Shabbat was lovely-it was my last quality time spent with my family, including some fun meals with our cousins, the Zuckers, and lots of walking around Jerusalem and the Old City (and even some jewelry shopping with my sister). Sunday morning, I woke up stressed. I had a lot to organize before my trip to Poland, and because of Caleb's bar mitzvah, I would be flying alone on a separate flight from the rest of my group a couple of hours after they left. I spent the day packing and showing my family my school, and then took my Nana and Hannah on a pre-Poland school trip to Yad Vashem, the Israeli holocaust museum. It was fascinating and a good intro to Poland for me. Sunday night we went out for dinner, and on the way back, my parents told me they wanted to buy some scotch. I told them I'd walk with them to buy some, while I sent Hannah, Caleb, and Nana back with my suitcase. And here, my friends, is where things go downhill.
I hailed them a taxi off the street and watched them drive away, before continuing to walk with my parents. When we had finished our shopping, we hailed our own cab. On the way home, I got a string on frantic Whatsapps from my sister: Rebecca call the cab right now!! Call cab! We left suitcase in cab! Call!!! Now!!! I began to panic, realizing I had hailed them a cab off the street, so unless they knew anything about the cab, the suitcase would disappear. Of course, they had no idea about the cab driver's name, company, or number. All Hannah would volunteer was that the cab was white, which is like saying a cab is yellow in New York City. All cabs are white.
We stood outside on the street for a hour, hailing cabs down to ask them to radio into their respective companies and ask about a missing suitcase. None were successful, and all told us that all hope was basically lost. We called the police in a last ditch attempt to find it, but they told us virtually the same thing: don't expect to ever see your suitcase again. At the moment I firmly gave up and began to sob, a taxi pulled up in front of our apartment and the angry cab driver got out, demanded 100 shekel, and flung the suitcase at us. My father refused to pay, and in their scuffle over how much to pay and whether or not the cab driver had done his job, I grabbed the suitcase and ran toward the apartment. Thank goodness! I had my suitcase, and all was well.
Back in the apartment, I took my dress out for the bar mitzvah and lay it out to remove any wrinkles. It happens to be my favorite dress, and I was so excited to wear it. Two hours later, I checked back on it, and realized it was too wrinkly to wear. I wanted it to look nice for the bar mitzvah, not wrinkly and ugly. So I took the iron out, plugged it into an adapter (please note, not a converter) and waited for it to heat up. No less than three seconds later it was already steaming, so I pressed it down onto the chest of my beautiful, blush pink crepe dress. The minute I did, I knew something was wrong. I picked it up and realized it had seared a huge hole in my dress. The dress was unwearable. I briefly panicked, until I realized I had another dress, and that what I wore wasn't that important anyways.
That morning, we woke up early, donned our Sunday's best, and headed to the Kotel. It was such a nice bar mitzvah-Caleb killed it with his Torah reading, and made not a single mistake. The food was delicious, the speeches were short but sweet, and everyone just enjoyed each other's company. It was so nice and so fitting for a bar mitzvah in Israel. After a delicious brunch, my parent's friends so kindly offered to drive me to the airport. I changed into my Poland clothing and prepared to go. I then realized I didn't have my wallet, but my parents assured me I would be fine and didn't need it. They handed me $200, which I put into my travel cosmetics case so it wouldn't get lost. I then headed to the airport.
Upon arrival at the airport, they instructed me to remove my cosmetics and put then in my checked luggage, which I did without thinking twice. I checked in for my flight to Vienna, but could not get a boarding pass printed for my connection from Vienna to Warsaw. The lady at the El Al desk assured me it would be fine, I would have time to print my boarding pass and make my flight. Security took two hours and I ran to my gate, but I made my plane. Feeling grateful and tired, I leaned back in my chair and woke up 3 hours later as our plane began its descent into Vienna. I realized the plane was slightly delayed-only slightly, but still, with 50 minutes to connect, I needed every minute. I asked the flight attendant if I would have time to make my connection, and again, I was assured I would. We landed and I rushed toward my gate.
