From the apartment we rented in Ashdod for bein hazmanim, we went out, young and old, to an Ashdod Park. We organized two large bags, which included food and drink, games and dishes for the way, and we set out for the nearby bus stop. Our original idea turned out to be something that many other families had thought of; when the bus arrived at the stop, it was filled to bursting. Nonetheless, we all got on. I was in charge of the two large bags, and so I got on the bus and stood where my legs found a spot. It was difficult for me to carry the bags while standing, so I placed them on the floor of the bus.
In good time, we arrived at the park and got off one by one. I breathed a sigh of relief after the ride on the crowded bus. I stretched my arms excitedly and then realized that my relief was premature. Where were the big bags I was supposed to be carrying?
“Oh, no! The bags stayed on the bus!” I called out. Someone tried to stop the bus, but it was already driving away. Good people gave my father the bus company’s number, and when he called he was told that the bus had continued on to the Central Bus Station and that we should go and wait there so we could get our bags back.
My brother was quickly sent in a taxi to the Central Bus Station, where he went into the office and told them the whole story.
“The bus still hasn’t gotten here,” they told him. “When the bags arrive we’ll call you. Wait here in the area.”
He left the office and was walking around, and then another Yid came over to him and asked, “Would you be able to complete a minyan for us for Minchah?”
“Sure,” my brother agreed.
He joined their minyan, and immediately after davening he got a message that the bags had arrived.
He returned with the bags and also the story: “Did you hear what happened? I’m sure that the whole story with the bags only happened so that I could complete the minyan for those nine Jews who were waiting for me.”
