18/10/99

Unreal Israel:

Journeys of the unexpected

    Life sometimes has its moments that fall somewhere between "only in Israel" and "tales of the unexpected."
    I arranged to meet someone, and long afterward, having forgotten about the first appointment, I made another on the same day -- both of them out of town.
    That was bad enough, but when I couldn't hit the road because of car trouble, it didn't look good.
    It was developing into a ba-a-a-d day. But the worse it got, the better it turned out.
    I waited for the repairman, tensely watching the minutes slip by. I needed plenty of time to get to both, because I had to assume I would get at least a little lost.
    When I finally got going, any leeway I planned for had vanished. There would be no time to navigate through evening rush hour, never mind dashing about ineptly.
    My first stop was Ra'anana. I checked where I'd be going next, held my breath, and -- what luck! Also Ra'anana.
    So at least I would be driving around in circles in only one city.
    I pulled up at my first destination and opened up a map of Ra'anana to check how far one place was from the other.
    That's when I noticed, for the first time, their addresses.
    As it turned out, the hour I had allotted for getting lost -- which happened to be how long it took to fix the car -- was unnecessary. The time remaining, about five seconds, was more than enough.
    They were next-door neighbors.

I WAS driving through the Negev, from Nitzana to Eilat, late on a freezing winter night. It was a trip fraught with danger: some roads were flooded, others were iced, my car had no heating, and I was c-c-c-cold. I had been driving a long, long way, and hadn't passed another car, a person, not even a light. It was spooky, unnerving, scary. To assuage my building anxiety, I kept reminding myself that my "oldmobile" has never, ever broken down away from home.
    It broke down.
    This was serious.
    As luck would have it, I had reached Mitzpe Ramon, the only sign of cilivilation on this route. But it was well after midnight: what hope was there of getting help here?
    A saw a light -- a light! -- and found, of all things, a pizzeria.
    No chance that it would still be open.
    It was.
    There was a man behind the counter, hoping somebody in the middle of the desert, in the early morning hours, might possibly want to buy pizza.
    I felt like an idiot asking if perhaps, in addition to baking cheese onto a crust, he might also know how to fix a car.
    He didn't say yes, didn't say no, but trudged through the snow with me to my auto mortis -- and for the next hour, he took it apart, put it back together again, and finally, trembling from the cold, he said, "Start 'er."
    The dead old thing roared to life.
    Barely able to believe this was really happening, I asked if the car might get me to Eilat. "It's about 150 kilometers," he said. "Whatever you do, don't stop."
    I pulled out my wallet, and he smiled and shook his head. Glad to help, he said.
    We went back to his shop, and I bought a slice of pizza. I put 200 shekels on the counter, said "keep the change," and never stopping once, made it safely to Eilat.

I TOLD that story to a friend, Morris, and he grinned.
    "The same thing happened to me, but in reverse," he said.
    "I was still in the army, and I was driving on that same road, somewhere between Mitzpe Ramon and Eilat. I came across a guy who was in big trouble: his car was off the road, with two blown tires. One flat is bad enough, but who carries two spares?
    "It was Shabbat, and there was absolutely no one on the road, nothing moving. The poor guy said he'd been waiting a long time before I came by."
    Well, the fates could not have sent him anyone better: Morris happens to be my car mechanic, and a grade A mensch.
    "I got the tires off and drove 10 kilometers to my base, fixed them, put them back on and got the car out of the ditch." Morris, too, refused to take any money. "The guy was in shock. He kept calling me an angel from heaven."

JUDY AMIRAM was on a bus stuck in Jerusalem traffic. She was obviously going to be late for her appointment, but just as she was about to call to apologize, her cellphone rang; it was the person she was going to see -- and she had the same problem.
    They chatted for a while. Judy became increasingly irritated at a woman who was intently eavesdropping on her conversation, but eventually the snoop moved off to the front of the bus.
    The eavesdropper reappeared, disappeared, and yet again, pushed through the passengers toward Judy.
    Stopping in the middle of the bus, she pointed a finger at Judy. "You," she said loudly, then turned to the front and pointed another finger, "and you, are talking to each other. Just thought you'd like to know."
    The passengers burst into laughter, and the interlocuters switched off their phones and were united face-to-face.