And then I hit customs. By the time I made it out of customs, I had 6 minutes till my plane took off. I ran toward my gate, but I had to take a shuttle and the hallway once I got there was so long. The moment I hit my gate, I knew all was not right. The gate was empty and the sign said not Warsaw but Zurich. I felt a twinge of anxiety, but kept looking. The electronic Departures sign did not report a flight to Warsaw. What was happening? I approached the ticket counter and was told my flight had left. Two Israeli guys walking behind me heard the news and began to curse. They, too, had missed the connection to Warsaw. Together, we trudged through the airport, talking to different people who offered us mixed answers. Go to the El Al counter on the third floor, they'll get you on the next flight. No-there is no El Al counter here, you need to call them. What is El Al? Where are you going? There might be a flight to Warsaw in an hour. There are no flights to Warsaw until tomorrow. On and on went the conflicting information from different offices and attendants. No one offered us any real help. Meanwhile, I had to translate everything into Hebrew for the Israelis, who spoke, at best, broken English. Additionally, one of them was extremely handsy and kept suggesting the three of us get a hotel room together. I realized I wasn't safe with them, and made my way away from them.
One thing became clear from all the negotiating-the next flight to Warsaw was at 7:15AM. It was now 10pm. I called my principal, who was already in Warsaw, and explained the situation. He told me not to worry-he would get our travel agent to find me a hotel and a new ticket. I called the travel agent and explained everything, including the fact that I had no credit cards and only had access to 150 shekel, which is like 35 dollars. He assured me that I would be fine and sent me to a hotel right across the street. Perfect! I could sleep here and return to the airport in the morning. I walked through the cold rain to the hotel, and walked up the counter to reserve a room. The man looked at me pityingly and told me there were no availible rooms. I put him on the phone with the travel agent, but he got the same bad news. I walked outside, tears streaming down my face. I then saw another hotel. Yay! But when I finally got there, soaking wet and sobbing, they, too had no rooms. Then my principal called me. He told me I could either find a bench to sleep on in the airport, or find a cab that would take only the card number with the actual credit card, and ride from there to the hotel. I found one, and using a translator, explained the situation. He told me it was fine, and that he could drive me to the nearest hotel in the city center, a nice but inexpensive hotel. I got into the cab.
The entire ride to the hotel took 25 minutes and was mostly on the highway. I was tired, anxious, and had no idea where I was. The highway was pitch black and for all I knew, the cab driver was a murderer, a rapist, or some other kind of horrible I hadn't even thought of yet. When he pulled up by the hotel, I reached into my backpack to find my phone and felt a horrible lurch. It was gone! I removed everything from my backpack, found my phone, put myself together, paid for the cab, and walked inside. I had made a plan for the same cab driver to pick me up at 4:30AM, so now I was set. As I registered for the hotel, the guy asked me "Passport number?". I reached into my backpack in the spot where I kept my passport and felt nothing. I began to panic. I took everything out of my backpack on the hotel lobby floor but found nothing. I began to cry and panic. Sweat poured down my back, my chest ached. I realized that in the proccess of looking for my phone, I had left my passport in the cab. I ran onto the street, but he was long gone, and in the wet and muddy streets there was no passport. I was truly panicked. I called my dad freaking out, and he calmed down somewhat, reassuring me that I was safe and they would help me get a new passport if the guy didn't come back in the morning with it. But it would be hard-I had no money, no ID or passport, and no luggage. I essentially had nothing.
I sat down, and the horrible panic began to recede. I realized I was undoubtedly in a bad situation, but things were rock-bottom right now. I said a quick prayer and went to my hotel room. I didn't feel nervous anymore. In fact, I hardly felt anything. Just exhaustion and an aching desire to be home. I called my principal and relayed the latest information to him. He calmly told me not to worry, but that I would have to figure this out more or less on my own. He was running the Poland trip and had a lot on his plate, so he would help me all he could, but I would need to rely on my parents. His only last tip was to try and find a receipt from the cab. If I had one, I could call the company and maybe track him down. I found the receipt and ran back down to the front desk. It was already 1AM, but the front desk attendant called anyway, and spent 45 minutes speaking in rapid German to the cab company. He hung up and nodded at me-the guy would bring the passport back in the morning. I felt a huge wave of relief. As long as he showed up in the morning, I had a passport! I could leave Vienna! I went upstairs and readied myself for bed. The airport had given me an overnight package of essentials, so I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and put on the big sleep t-shirt. As I crawled into bed, I heard a knock.
