The sun was shining over a blue Jerusalem sky. The
invitations to my wedding in my backpack, along with my
clothes and other things for the coming week, I was on my way
to seminary that Sunday morning, the joy growing in my heart
with each step. I looked ahead at the Old City walls in front
of me. Three weeks. Just three weeks until I'm married --
crazy, incredible, exciting.
As I crossed the street at the zebra crossing, imagining the
life that lay before me, I heard a scream coming from behind.
It shook me back to reality. I saw nothing of significance
and couldn't understand the reason for the scream. As I
turned to continue across the street, I suddenly felt the
impact as the bus knocked me down.
I am lying between the two front wheels of a Jerusalem
Egged bus. I have to be dead!
The shouts were becoming clearer, the banging on the side of
the bus seemed louder.
If I can hear, if I can see the feet in front of me, if I
can see the dirty underside of this bus -- I must be
alive!
With that realization, I began to scream, the shock of what
had just happened to me becoming an actualization.
I felt a hand grab the top strap of my backpack and pull me
out from under the bus. The sun and sky looked beautiful.
I can see you, and I'm alive!
The passengers were getting off the bus. I can still hear me
screaming. I saw the bus driver standing by the door, smoking
a cigarette. I heard him say between puffs that the sun had
been low; he hadn't seen me start to cross the street.
"Nu, enough, already."
My shrieking was obviously bothering someone. In typical
Israeli mentality, I was being told to just deal with the
situation and get over it.
"What's the matter with her?" another voice added.
My skirt had risen up and my knee socks had fallen down. I
saw my legs covered in dirt. I wanted to, but just couldn't
move to sort myself out; the pain was awesome.
A policeman was standing over me saying something I just
about understood.
"Are you alright?"
"Boruch Hashem."
I can hear a girl's voice saying, "I know her! Oh, no! It's
Nechama!"
The darkness came and the sound grew dim.
A few moments later, I came around, to be greeted by a huge
crowd forming around me and still my knees were on show. I
became hysterical.
"I didn't see him. I looked but I didn't see."
Later we discovered he had been driving over the speed
limit.
Once in the ambulance, they started to ask all kinds of
questions, but the only thing I could say was that I was
getting married in three weeks. An ambulance, sirens on,
rushing through the traffic of the waking Jerusalem streets
wtih a team of paramedics in the back singing,
"Siman tov umazel tov..."
Now THAT's an only-in-Israel story...
The rest is a blur -- the hospital, the ride home, the pain
that was raging through my body. What I do remember is waking
up the next morning, in my own bed.
I have never said those words with such meaning and
emotion.
"Modeh ani lefoneicho. I gratefully thank You... You
have returned my soul to me."
My life was in Your hands and You showed me I am never
alone. Every step, every breath is in Your control. Every
moment You are beside me.
And You were most definitely beside me as I walked down to my
chuppa three weeks minus one day later. When I was
dancing in the middle of that untamed circle, an
extraordinary, remarkable force gave me the ability to keep
on moving my feet, never mind the support bandages around my
knees and ankles. I hardly noticed the pain. The
simcha of the night was the only thing I felt.
I have so often wondered why such a thing happened to me. The
story I can tell is not one many people can match. Such
strange things occur in this world. Sometimes we see the
wisdom as it happens, other situation never seem clear. The
only point to remember is that every second is a gift to be
gratefully received.
[Let me note that Nechama was an unpublished author until I
flipped through a pamphlet put out by Pri Chadash Creative
Writers' Workshop, looking for some poetry. Her debut was an
entry of two poems chosen for our Succos issue. Without that
encouragement, this piece would never have seen print.
"Lo omus ki echye, va'asaper... I shall not die, but
live -- to tell the works of Hashem!"
And now, we, too, know Nechama...]
