It was past midnight. Christmas Eve had turned to Christmas Day and I was quickly losing any presence… of mind. Someone at the youth hostel had told me I should contact the Airport Police if I had any problems,

but when I asked for them, the Security guards said no such police existed!

Eventually it hit me and what had been only a flighting fear now took hold and challenged the reality of what I’d hoped for all these last 2 weeks while traveling the Mediterranean.

The truth finally broke: I was alone… in a strange land, no money, no friend, abandoned!

I lost it and I broke… into tears!

(Little did I know that only a few years later, this very room would witness greater tears than mine.

Japanese Terrorists allied with the PLF -Palestine Liberation Front, would pull machine guns out of their suitcases and massacre scores of travelers… right here!)

People tried to help me, but no more flights arrived and Arrivals was closing. They told me I had to leave.

But where could I go? A few shekels was all I had and everything was like the folk song, ‘Blowing in the Wind.’ Subconsciously, I stumbled outside and with my last coins and somebody’s help, I paid bus fare back to Tel Aviv.

We drove for what seemed an eternity. I sat and looked emptily out the windows into the darkness.

Then the bus stopped. The driver told me and a couple of Americans on board to get out: it was the end of the line!

I had no idea where I was, but I could tell it was about 2am in a very dark Arab part of the city.

No street lights shone to lighten my darkness.

The Americans started walking towards the train station in the north of the city to catch a train to Haifa,

so I figured I might as well walk with them, as it was in the same general direction as the hostel I’d stayed in.

None of us knew the way; we just followed whichever road seemed to lead north.

At one point, we met another group of Americans (why so many foreigners were wandering around dark Tel Aviv streets so early on Christmas morning, I’ll never know?) and they joined us.

One of them, a young 20-ish student, walked alongside me and asked me how I was doing?

I told her candidly: ‘Not good!’  and then my whole story of the last 2 weeks burst forth in all my confusion:

‘I’ve raced to Israel on $45! I was so close to winning, but now I’m broke – financially, emotionally, hopelessly!’

Her response surprised me. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘God will work this all out for good for you!’

I thought to myself: ‘That’s easy for you to say!’ but her faith and confidence exuded peace in the midst of my distress and I inexplicably felt a whole lot better. We continued walking.

Soon both groups of Americans went their separate ways and I walked alone again.

Not too far to the hostel though, and even if I didn’t have any money, maybe the caretaker I’d gotten to know over the last couple nights would let me stay even if I couldn’t pay?

But when I got to the hostel, no one was at the desk and the door inside was locked.

What to do? Plan B: climb up over the wall!

So I found a place where I thought I could hoist my pack up, throw it over, and then jump over after it.

Brilliant idea! However, I naively failed to consider some vital realities.

I threw my pack up and over, but it landed on the chicken coop, woke them all up and a furious uproar erupted!

3am: How do you quiet a bunch of squawking Israeli chickens in pre-dawn darkness on Christmas morning?

You don’t… and my predicament worsened: not only was my pack inside the compound, but as I tried to follow it over, my pants got caught on some barbed wire (set there to stop intruders like me?) and I was trapped.

I tried to hush the chickens, but a light came on and the watchman appeared to find me hanging over his wall! Mercifully, he recognized me and didn’t call the police. Rather, he let me retrieve my packsack, and although he couldn’t allow me to stay without paying, he directed me across the street where he said I could sleep quite safely.

‘Thieves and robbers shouldn’t bother you there,’ he assured me.

His ‘shouldn’t’ didn’t, and I wasn’t. But it was my only option.

I was exhausted, and so I found a place behind some bushes where I felt secure enough out of harm’s way.

I unrolled my sleeping bag, climbed in and with my jacket for a pillow, tried to get some sleep.

I did… only 3 or 4 hours; but when the sun rose, I did too.

8am the hostel opened and the caretaker allowed me to leave my packsack there till Check-in later in the afternoon. That freed me up to at least go for another walk. But where to?

‘It’s Christmas morning!’ I thought. ‘So why not head for the beach?’

I figured that would be west, simply opposite from the eastern sun-risings, so that was my direction.

