The Miracle That Saved Pesach

b"h I did not even need to use the literary exercise I mentioned two posts ago.
I was sitting by a friend's birthday farbrengen when someone gave a mashel which reminded me of this story which happened last erev pesach.

I flew standby to NYC to be by The Rebbe for his birthday.
I decided to stay a few extra days to hang out with friends.
I did not realise that the weekend of erev Pesach coincided with a big goyishe holiday.
I arrive at the airport in the afternoon the day before erev Pesach.
It is busy as all hell. I am not called to get on any of the flights that day or night.
I call a friend, and he picks me up. I eat dinner at his house and crash on the couch for a few hours before heading back to the airport between 3 and 4 am.

All of the flights for the rest of the day (erev pesach mamash) are completely booked.
At this point I figure I will stay at the airport until the last practical moment before making my way back to the nearest neighborhood and playing the role of the one who does not have what to eat.

I set my alarm to the time of the first flight of the day and then go to sleep on a bench in an unfilled area of the terminal. It seems that while I am asleep somewhere between 30 - 50 cheerleaders decide to all sit in this part of the terminal in all of the surrounding seats.
I wake up due to the intolerable amount of girly chatter.
I am about to be really pissed off (considering the circumstances and my already stressful position).
Suddenly there is an announcement on the PA system, "Anyone flying standby to Atlanta - please approach gate 7 to receive a definite ticket for the 2 oclock flight now."
I am so excited and relieved.
I jump from my seat with the intention to sprint and be the first one there (I am worried if there is a limited amount of tickets). My foot had fallen asleep while I was sleeping and when I put my weight on it I twist my ankle and fall to the floor. All of the girls laugh. My ankle is on fire with pain. I don't care at all. I am so happy to be going home for Pesach a mere few hours before it starts that the pure emotion and adrenaline of it all lifts me off of the floor and pushes me in the right direction. Let them laugh. I got the better deal. Whats a twisted ankle when you are miraculously going home for Pesach?

(It was poshut a miracle. All of the tickets for all day were booked. It seems like there must have been a problem with one of the planes or something and they replaced with a larger one and therefore had many more tickets to give out. All for a Yid who wasn't scared but really wanted to be home for Pesach.)

Two Stories of Mivtzoim M'Mela

1. I am standing outside of a Super WalMart in Lexinton, Tenn. (I.E. The middle of no where in particular.) A local in shorts and a t-shirt with long gray hair in a pony tail approached me.
He asked "Excuse me, are you Jewish?"
I apprehensively answered in the affirmative.
"Yeah I saw them strings hanging out of your shirt and that hat on your head."
He then added,
"I grew up in Flatbush so I know all about that"
before ultimately clarifying,
"I never thought I would see a landsmahn out around here."
He told me how he strayed far from the ways of his upbringing but that sometimes when he is driving his truck down the long country road he finds himself humming tunes he remembers from synagogue and hebrew school. He told me about how onetime in 'Nam he was involved in a 10 hour gunfight. When everything settled they handed out rations. He peeled open the tin before the following thought entered his mind (I quote loosely):
"Damnit, Pork... Shit today is Yom Kippur"
The Pintele Yid!
I asked him if he wanted to put on Tefillin but he was too embarrassed.
He asked me to find a shul closest to him and gave me his e-mail address and we parted ways after some other small talk.

2. I am standing a few blocks from Times Square. It is around 1 AM on a Saturday night.
It is me, a yeshiva bochur, and a group of college kids who are in town for the Shabbaton.
Were laughing and talking aloud when three guys suddenly interject into the conversation.
It was really ackward.
They look really Jewish so I inquire.
The main one tries to pull off the "I'm half-Jewish."
After clarification he is a Jew.
He says he has been to synagogue a few times. He is interested. He says "Im a Jew... I don't a hat like you but I'm a Jew."
I concur.
He would like to find out more about Judaism but he fears orthodox Jews as being too pressuring and narrow minded.
I tell him about Chabad.
I tell him and his two friends (who also are Jews) how they can find and contact a Shliach near them.
Afterwards he says "Sorry for the creepy intrusion into your conversation... I just could tell that you guys are Jews and felt like I needed to talk to you."

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Hashem your children are crying out for you.
After all this time have we still not merited our final redemption.
We are thirsty for the knowledge of you that will fill the earth like water covers the sea.
Have mercy on your children!

About literary composition

My 10th grade literature teacher said
"If you sit down to write something and are still staring at a blank page after 10 minutes then you are a pansy."
He claimed it was better to repeatedly write "I don't know what to write" over and over than write nothing at all.

This seems to be the literary equivalent (lehavdil) to Rebbe Nachman's advice that if you want to talk to Hashem but know not what to say then just say "God I don't know what to say to you."

So tomorrow I am going to try to write a poem or atleast something creative and at worse I will end up with a monologue about how I can't think of anything at all.