Kind of Acts of Kindness

July 6, 2009

The other day, on the short walk down the road from the Bet Yehoshua station to Sheatufim, a woman my age slowed her car, giving the “I am going to ask this guy for directions” look. This has happened several times over the past months, such that I can think through the Hebrew in advance, allowing me to be somewhat helpful with a brief “yashar” (straight ahead) or “yamina” (to the right). This woman surprised me, however, with an American accent, asking, “can you tell me how to get to this place” pointing to a Mapquest sort of map. It must be that I have been in Israel long enough, and my ulpan teacher Elana, insistent enough, that instead of responding with “yes, ” the Hebrew word for yes “keyn” just came out. Once that happened, I could not resist just continuing in Hebrew, with enough English to assure her that I could communicate the information that she needed. The map was clear and the destination obvious, so I am sure I was helpful, even with a little English.

The site has become familiar. As I approach the stainless steel turnstile at the entrance to the public restroom in the Jerusalem bus station, a woman and her elderly father, supported by an aluminum cane, stand with a bewildered expression and offer the barely audible, slightly aggravated, “I don’t have a one shekel coin.” After my first experience with this, many months ago, the last thing I do before leaving our apartment in Tel Aviv for a trip to Jerusalem, is put a few one shekel coins in my pocket, from the stack of them I keep on the window sill in our apartment. I reach into my pocket and with a magnanimous flourish, hand her a shekel and say, “please—allow me.” She gratefully takes the coin (wondering to herself, "who is this masked man?") so that her father can enter the men’s room. “Yes, it is ridiculous,” I say.