The chase was on! In a rash challenge to my friends, I had chosen to take the lift (elevator) up to the cinema level of the shopping centre, while they had taken the escalator. Who would get there first? Time was crucial; everything was at stake!
I waited impatiently, as the seconds ticked by, for a lift to arrive: things were not looking good for my chances at winning. Suddenly, a lift stopped on my floor, and its doors opened. I rushed inside, to find a couple and their child, with dark skin of Indian or Muslim origin. I hurriedly asked them whether the lift was on its way up or down, and explained to them the urgency of the situation. They reassured me that they were also on their way up to the next floor, and the husband smilingly suggested to me that I tell my friends that I'd been delayed by the 'wrong kind of people.' As the lift's doors opened, just before I rushed out, I smiled at him and said, 'I don't think so.'
Unfortunately, I lost the race; my friends were waiting for me when I arrived. But the incident came back to me later, and on reflection, I see that it teaches a profound point. I heard Rabbi Mordechai Machlis say once in the name of Rav Shlomo Carlebach: "A person is never in the wrong place." In its simplicity, this statement carries great profundity. Nothing is for nothing; nothing is by chance. Our smallest interactions and experiences have purpose, relevance, and, if we can discover it, meaning. As Jews, we understand that there is a Master, who crafts and forms His plan: nothing is for nothing, nothing is by chance. We, and our lives and experiences, are woven into the plan, although our understanding of the context and relevance of the parts we play are at most dim and vague.
When I told the pleasant stranger in the lift in a brief phrase that I didn't think that he and his family were 'the wrong type of people,' I really meant it. They had been kind, had seen the humour, had been sympathetic to my situation. They were, as far as I'm concerned, the right kind of people, and, although our interaction was very brief, it was a pleasure to have to do with them. How many of our family, friends and acquaintances are the 'right kind of people'? How many people are we indeed privileged to know or to interact with; how many do we take for granted?
Shavua tov
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(Image from here)
I waited impatiently, as the seconds ticked by, for a lift to arrive: things were not looking good for my chances at winning. Suddenly, a lift stopped on my floor, and its doors opened. I rushed inside, to find a couple and their child, with dark skin of Indian or Muslim origin. I hurriedly asked them whether the lift was on its way up or down, and explained to them the urgency of the situation. They reassured me that they were also on their way up to the next floor, and the husband smilingly suggested to me that I tell my friends that I'd been delayed by the 'wrong kind of people.' As the lift's doors opened, just before I rushed out, I smiled at him and said, 'I don't think so.'
Unfortunately, I lost the race; my friends were waiting for me when I arrived. But the incident came back to me later, and on reflection, I see that it teaches a profound point. I heard Rabbi Mordechai Machlis say once in the name of Rav Shlomo Carlebach: "A person is never in the wrong place." In its simplicity, this statement carries great profundity. Nothing is for nothing; nothing is by chance. Our smallest interactions and experiences have purpose, relevance, and, if we can discover it, meaning. As Jews, we understand that there is a Master, who crafts and forms His plan: nothing is for nothing, nothing is by chance. We, and our lives and experiences, are woven into the plan, although our understanding of the context and relevance of the parts we play are at most dim and vague.
When I told the pleasant stranger in the lift in a brief phrase that I didn't think that he and his family were 'the wrong type of people,' I really meant it. They had been kind, had seen the humour, had been sympathetic to my situation. They were, as far as I'm concerned, the right kind of people, and, although our interaction was very brief, it was a pleasure to have to do with them. How many of our family, friends and acquaintances are the 'right kind of people'? How many people are we indeed privileged to know or to interact with; how many do we take for granted?
Shavua tov
-----
(Image from here)
