“Those who wander are never lost.”

Our tour bus stopped in the Golan Heights near the borders of Lebanon and Syria. I took a picture of the UN jeep and wished I had the opportunity to take photos of the military equipment being transported along the the highway.

I never made it to Jerusalem. I honestly believe I wasn’t supposed to. I travel to learn things I don’t know, to witness things, and try to understand what they mean. I went to Israel to learn about Judaism, a religion I know little about. What happened to me made that possible.

I climbed a little incline, and this was the last picture I took before the incident.

As I came down from this little hill, I slipped on the gravel and my rear end landed on my foot. I tried to get up and felt no support. The lovely people from my tour gathered around me. Somehow, I lost my balance and saw that my foot was at a strange right angle from the leg bone, which was a large knot at the end of my shin. My guide, who was very upset, asked no one in particular if my foot was broken. The anesthesiologist from the tour group replied affirmatively. His wife asked what level of pain I was in. I picked 3, and she replied that I was at least a 5.

I honestly felt nothing. I was embarrassed by all the attention and wanted the crowd around me to resume walking to the observation area. All my life, I could go into a state of numbness when needed. I’m an adult child of an alcoholic. Denial of situations and circumstances is a skill perfected by ACOAs like me. We trained ourselves to navigate through the tough times. The bad part of this is that we smile through a lot of garbage. The good part is that we are very resilient.

Our tour guide called an ambulance. As the attendants lifted me up onto a gurney, I warned them that they were dealing with a woman who was not petite and cautioned them not to hurt themselves. I also asked the driver if we could stop for ice cream on the way to the hospital. Self-deprecation and humor have become my adult tools for dealing with life. They’ve become more pronounced as I’ve grown older, since I’m no longer the shy child I used to be.

I was rolled into the ambulance. I looked up and saw a smiling young man who said, “When I saw you, I prayed you’d be American.”

What? From my prone position, as I tried to move my good foot so it wasn’t touching the injured one, I was totally confused.

“Hi,” was all I could come up with.

The attendant was glad I was American because he wanted to practice his English. I thought he spoke well, and he told me he had learned much from watching American television. We ended up talking a lot, and as a result, I came to know about his fascinating religion.

This remarkable young man was a Druze. The Druze broke off from Islam in the 10th century and see themselves as a monotheistic religion that combines Judaism and Christianity with Islam. They strongly believe in reincarnation and accept no converts. Only individuals who have achieved a specific spiritual enlightenment can be part of the group and read Druze literature. They have no set ceremonies, but eating pork, smoking, and drinking are prohibited. 120,000 Druze live in Northern Israel. They speak Arabic but are a community distinct from other Israeli Arabs and serve their required time in the Israeli army.

The young man was kind, and he told me he wanted to be a doctor. I assured him he would be an excellent one.

I arrived at The Ziv Medical Center in Zefat, Israel, and did the usual: met with the billing department, explained what happened, and had blood work. I was then taken to a little room filled with people who turned out to be medical students. As they stared at my broken foot, I told them I was happy I got a pedicure before I left America, or they would have been appalled by my ugly old lady toenails. They laughed. The real doctor didn’t seem amused. My leg was numbed, and he proceeded to twist my ankle bone back into my leg. I squeezed the young female medical student’s hand. A hefty plaster cast was put on my leg, and I was transported to X-ray. The bone wasn’t placed right. The cast was taken off, the bone repositioned once again as I squeezed the same girl’s hand, then more X-rays and success. One more trip to the little room and time for pictures.

I had to stay overnight, but what a wonderful experience it was. I was sung to.

I was visited by a female rabbi. She came into my hospital room like a superhero dressed in a stylish black outfit, so powerful in her convictions. She seemed to give off an energy and almost glowed. She preached about the sanctity of marriage, and I didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell her I was divorced and had no plans of ever getting married again. Strangely enchanted, I somehow knew I was supposed to put money in the yellow silk bag she carried. She said a blessing over m,e and I asked if I could take a picture of her. She wouldn’t allow it, saying that what she said was more important than who she was.

Michelle was sent from the tour company to watch over me and make sure I was okay. She became a friend, and I will have more to tell about her in my next post. A lady entered my room and chatted with me. She gave me two candles for Shabbat, the Jewish weekly day of worship. One candle represents the the obligations of prayer from sundown on Friday to the morning sunrise on Saturday. The other candle represented the joy and benefits of these special hours spent in God’s presence.

So much kindness. I never cried during the whole adventure until just before I left. The medical student who held my hand while I went through orthopedic torture brought me a chocolate bar and the note shown below.

The kindness of strangers is why I travel. I’ve been lucky enough to find the true spirit of human beings untainted by personal preference or prejudice. They are encounters with no time to gossip, label, or judge. People reaching out to live and love in the present moment with smiles and acceptance. Our exchanges are fresh and alive without fear. This is the beautiful world.

I broke my ankle in The Golan Heights near the Lebanon/ Syrian border and never got to Jerusalem, but I got exactly the journey I was supposed to have.

“We travel, some of us forever, to seek other places, other lives, other souls.”-Anais Nin.

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