A "blind" good deed

I have found here in Israel, that when I do a mitzvah (a good deed) I feel so much better about it than I did in the states. Can't explain why. Haven't taken the time to really think about it. But that is how it feels.

Even more so, when I took the time and went out of my way to help a blind woman with a seeing eye dog cross the street and find her bus stop this past Sunday.

I ended up in downtown Jerusalem in search of that 'perfect' wedding gift. I needed something to bring to the wedding of Russia meets France (more on that on a different post), because I knew that if I didn't give them something of meaning now, I would probably never see them again. I wanted something Judaica, but I knew a mezuzah or challah cover wouldn't work. I thought I might give them a nice wall hanging with the words, bless this home, or something like that.

I parked in the very full lot at the bottom of Ben Yehuda. Who says life doesn't go on in Jerusalem? It's almost impossible to find parking anymore, thank G-d!

I walked into one Judaica shop on a side street of Ben Yehuda, but found the prices too high for my wallet. I got the idea to call one other person from my ulpan class to ask if he wanted to go in with me on a gift. He agreed. So I continued on...

As I walked along busy Jaffa street, I noticed the many different nationalities of people walking by me. I assumed it was the X-mas holiday that had brought so many visitors to our homeland.

I turned the corner onto Ben Yehuda and almost walked into a very tall, striking woman with a beautiful dog by her side. She was standing on the corner calling out,"Slicha" (excuse me), trying to get someone to answer her. I came around to her side and said, "Kain? Efshar la'azor lach?" (Yes, may I help you?)

She turned to face my voice and asked if I knew where the number 13 bus stop was. I looked around and said I was sorry, but I did not. At this point she realized I spoke English (Don't know if it was my Hebrew or the accent, but people can tell I don't speak Hebrew very well!) She asked me in English if I knew where there was an Aroma coffee shop on Jaffa street, because the bus stop was right in front of the coffee shop. I quickly peeked around the corner and saw the coffee shop and bus stop she was referring her to.

"Yes, I see it." I told her. And I have to admit here that I honestly felt in that split second, "I hope she doesn't ask me to help her. I don't have time, I won't know what to do. This is scary."

"Can you help me get to the bus stop, please?"

"Of course, I could," I found myself answering, and she took my hand. I led her to the corner to cross the busy street. And suddenly, I found myself starting to cry.

The reality of what I was doing was huge! I was leading a blind woman and she trusted me - a perfect stranger - to lead her across a street and to a bus stop she couldn't even see. I suddenly became aware of every step and turn, telling her that we were waiting for the cross walk light to change, that we were stepping down and crossing Jaffa, that we were turning right, that there were a group of people blocking the sidewalk ahead of us. I loudly called out to the people to move, to be aware that there was someone trying to get by. I told her to be carefully of a beggar sitting on the corner.

We passed a pizza shop and she said, "Mmmmm, the pizza smells so good. The smells here are wonderful."

The tears were rolling down my cheek. What was G-d telling me?

We came to the bus stop. I banged on the metal walls so she could feel where we were. I assured her that we were at the #13 stop. (And now I'm wondering if I should have waited with her to make sure she got on the bus safely. Oh well.)

She thanked me for my help.

I thanked her for the opportunity. And I meant it!

I walked away, feeling very good about myself and very aware of the good deed I had just performed, but felt even more thankful for the gift this blind woman had just given me!

I felt humbled. Put in my place, of sorts.

I am spoiled.

I take too much for granted.

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**Stay tuned for the story of Russia meets France - or was it the other way around?**