I threw on a skirt and headed for the door. I opened it, and there was the cab driver, holding my passport. I thanked him profusely, confirmed our plans for him to pick me up at 4:30AM, and then went promptly to bed. It was already 2:30AM by this point. When I woke up, at 3:50AM, I didn't even feel tired. An adrenaline rush propelled me forward and kept me feeling alert. I just wanted to get to Warsaw, and after all I'd been through, I knew I needed every bit of energy and attention I had left to get there. I turned the shower on to the hottest setting and ran in, accidentally burning my arm so that it was red for days afterward. Still, I managed a nice shower, dressed, organized my stuff, double checked that I had everything, and headed down to meet the cab. 4:25. 4:30, 4:35. 4:40. 4:45. 4:50. No cab.
The front desk guy looked at me with the same pityingly look he'd given me the night before, and picked up the phone. He called four cab companies, all who refused to pick me up without a credit card (only the number). He then called his friend in the limo industry, but even his friend refused. I was out of options. I had almost no money and no where to change what little money I had into Euros or any other acceptable currency. This is where I think some sort of divine intervention occurred. Or maybe I just experienced a moment of human kindness so profound that it felt divine.
The front desk guy, who I would later learn is named Robert, took 40 Euros out of his wallet and handed them to me. "I trust you" he answered when I asked how I would pay him back. He gave me his information, and I gave him a promise that I would generously pay him back. Still, he had no guarantee of my trustworthiness and no way to ensure that I would keep my word. Of course, I did, but he didn't know I would. Without him, I never would have made it to the airport in time.
With Robert's generosity, I arrived at the airport, and whizzed through security. I checked in to my flight, and had my luggage transferred. I was sure that, given all my bad luck thus far, there was no way my luggage would make it to Warsaw. Imagine my surprise when, an hour later, I touched down in Warsaw and the first bag on the carousel was my own. My eyes welled with tears of relief when I realized I had made it safely and with everything I needed. The tears spilled over when I exited customs and was met by my rabbi, Rav Kaplan, with his long white beard, overcoat, trusty felt hat and warm smile. He handed me a sandwich of his own making and a bottle of water and ushered me to the car. I was finally safe and amongst people who would take care of me and protect me, and a was well.
And then I hit customs. By the time I made it out of customs, I had 6 minutes till my plane took off. I ran toward my gate, but I had to take a shuttle and the hallway once I got there was so long. The moment I hit my gate, I knew all was not right. The gate was empty and the sign said not Warsaw but Zurich. I felt a twinge of anxiety, but kept looking. The electronic Departures sign did not report a flight to Warsaw. What was happening? I approached the ticket counter and was told my flight had left. Two Israeli guys walking behind me heard the news and began to curse. They, too, had missed the connection to Warsaw. Together, we trudged through the airport, talking to different people who offered us mixed answers. Go to the El Al counter on the third floor, they'll get you on the next flight. No-there is no El Al counter here, you need to call them. What is El Al? Where are you going? There might be a flight to Warsaw in an hour. There are no flights to Warsaw until tomorrow. On and on went the conflicting information from different offices and attendants. No one offered us any real help. Meanwhile, I had to translate everything into Hebrew for the Israelis, who spoke, at best, broken English. Additionally, one of them was extremely handsy and kept suggesting the three of us get a hotel room together. I realized I wasn't safe with them, and made my way away from them.
One thing became clear from all the negotiating-the next flight to Warsaw was at 7:15AM. It was now 10pm. I called my principal, who was already in Warsaw, and explained the situation. He told me not to worry-he would get our travel agent to find me a hotel and a new ticket. I called the travel agent and explained everything, including the fact that I had no credit cards and only had access to 150 shekel, which is like 35 dollars. He assured me that I would be fine and sent me to a hotel right across the street. Perfect! I could sleep here and return to the airport in the morning. I walked through the cold rain to the hotel, and walked up the counter to reserve a room. The man looked at me pityingly and told me there were no availible rooms. I put him on the phone with the travel agent, but he got the same bad news. I walked outside, tears streaming down my face. I then saw another hotel. Yay! But when I finally got there, soaking wet and sobbing, they, too had no rooms. Then my principal called me. He told me I could either find a bench to sleep on in the airport, or find a cab that would take only the card number with the actual credit card, and ride from there to the hotel. I found one, and using a translator, explained the situation. He told me it was fine, and that he could drive me to the nearest hotel in the city center, a nice but inexpensive hotel. I got into the cab.
