Part II
This true story happened many years ago, before the age of
credit cards and modern telecommunications technology.
Synopsis:
The author finds herself stranded in Zurich airport with an
invalid airline ticket. No one at home in Los Angeles answers
the phone and at her father's business, no one will accept
the collect call...
Dissolving into tears, suddenly a family of blue-eyed, blond
parents, accompanied by two similar-looking children, appear
on the scene and offer to take her under their wing.
"Come to us! We're very wealthy, you know. I'll give you new
clothing and lovely things. We'd love to have you as our
guest."
This was, you must admit, pretty unbelievable. I was a little
annoyed, though. Who did this lady think I was, some
vagabond? I thought my clothing looked pretty nice.
Besides, they were very obviously not Jewish, and the last
thing I needed was to be kidnapped by people offering me new
clothing and lovely things.
"That's very kind of you, but I think I'll just stay here and
try calling my parents a bit later. They'll know what to
do."
Then the man spoke. "What you need, young lady, is a new
ticket."
"I know, by I only have $10 in my wallet. I don't think a new
ticket can be purchased for that amount." Smiling, I hoped
they realized I was joking.
"That is correct," said the man. "I will buy you a new
ticket. Come, let's all go to the different airlines and see
when we can get you on a flight to Los Angeles."
First I tried to make sure that I had heard correctly. Then
my smile disappeared into the bottom of my jaw as it clunked
down.
"Please, Mr., uh,..."
"Schellenberg. Arthur Schellenberg." He put out his hand for
me to shake. I dramatically dropped my purse to have an
excuse not to take his outstretched hand, and then made an
obvious effort to find a tissue.
"Mr. Schellenberg, that is such a kind offer, but I'm
sure..."
"No, no. I insist. Money is no problem for me. Come, let's
go." And off he went, down towards the main lobby of the
airport. His wife nodded to me encouragingly. With a prayer
in my heart and a firm belief in Hashgocho Protis, I
followed, figuring I could always make a getaway if anything
seemed suspicious.
Swiss Air had the next available flight, but it was only
departing the following morning. As Mr. Schellenberg spoke
with the ticket agent, Mrs. Schellenberg said that I must
come spend the night in their home, since my flight was only
going to be the next day. She again tried to `bribe' me with
the new-clothes-and- lovely-things bit. I firmly stood my
ground. Thanking her for her graciousness, I was having a
hard time convincing her that I would be wonderfully
comfortable in the airport lobby.
"Well, if you won't come to us, we must put you up in a hotel
nearby," she insisted.
Now Mr. Schellenberg turned to me. "The ticket actually costs
more than I have on me at the moment. I will send my
chauffeur with the money, and he will meet you, say, upstairs
at the entrance to the restaurant, where we met, in about two
hours' time. As soon as you have the money, come here to this
agent to purchase your new ticket. I've told him to expect
you."
"She needs money for a hotel as well," his wife said.
"Fine, fine. And I'll throw in some spending money for you,
too," he decided.
This couldn't be happening, I told myself. It
doesn't happen to nice, frum Bais Yaakov girls coming
home from a year in seminary. The Schellenbergs bade me
goodbye, but not before I got their phone number and
address.
Having nothing better to do, I went again to see if my guitar
had been found (it hadn't) and then went upstairs to the
overseas operator. Perhaps now I would be able to reach my
parents.
"Can you please place another call for me?" I asked the lady
at the desk.
She obviously recognized me, because she looked at me with
pitying eyes. She should only know what had happened since
she last saw me!
Entering one of the booths, familiar with the procedure, I
waited for the phone to ring. The shrill "brrrring"
was music to my ears. I picked up the phone and cried,
"Hello! Hello!"
"Debby! What on earth are you doing in Zurich? Is that where
you are? That's what the operator said!" It was wonderful
hearing my father's voice.
"Oh, Daddy! I tried calling you about an hour ago, but Louise
wouldn't accept the call at the office, and there was no
answer at home."
"We must have been on our way. But what on earth are you
doing in Switzerland?"
