middle school, I have never NEVER lost or misplaced a camera. In all the kajillion times I’ve lost my keys, or my phone, or my wallet, or my drivers license, or my glasses, or library books, until this incident, I’ve never misplaced or not known where my camera is at all times. I’ve never even so much as lost a memory card. So this incident was both a miraculous testimony to the goodness of Heavenly Father, and the goodness of his Children, and a discouraging end to my one claim of true, reliable responsibility.