An email from Emirates said my suitcase had been found. It had evidently never left Tel Aviv. Since everything that went wrong went wrong in Tel Aviv, I wondered fleetingly if divine or human payback was involved, payback for scolding an Israeli security guard for detaining two of our young men and taking the casual approach to setting them free more than an hour later. He said it was for security reasons; I said it was not security but harassment. There were many more things I wish I had said about arrogance, about hospitality, about things that are done every day in the no-longer debate-stopping name of security. But if my suitcase could tell its story, it would probably be rather dull. It lay for days in the bowels of Ben Gurion airport; it traveled via assorted capital cities in Europe or Asia to Delhi; it was flying to Chennai and would meet us at our next stop.
Sister Elizabeth invited me to visit her school, Sneha Deepam Matriculation School, at 9:00 the next morning. Like the motorcycle trip, this invitation would not have come had the suitcase complied with expectations. I was late coming because we had a meeting, and when I arrived she scolded me gently for missing the opening assembly. I joined some of the teachers in her office for opening devotions, received a ceremonial welcome shawl, then listened in on what appeared to be an impromptu faculty meeting. Then she invited me outside where various classes of children were practicing their dances for an annual sports day that was coming up. Like the children the day before, these danced exuberantly, joyously.
Then we walked around to various classrooms to talk to the students. When we arrived at the highest class, the plus two’s, she told me they had just taken a national mathematics test. She invited me to introduce myself and answer questions. They asked the perfunctory ones, where do you live, do you have children, what do you do, how do you like India, what are you doing here. When I said I was on a meditation pilgrimage they asked me to teach them meditation. So that’s what we did. It was like taking ice to Alaska, but we sat with our feet on the floor and closed our eyes and concentrated our on breathing for a few minutes.
It was clear Sister Elizabeth wanted to tell the school’s story. It had been open 7 years, and had grown to be a large building with 1500 kids, half of them on financial aid. They were crowded and needed more building. She also gave me information for raising funds for the school.
These kids were talented, smart, and disciplined. We walked into one classroom when the teacher was elsewhere, and instead of swinging off the light fixtures and hurting one another these kids were standing in the aisle between the desks, calmly following the lead of one student in some group activity. With very few resources and on a salary of about $120 per month, the teachers were managing classes of 45 students. Our money can do so much in a place like that. If you would like to help me give a gift to this school or the one in Randham, please let me know. Education is certainly a necessary pathway to a more stable life for so many of these beautiful children.
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