Who is my neighbor?
It was day 7 of our Israel tour. We started the day on the Mount of Olives and visited the Garden of Gethsemane. Below us was the Kidron Valley, and the City of Jerusalem was on the other side of the valley. We left the Mount of Olives and headed into the old city where we were scheduled to spend time at the Western Wall (also known as the Wailing Wall). We passed through the security checkpoint and, as we entered the large courtyard area adjacent to the wall, we were instructed that the men would go left and the women would go right since there was a separate section for men and women to pray at the wall.
I made my way over to the women’s section. I could see women gathered at the wall praying. Some with holy texts, others with their head covered, all very reverent and you could just feel that this was a sacred place. There were white plastic chairs scattered throughout the area. Most were taken but a few were empty. I had heard that people would write prayers on pieces of paper and tuck them into the wall. I sat down in one empty chair and got my journal from my backpack. I ripped out a page and started to write the prayers that I wanted to leave at the wall. I had a lot of prayers, so I was writing for a while. My mom and some of our other tour mates had already made their way to the wall. I took my time. I knew I couldn’t write every prayer in my heart, but I wanted to write the ones that were most pressing today. I finally finished, stood up and made my way over to the wall. There were women about 3 deep from the wall. I stood patiently waiting for the women ahead of me to finish their time of prayer and move out so I could move in. As soon as there was room, I pressed in, touched the wall, tucked my prayer in a crevice and stood in reverent prayer, aware of the women of faith who surrounded me in prayer, and full of gratitude for standing in a place that I didn’t even imagine I could be.
As I concluded my time of prayer, I moved away from the wall and slowly looked around for my mom. I soon found her sitting not too far away in one of the white chairs. As soon as I saw mom, my first thought was to get my phone so we could take a picture. My phone was also my camera as I documented the special moments of this special trip with my mom. That’s when I realized. I did not have my phone. It was not in my pocket. I emptied my backpack. It was not in my backpack. “Did you leave it on the bus”, mom asked. No, I didn’t. I remember having it in my hand when I came through the security checkpoint. I could not believe it. I had lost my phone. I felt calm, surprisingly. I realized that I must have left it on the chair, or maybe it fell on the ground while I was intently writing my prayers, and I got up and left it there without realizing it. This means it had to be at least 20 minutes or so since I lost it. Here we were in this holy place, having an extraordinarily sacred experience, and in this place and space… I lose my phone. Selah.
I turned to mom and asked for her phone. She had not activated international service, but she had the phone with her for use as a camera. I asked her permission to activate her service, which she readily agreed to and I immediately logged in to the “Find my iPhone” app. Using the app, I put my phone in “lost” mode and added a message to call mom’s number if it was found.
Within a few seconds, mom’s phone rang. On the line was the voice of a young woman with an accent. She had found my phone. One problem. She did not speak English well. But she was doing her best to explain where she was in the crowd so she could return it. I was really struggling to understand what she was saying. At one point I thought she said police…? I looked around to see if I could see any police…should I go to the security checkpoint…? No? Ok, something about flag…there were several Israeli flags around. A big flag? …alright, we were getting somewhere. In the middle of the courtyard where the men’s and women’s sections separated, there was a very large Israeli flag. Could that be it? Well, it was worth a shot. I moved through the crowd. I raised my hand and walked towards the flag. I asked her to raise her hand. Did she understand? Yes, there was a young lady with her hand raised talking on the phone. We made eye contact across the crowd and moved quickly towards each other. She had my phone! I was so happy and relieved. I was in tears as I thanked her. She was with four friends. I told her she was an angel. “Your daughter, very nice”, she said. Huh? Oh! She had accessed the Emergency Contact info on my iPhone, and Alexia and Tex were listed. She actually called Alexia. So, picture this…it’s roughly 3 a.m. EST and Alexia is awakened by her ringing phone. The call is from my cell phone. She knows I am in Israel, so she picks up. But on the other end of the line is a voice that is clearly not mine, and that is clearly not American. I am glad she is a trained military officer, because she probably handled this situation better than any civilian could. As an Intelligence Officer, she also other scenarios and options running through her mind that would not occur to a regular civilian. This was not a fun experience for her by any stretch; it was a nightmare. She handled the situation with the calmness and poise of a trained military officer, but as you can imagine there was no going back to sleep even after I called and reassured her that everything was ok. What could have been a very devastating situation all around turned out well because one young woman and her friends decided to do the right thing for a stranger.
Roughly two thousand years ago, in the same region, a respected rabbi and teacher, Yeshua, was asked the question, “Who is my neighbor?” He answered with this parable:
“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’
“Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” Yeshua asked.
The reply: “The one who had mercy on him.”
Yeshua’s advice for him: “Go and do likewise.” (Adapted from Luke Chapter 10, NIV).
In this story, the Samaritan was someone who was rejected and despised, considered to be “less than”. Yet he showed kindness to a stranger, someone who under normal circumstances would not consider him worthy to even look at much less speak to. He didn’t know this man. But he knew the man needed his help. And so he looked past race, religion, political party, sexual orientation, prejudice, social norms, and did the right thing. He was being a neighbor.
That young woman in Israel, whose nationality and home of origin I don’t know, was my neighbor. I am sure she didn’t know that she would be an unlikely hero for an American tourist that day. On average roughly 100,000 people visit the Western Wall every day. That phone could have belonged to anybody from anywhere in the world. She could have ignored it there on the ground. She could have “passed by on the other side”. Instead, she chose to secure it and took the time to try and find the owner. I am eternally grateful for that. When we see each other through the eyes of a neighbor, the world is a much more hospitable place.
“Go and do likewise.”
