Because of the "Book"

× Because of the "Book" x

It was a big day in our lives. Our oldest son, Mendy, was getting engaged. Our hearts beat with excitement and deep thanks to Hashem for bringing us to this point. The kallah lived in Haifa, at least a two-hour drive from Yerushalayim, where we live, and we were supposed to be making a l'chaim that evening in her parents' home.

My wife carefully packed a bag with a suitable gift for the kallah, Shabbos clothing for us, and some other vital items. We left Yerushalayim several hours in advance, not wanting to take a chance of being delayed. My brother-in-law, who also lives in Haifa, arranged for an apartment where we could stay until it would be time to go to the l'chaim. We were on our way!

On the bus, it was hard to contain all our emotions. My wife and I both said Tehillim most of the way, in an outpouring of tefillah and bakashah to Hashem. We cried and laughed and recalled various milestones and challenges in the life of our son, Mendy, the almost-chassan.

Perhaps it was a result of that jumble of emotions and slight confusion, and certainly it was hashgachas Hashem, but the fact is that as soon as we got off the bus in Haifa and it pulled away, we realized that our bag was not with us. We'd left it in the suitcase compartment under the bus!

This was bad news. Help! What would we do, and how in the world could we show up at our own son's l'chaim without proper clothing and a gift for the kallah?! For a full sixty seconds, panic set in.

But then, for my wife, of course, emunah took over.

She took a deep breath. "Mendy is getting engaged," she said slowly. "Let's thank Hashem again. Let's thank Him for the missing bag, too, because if this is what happened, then this is His will." Right there on the sidewalk, we each said Mizmor I'sodah, slowly and with great kavanah. Then, not really knowing what else to do, we walked up to the apartment that had been arranged for us.

Several minutes later, my cell phone rang.

"Did you lose a bag on the bus from Yerushalayim to Haifa just now?" a voice with a strange accent asked.

"Yes!" I shouted in excitement.

"You had a book there in the bag," the voice continued, and in seconds, as I flipped through the contents of the bag in my mind's eyes, I realized he could only be referring to the sefer Mesillas Yesharim, which I learn constantly and take with me everywhere.

"I did," I answered, and, my mind working at top speed, I understood that the only place in the entire bag and its contents where my name and number were listed was in that sefer.

"I'm from the bus company's lost and found office," the man continued. "Your bag just arrived here, and you can come pick it up anytime this afternoon." He gave me an address in downtown Haifa.

Dazed, I hung up the phone.

Less than a minute later there was a knock on the door. It was my brother-in-law, bearing cakes and cold drinks.

"You're not going to believe what just happened," I told him, and I shared with him the events of the past twenty minutes.

"Perfect," he responded. "I'll go with my car and pick up the suitcase for you. I need to be in the area anyway," he added. (To this day, I have no idea whether he really had to be there or if he invented that story in order to make us think it was nothing for him.)

I couldn't get over what happened, and the lightning speed of all the events. Anyone who's had experience with losing something on an Israeli bus system will tell you that what took place here was not normal. Never have I heard of someone getting a phone call from the bus company, and so soon after losing something on a bus. It often takes days or even weeks to locate a lost item. Moreover, it was openly manifested hashgachah that I had brought the sefer along, which had my name and number in it, and that I had left it in the suitcase. Normally, I would have had it in a small bag with me on the bus. And what in the world motivated the worker in the office to go through the bag, item by item, until he found a name and number inside the sefer? I'll never know.

What I do know is that three quarters of an hour after my wife and I said Mizmor I'sodah on the sidewalk, we said it again in that apartment with additional joy and thanks to Hashem. Our suitcase was back, with everything intact.

We arrived at the mechutan's home just in time to rejoice with our Mendy, whose face was glowing like the sun, and his kallah, who exclaimed that the gift we'd brought was exactly what she'd always wanted.

Mazal tov, my friends! May we share simchos always, and may we be zocheh to thank Hashem every moment of our lives!