A TRUE STORY,
By Emily


There are days when I get the sense that the universe
has everything exactly in order; all my actions are
intricately tied up with everyone else's. Sometimes I
envision it as millions of people rushing about their
daily work all over the world, but handing a note to
everyone they pass. Imagine it: everyone you passed
today havng a note in their pocket, silently handing
it to you, each one containing a connection and a
lesson that would have gone otherwise unnoticed.

I had this thought of karma in my head all day today.

I was on my way to the bus to visit my cousins, Sam
and Inbar, downtown, when I got a call from a friend,
R. She was at the supermarket, so I ducked in to say
hi just as she was leaving. She looked depressed and
asked me to have a cup of tea at the nearby cafe. I
was hesitant because I had told my cousins I was on
the way. But, I thought, it's just as important to be
punctual as it is to be present, even if
contradictory. So we sat and talked for half an hour,
and then she got up and settled the bill. I found this
funny, because we're both so broke we always split the
bill.
When I finally got to Cafe Hillel downtown I had this
in my head. I wavered a moment as Sam, Inbar and I
looked over the menu. I would be a good hostess if I
bought them their drinks. But we're all in the same
boat - why should one broke person pick up her broke
friend's tab? Then I thought of R, her moment of
generosity, and how I always wish I could be the
hostess that my hosts, when travelling, have been to
me. Then it was no longer a choice - I had to pay it
forward!

There have been little moments like these all week,
now that I think of them. Breaking the awkward
elevator silence to talk to a stranger in the morning,
then getting serenaded by Italian Opera by a stranger
on the bus in the evening. Offering help, receiving
help. Asking the divinity for guidance, and a path
manifesting.

Later in the evening R and I and another friend were
walking through downtown, when I was approached by
three greasy pre-teens for a shekel. I didn't think
they needed it - maybe they were just trying to find a
way to talk to us. But the meaningfulness of giving
and receiving was fresh in my head. I gave them a
"like I really believe your shtick" look and gave them
the shekel. After all, what's 25 cents in the grand
scheme?
Moments later our friend ran into a former partner on
the street. While they talked congenially for a while,
when the three of us got into the cab she broke down.
The reunion had re-broken her heart, and she began to
cry. The cab driver turned around in his seat. "What's
going on?" he said. Then he opened the glove
compartment and passed back a roll of toilet paper for
her to dry her eyes. "Wait," he said, and dug around
through some cassette tapes. He put one in, and the
car filled with French love songs.
"What do you think about love?" I asked him,
apathetically. R and I explained the situation of our
friend - what is there to do when love is lost? Why
does it take years for that pain to heal, only to
leave a bumpy seam of scar tissue across our entire
beings? He replied, "If your heart longs for his
heart, and his heart for yours, then they will meet
again."

The driver pulled up to our building. Our friend was
still unable to hold back her tears. He told us that
if we gave him information about the ex he would go
right out into the night and find him and tell him
what he was missing. We laughed at this idea. A cab
driver with barely any English searching the streets
of Jerusalem to rough up an otherwise decent American.
But then he had another idea: "For no charge," he
said, "I'll take you back into town. We'll go to Cafe
Rimon and I'll get you all juice, and we'll talk. What
do you say?" We laughed harder, laughing and crying at
once. And for some reason, we all agreed.

In the end our driver was called up for another
assignment, but first he took us to a nearby market,
parked, and after a minute came back with a shopping
bag. He handed back to us a bottle of orange juice and
three cups, three chocolate pudding cups (called
"Milky") with three spoons, and three Kinder
chocolates. Who has ever had a cab driver like this?
Since when do these strangers come around in a busy,
dangerous world and buy a girl chocolate pudding when
she's sad?
I burst into my apartment brimming with amazement at
this event. Since I don't eat milk I gave the Milky to
my roommate, M, and told her the story. She replied,
"it's kind of funny, this whole karma thing, because a
Milky was exactly what I needed right now." And she
peeled back the lid and dug in with the little plastic spoon.






Walk to the dinner in Rehavia
My compassionate boss
Roommate