FINDING THE AUNTS...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You know, it is really easy to get lost in Jerusalem. Last time I was here, I wound up lost, (Well, that is normal.) and walked around ten miles through what, as it turned out, had been previously been bombed by the Arabs. I was trying to walk to my aunt�s house from camp. Hmmm... maybe there�s a pattern here.

It happened again this trip.

It was the free weekend, and I was set for my second weekend at my aunts house. The first time, I had gone to the wedding, and Orna picked me up. This time... well, I managed to get to the �� {Tachanat Markazit} [Central Bus Station] in ] ��Jerusalem], ok.

That was easy, though. I just had to get to �� , and then take the bus. After that I ran into trouble. See, I had to call them, right? But of course, I lost the phone number. There is no 411 in Israel. Here, we�ve got 144. Honestly.

"Rosenberg, Gilo." There wasn�t one. There probably was, but there were probably a few too many that the operator had better things to do than to look through eighty billion phone numbers for a stupid American. I remembered that Steve Israelized his name. "Do you have Shaul Rosenberg in Gilo?" No. None.

It has since been pointed out to me, that his name is not Shaul, but in fact Shmuel. This makes me an utter moron, seeing how Shmuel is my brother�s (I�M SO STUPID ::BONK:: ::BONK:: ) name. Anyway, I couldn�t get ahold my aunt�s, house, so I tried my cousin�s. "Aliza Raz?" She also changed her name, but from Rosenberg...sea lo casea...no response. "Aliza Roz?" No entry. "Aliza Rosenberg?" Nope. It occured to me that had her number been in there, it would be under her husband, Amiad�s name, but, of course, I had no idea what Amiad�s last name was\is.

Cousin B. Nope, she�s in the US, on her honeymoon. I have to call my aunt...who can I call that would know it? Oh God...no...anybody, but...Ugh, I had no choice. "Yes, I�d like to make a collect call to the states... OK, 904, xxx, xxxx (If you want my home phone number that desperately, then look it up yourself.)... Michael... uhm, Samuel (Maybe that was my subconscious telling me that...)" Of course, nobody was home. You can sense how disappointed I was, but at the same time I really should find someway to reach my relatives.

So what do I normally do when I feel trapped? I walk. (Yes, I sound like a slow Forrest Gump. Walk, Michael, walk!) But I learned NOT to walk to Gilo. I mean that would just be stupid. I�m at the central bus station. Take the bus. #32 goes to Gilo. I take #32.

Uhm, Gilo�s big. I mean, really big. It�s literally a mountain in and of itself. So, I�m on the bus, and I realize that everything�s going to be OK. It�s going to be over soon. I�ll be at my aunt�s house. Then it dawns on me. Not only do I not know their address or street, but I don�t even know the right bus stop. So, I start to worry, the bus is almost empty, maybe I should get off. So I get off.

I get off the bus, and hope to God that I find a landmark. Something, somewhere in Gilo, that can I either recognize from three weeks ago, or from years ago. A stone, a set of buildings, a playground, a piece of art, anything that rings a bell.

The problem is that in Jerusalem, is that everything, as dictated by the law, looks exactly the same, built out of the same material, and in more or less the same design. It is supposed to preserve the antiquity of the city. It�s annoying though, when it comes to the directionally impaired. So I kept walking.

I remembered this joke from "You Can�t Do That on Television." When your going camping, you should always bring a deck of cards. If you get lost, sit down and start playing solitaire. Invaribly, somebody will walk up behind you and tell you to put the seven on the eight. I didn�t have a deck. But I did have a computer.

At the same time, my relatives were also a bit worried. They hadn�t heard from me all day, so they called to see if anybody knew what was going on. They called the Kibbutz. The Kibbutz is generally clueless, but they did give the number of our counselor, Devorah, over to the worried family. Devorah saw me get off the bus in Jerusalem, so she knows that I�m lost in the city. She�s now scared.

My Aunt then gets worried and calls my folks. I�m not quite sure how she got through, when I didn�t, though she did dial direct. So now, this is now an international dilemma. My parents think I�ve disappeared. It�s not that they think I�ve been kidnapped by an Arab, or worse, I mean they are not that dumb, I hope. They do know just how easily I get lost though. They know I�m lost in Jerusalem less than an hour before Shabbat starts. That means no means of communication or transportation in a matter of minutes.

She calls my grandparents in Arkansas. Duh, they start to worry. But an interesting thing transpired back in Jacksonville. Hearing that I was missing, Rabbi Kelman made an uncharacteristic appearance at my parents house to soothe them in this time of ... worrow. I�m not quite sure what he said, but my sibs wrote saying that everybody was worried.

Right. So, I�m in Gilo, lost, in front of a stranger�s house standing in front of my laptop, partly because I want an English speaker to come over, partly because I know that somewhere in the computer I have their phone number. The former occurs. Sort of.

A guy walks over to me, and asks in Hebrew if it was the internet. I explain to him, that it�s not connected to a phone. It is now twenty minutes till Shabbat. So, he asks what on earth am I doing, and I explain I�m looking for a phone number. Why? They�re relatives. Where do they live? I don�t know. So, somehow, it slips out that they are the Rosenberg family. "Oh, the Rosenbergs! Why didn�t you say so?" Something didn�t seem right here. I asked him, but he didn�t know any of the family member�s names. "But I know them very well. They live over there." I thanked him, walked Over There, to a house that to my expectance was not their house. I kept walking. Ten minutes till Shabbat.

Finally, my eyes follow the road, and I see a set of circular stairs leading to the street. The same ones that I walked over every day when I went to camp. Halleluja!

My aunt is still really worried. She�s on the phone with Devorah, trying to figure out what is going on. My uncle, Steve, is out driving the streets of Gilo, looking for a lost American tourist, with long hair, who is about to collapse. Melanie, who is generally in a humorous mood, is now scared, and telling to Devorah that it�s only five minutes to Shabbat, maybe the police should be called. The door opens. "You know, I have got to find an easier way to get to your house."

JJJJJJJJ

Get me outa here!!!

Wanna read the Previous one?

Wanna read the next one?

Or go to the list to pick another one.

Michael Kadish
"With age one does grow, if not wise, forgiving; if not forgiving; also forgetting � also forgotten." -- Gore Vidal, 1876
Hosted by www.Geocities.ws