I explained everything to my father. "This is all
unbelievable," he exclaimed. "What Hashgocho Protis!
Had you reached us earlier, the Schellenbergs would have
walked right out of that restaurant and not paid any
attention to you. Even if I were to wire you the money for a
new ticket, where would I have wired it to? Debby, c/o Zurich
International Airport? Where would you have stayed? What
could you have done with only $10?"
I agreed wholeheartedly.
"Listen, maidele. Hopefully this is not some kind of
mean joke. It doesn't sound like it to me. Go meet the
chauffeur at the agreed-upon time. But if you feel that
something suspicious is going on, run away immediately. And
please call as soon as you have the ticket in your hand!"
We said goodbye and I took out my Tehillim. The two
hours passed quickly and I soon saw the operator directing a
man in my direction.
"Are you Miss Sterling?" he inquired politely.
"Yes, I am."
He carefully handed me an envelope. "This is from the
Schellenbergs. They said that if you need any more money, you
should call them. They have made reservations for you at a
hotel right near the airport. Goodbye and good luck."
"So this wasn't a joke," I thought to myself, thanking Hashem
again and again. Not only would I get back to Los Angeles on
time but Hashem had also supplied me with great material for
my first class!"
"Thank you. Thank you so much. And please send my warmest
wishes of gratitude to the Schellenbergs. My father will
reimburse them as soon as I arrive home." The chauffeur left
and I was really on my own now. Well, not exactly. I sure
felt the Ribono Shel Olom with me!
I went back down to the lobby and purchased my ticket. Then I
called my parents to let them know where I would be staying
overnight, got very clear instructions as to how to be very,
very careful, took my luggage and made my way to the
hotel.
The rest of my journey was uneventful. Aside from the fact
that I was faint from starvation until I got my kosher meal
on the flight, I was bursting with excitement from the whole
episode. The whole thing was like something out of a book --
totally unreal! I could hardly wait to tell my friends.
You may think that the story ends here. It does, basically.
But there was an interesting twist you might want to hear
about. After all the hugs and the kisses upon seeing my
family, my father asked for Mr. Schellenberg's address so
that he could thank him and pay him back. My father wrote a
lovely, warm letter, calling Mr. Schellenberg "a modern-day
knight in shining armor."
A couple of weeks went by and I was well into my teaching job
when we got a nice, friendly letter from Mr. Schellenberg,
thanking my father for his warm words and saying that it had
been unnecessary to repay him. But he didn't send back the
money... He also invited us all to join him and his wife in
their chalet in St. Moritz. If there had been any doubt as to
his wealth, it was now erased!
Since my father enjoys corresponding, he replied right away
to Mr. Schellenberg's letter, which was answered promptly. In
his third letter, my father mentioned something about our
being Jewish. We were all waiting for another letter from Mr.
Schellenberg, just out of curiosity. The letter never came.
My father wrote once again, and still, no answer came back.
That's when my father hit upon something really
interesting.
"You know," he said, "I wouldn't be surprised if our Mr.
Schellenberg turned out to be an anti-Semite."
"Why do you think that?"
"He didn't know you were Jewish, did he? Our last name
certainly doesn't sound Jewish, and you don't necessarily
look Jewish. With a name like Sterling, he must have thought
you were of Anglo-Saxon descent." He began chuckling. "I was
just thinking," he continued, "if Mr. Schellenberg is indeed
an anti-Semite, he must have been gnashing his teeth when he
read about our being Jewish."
My father, very perceptive about people, must have been right
because years later, we came across an intriguing news item.
A certain Mr. Schellenberg was captured after having
successfully hidden his Nazi past for many years. He was
accused of committing atrocities against Jewish victims
during World War II.
We don't know for sure if it was `our' Mr. Schellenberg, but
we do know that Hashem has many messengers to help His
precious children.
Author's note: It should be noted that this story took
place thirty years ago. Although one still had to be on
guard, the world then was a more trusting place. Today it
would be truly unwise to follow an unknown person or accept
favors from strangers in this manner.
