The past always returns

Every once in a while something really weird happens to make you wonder about the inner workings of the world. Not the physical world, but the metaphysical world. Yesterday, I had one of those experiences.

It began with a knock on the door. I opened the door to a man about my age, who had come to see my husband. I said hello and called to Chaim that his guest was here. Then I left and got on with my day.

A few hours later, I was back in the house as this fellow was leaving. Chaim introduced him to me as kind of a proper protocol afterthought. "Oh, and this is my wife..." That's when things moved into the weird realm.

This guy started repeating my name over and over again. Yes, I have a fairly unusual name. I checked it out yesterday and it is the 130th most common name for a girl in the US, which means it probably isn't that common. All the while I just stood there waiting for him to stop. I am used to this sort of reaction to my name.

Then he said to me: "What was your maiden name?" When I answered him, he suddenly smiled: "I know you." I looked at him again and no, no lightbulb went on in my head.
"I'm Michael" he said, and then he offered his surname and the city where he grew up.

AGHHH. I did know him! Or at least I met him and I knew of him. Our mothers had been been friends since they were little girls and once, when we were on a family trip traveling across Canada, we went to visit his family. I was turning 13 at the time. He and his older brother were so smart that I didn't even know what to say to them. I was well entrenched in my 13-year-old angst at that point and I wasn't speaking to anyone who wasn't as cool as I perceived myself to be. They were definitely not cool, but boy were they smart. I even suggested to my mother at the time that we invite them over to our hotel and offer them a television set to disassemble and reassemble for fun.

So here he was, standing in my kitchen in Israel, 34 years later, and seeming normal. And at that moment all I could think was: "and this is why you never burn a bridge ... everyone comes back sooner or later." I am so glad now that I never made the TV-as-toy offer all those years ago. Of course, in all fairness, it wasn't me who nixed the plan; it was my more far-sighted mother.

Apparently his mother had given him my contact information before he came to Israel and naturally, he had no intention of ever using it. I wouldn't have used it either. You have to be a remarkable extrovert or desperate for conversation to call someone you met once, 34 years ago.

But this is where fate or karma or whatever you want to call it, had stepped into the picture. He ended up in my kitchen. He didn't seek me out. I didn't even know he was in Israel and I surely wasn't holding my breath waiting for him to arrive. Yet, here we were.

It makes you wonder about the invisible forces at work in the world. Was it sheer coincidence or was it something more intentionally interventionist? I don't know but I do know that it is going to keep me wondering for a few weeks about what his purpose in my life could be. The fact that he is a doctor is not exactly comforting considering my natural inclination to ponder down unpleasant roads.

Of course, it could be absolutely nothing, but it is a reminder of an important component of my life philosophy: never burn a bridge; everyone shows up again.