The entire ride to the hotel took 25 minutes and was mostly on the highway. I was tired, anxious, and had no idea where I was. The highway was pitch black and for all I knew, the cab driver was a murderer, a rapist, or some other kind of horrible I hadn't even thought of yet. When he pulled up by the hotel, I reached into my backpack to find my phone and felt a horrible lurch. It was gone! I removed everything from my backpack, found my phone, put myself together, paid for the cab, and walked inside. I had made a plan for the same cab driver to pick me up at 4:30AM, so now I was set. As I registered for the hotel, the guy asked me "Passport number?". I reached into my backpack in the spot where I kept my passport and felt nothing. I began to panic. I took everything out of my backpack on the hotel lobby floor but found nothing. I began to cry and panic. Sweat poured down my back, my chest ached. I realized that in the proccess of looking for my phone, I had left my passport in the cab. I ran onto the street, but he was long gone, and in the wet and muddy streets there was no passport. I was truly panicked. I called my dad freaking out, and he calmed down somewhat, reassuring me that I was safe and they would help me get a new passport if the guy didn't come back in the morning with it. But it would be hard-I had no money, no ID or passport, and no luggage. I essentially had nothing.
I sat down, and the horrible panic began to recede. I realized I was undoubtedly in a bad situation, but things were rock-bottom right now. I said a quick prayer and went to my hotel room. I didn't feel nervous anymore. In fact, I hardly felt anything. Just exhaustion and an aching desire to be home. I called my principal and relayed the latest information to him. He calmly told me not to worry, but that I would have to figure this out more or less on my own. He was running the Poland trip and had a lot on his plate, so he would help me all he could, but I would need to rely on my parents. His only last tip was to try and find a receipt from the cab. If I had one, I could call the company and maybe track him down. I found the receipt and ran back down to the front desk. It was already 1AM, but the front desk attendant called anyway, and spent 45 minutes speaking in rapid German to the cab company. He hung up and nodded at me-the guy would bring the passport back in the morning. I felt a huge wave of relief. As long as he showed up in the morning, I had a passport! I could leave Vienna! I went upstairs and readied myself for bed. The airport had given me an overnight package of essentials, so I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and put on the big sleep t-shirt. As I crawled into bed, I heard a knock.
I threw on a skirt and headed for the door. I opened it, and there was the cab driver, holding my passport. I thanked him profusely, confirmed our plans for him to pick me up at 4:30AM, and then went promptly to bed. It was already 2:30AM by this point. When I woke up, at 3:50AM, I didn't even feel tired. An adrenaline rush propelled me forward and kept me feeling alert. I just wanted to get to Warsaw, and after all I'd been through, I knew I needed every bit of energy and attention I had left to get there. I turned the shower on to the hottest setting and ran in, accidentally burning my arm so that it was red for days afterward. Still, I managed a nice shower, dressed, organized my stuff, double checked that I had everything, and headed down to meet the cab. 4:25. 4:30, 4:35. 4:40. 4:45. 4:50. No cab.
The front desk guy looked at me with the same pityingly look he'd given me the night before, and picked up the phone. He called four cab companies, all who refused to pick me up without a credit card (only the number). He then called his friend in the limo industry, but even his friend refused. I was out of options. I had almost no money and no where to change what little money I had into Euros or any other acceptable currency. This is where I think some sort of divine intervention occurred. Or maybe I just experienced a moment of human kindness so profound that it felt divine.
The front desk guy, who I would later learn is named Robert, took 40 Euros out of his wallet and handed them to me. "I trust you" he answered when I asked how I would pay him back. He gave me his information, and I gave him a promise that I would generously pay him back. Still, he had no guarantee of my trustworthiness and no way to ensure that I would keep my word. Of course, I did, but he didn't know I would. Without him, I never would have made it to the airport in time.
With Robert's generosity, I arrived at the airport, and whizzed through security. I checked in to my flight, and had my luggage transferred. I was sure that, given all my bad luck thus far, there was no way my luggage would make it to Warsaw. Imagine my surprise when, an hour later, I touched down in Warsaw and the first bag on the carousel was my own. My eyes welled with tears of relief when I realized I had made it safely and with everything I needed. The tears spilled over when I exited customs and was met by my rabbi, Rav Kaplan, with his long white beard, overcoat, trusty felt hat and warm smile. He handed me a sandwich of his own making and a bottle of water and ushered me to the car. I was finally safe and amongst people who would take care of me and protect me, and a was well.
The rest of my journey through Poland will be posted in my next entry, hopefully tomorrow. XXOO
That was a scary night; so glad you're safe!
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