On the day of the big snow in Jerusalem I came home thinking I had been robbed. I had stopped outside Damascus Gate at my usual stall to buy some vegetables, paid the vendor and rushed away to take the service home. When I discovered my coin purse gone, I was angry. Very angry. I felt betrayed, not only robbed. My feeling of anger clashed with the love in my heart. "If they only knew how I love and respect them!" I thought.

Days went by. I stopped again at the same stall and after paying for my purchases I asked the man if he spoke English. He shook his hand back and forth, suggesting some understanding. I told him then that I lost my coin purse on the day of the snow. Without a word, he motioned me to follow him. I did. We went inside a little shop, where a man was asked to move a few boxes from a shelf. He did and from the back of the shelf retrieved my coin purse, safely stored out of sight. I was speechless. And ashamed for having jumped to the wrong conclusion. In retrospect, I think I must have dropped the small purse on the mounds of vegetables getting covered by quick-falling snow, and the man discovered it later and saved it.

After I got home I looked inside the little purse. Not a shekel had been touched. My house key, the change, the paper money -- all there.

Maybe they do know how I love them!