I had no map, no idea of which streets led where. If a street went straight, I went straight; if it curved, so did I.

I simply went where I felt led because I had no idea how to lead myself.

After all, I was flat broke, 10,000 miles away from home and no one knew where I was, least of all me.

Christmas Day in Jewish Tel Aviv was like any other normal workday.

Shops were open. People were heading for work. I alone seemed to have no purpose, no real sense of direction.

But walking along one busy street, I suddenly heard my name called out of nowhere: ‘Henri!’

It was my French friend I’d met in Limassol, Gilles Noel (yup, his name just had to be ‘Christmas’) and his girlfriend, who’d told me about the student flight that already rescued me once.

They crossed the street and joined me.

‘So Henri, good to see you! Ca va? Did you get to meet your friend?’ he asked, all in one sentence.

I answered all in the negative and he sighed and replied,

‘Ah, c’est dommage! And you don’t know where is your friend? mais… you have no money left?

Again negative.

‘And so… you need money. Voila! I just changed money at the American Express.

  So here, you take this and when you can, you send it back, OK? n’est-ce pas?’

And he handed me a bunch of Israeli Lira.

I was so surprised with their kindness and I immediately felt a deep remorse for all the nasty things I’d ever thought, felt or said about those nasty Parisians.

‘Mais non… now I just gave you my money, so I have to change more… comprends?

  But you are not going anywhere, eh? Why not you come with us?’

For sure, I wasn’t going anywhere… so I followed along to the AmEx.  It wasn’t far.

We arrived and I sat down against a far wall while they got into the money-changing line.

But I noticed another line: travelers picking up mail from back home? AmEx offices used to office this service free! Out of nowhere, I sensed a voice clearly speaking what sounded like a preposterous idea:

‘It’s Christmas morning. You’re far away from home, far from anyone you know; and no one knows where you are,  

 yet it’s Christmas, and you should have a Christmas card, so get in that line!’

I protested: ‘Forget it… no one knows I’m here… in Israel, let alone at the Tel Aviv AmEx office.

There is no way there’s any mail for me, so voice: Be quiet!’

But the voice would not be silenced, it didn’t give up, but prodded me out of my seat and pulled me into the line.

About 10 people moved forward in front of me and as each approached the wicket and spoke their name, the teller looked down to the Poste Restante letters for their name and either handed them some or sent them away empty.

I felt out of place, awkward, embarrassed; the line moved forward… 4 – 3 – only 2 left and I readied myself

to turn back to my seat, out of the way, away from this ridiculously presumptuous impossibility!

And suddenly it was just me and that teller and the voice.

I stepped forward, weakly uttered, ‘Schmidt, Henry’ and turned away, not wanting to face further disappointment.

I’d already had enough of that for this Christmas.

But to my complete surprise, the teller looked down and looked back up at me… with an envelope in her hand.

‘Here’s one!’ she said.

And then almost in the same breath, ‘And another one too! It’s Henry, right?’

Totally baffled, I fumbled a feeble Thank you, took the outreached letters and walked back to my seat. I couldn’t believe it! No one knew I was here. I had no intention of coming to this office this morning on my walk to nowhere! But here I was, holding 2 envelopes with my name on them. I looked again: they were actually addressed to me!

I recognized my friend’s handwriting on both.

I opened the first and read how he had had to return home to Canada. I immediately felt consoled, knowing he was safe and our meeting here in Israel would definitely not be happening. 

I opened the second: also from him, a $50US bill with a note: My donation to the ‘Help-Henry-out-of-Israel Fund’.

Wow! In those few short minutes, I’d gone from destitute to plenitude. From nothing to everything!

Later that afternoon, I bought another ticket… this time to Athens where I further could access money sent for me.

My airline ticket cost $49.50! … I even had money left over!

My American friend’s words from a few hours before now spoke even more loudly in my heart:

‘Don’t worry: God will work this out for good for you!’

Somebody definitely had been working, connecting the dots to turn on the light and awaken revelation

And I now knew this much for certain: neither my intellect nor my own hand had worked this for good.

Someone much greater had worked this Christmas miracle for me, Someone connected with That Voice inside.

Who that was and my next steps would reveal that mystery.