The Jerusalem Bandit

The events of the past two weeks have forced me to ask one of the most pondered, enigmatic questions of our time: why do bad things happen to good people?

Though I’m no saint, I don’t think I’ve done anything so drastic to warrant the punishment the universe granted me this past week.

And though I know nobody likes a complainer, this story makes for juicy blog material, so here it goes:

It all began on January 10^th. I return home around four p.m from a long day trip to the Old City, tired, ready to plop on the couch with a cup of tea and my laptop. Maybe I’ll download a movie? Or watch an episode of Friends? The thought is comforting. Ritually, I place my bag in my room, turn on the kettle, and head to the dining room table where my laptop usually is—or at least, where I last left it.

I feel my stomach begin to collapse when I see a table with only a few pencils, paper, and cutlery strewn across the off-white surface. No laptop. Somebody must have borrowed it. Or maybe it’s in my room. I begin to get frantic. My roommates think nothing of it, for things as important as Mac laptops don’t just disappear like socks.

I search high and low—under the bed, beneath my mattress, even in the most ludicrous locations it couldn’t possibly be. Like the refrigerator? God only knows what was running through my mind at the time.

I quickly rally an entire search team to knock on every apartment door, asking if somebody borrowed my computer.

By six p.m I realize my search hopeless. Though I don’t give up. I put my Nancy Drew thinking cap on and figure the best option, now that I’ve interrogated every person in my section, is to report it to the police. Maybe an investigation will be fun, I think, attempting to make the best of the terrifying situation. But, in the back of my mind a little devil reminds me that my only portal to the outside world—my connection to my friends, family, and important documents—are most likely in the hands of a heartless Jerusalem thief.

The following day I make it to the police station and manage to report every detail of the theft in Hebrew (thought I’d boast a bit about my improving Hebrew skills). I feel flushed as I anticipate the police laughing in my face. I mean, it’s Israel. There are a few bigger problems here than an American teenagers’ stolen laptop. Even so, by some stroke of luck, the cops take my complaint seriously. Some naïve hope within me prays they will start a full on, fingerprinting, trench coat and rubber gloves wearing forensic investigation. But to my dismay, none of the aforementioned actually occurs.

Unfortunately, there is no happy ending to this story. I am still currently laptop-less, and recovering from a 24 bug I caught two days ago. I had to postpone some midterms and assignments, as I spent all of Sunday sick to my stomach, completely bed-ridden. Thankfully I had two great roommates, my close friends and “Israel Mommies” to take care of me.

So now that my complaining rampage has come to an end, and I’m on a positive note, my perspective changes a bit.

I zoom out for a moment and begin to see the situation objectively. I grasp it for what it is, and willingly let my feelings of resentment and frustration for the world escape me. I realize that after all of the mini-traumas and thing’s I’ve lost, I’ve gained a few things in the process—things a bit more important than a hard-drive, some wires, and Sunday’s appetite. I’ve gained gratitude. Gratitude and perhaps a realization that it all happened for some cosmic, karmic lesson God was trying to teach me.

This surge of gratitude has brought me to think about who and what I am currently grateful for. In my previous post, I didn’t express my thanks for those who gave me the opportunity to come home—my parents. Seeing them, after four months of separation, made me appreciate their presence in my life. It is their financial and emotional support that is allowing me to live this amazing adventure in Israel. Because they want what is best for me, they flew me to the States In December, will fly me to Poland in March, and will come visit me in April.

When I really stop and think about the significant people in my life, I find it difficult to even narrow the list down: my parents, sister, baby sister, stepparents, stepbrothers, grandparents, friends, boyfriend, and more. I am overwhelmed by the numbers of faces that appear before me.

I realize that the almost tangible happiness this image creates cannot be marred, dented, or even scratched by material losses—in fact, they seem rather trivial now in perspective.

The most important thing is that now I have my health, a temporary computer in the mail, a refreshing abundance of gratitude, and a life lesson I will take with me to the grave:

Never, EVER, forget to lock the front door.