Once, in my early twenties, I spent a few days in New York City. A friend who studied at Yeshiva University (which I would later attend myself) was kind enough to let me stay with him. On one evening of this trip, returning from an evening out with a friend, I found myself in Grand Central Station.
I was approached by an Israeli, who spoke to me in Hebrew. He had, he explained to me, been locked out of his hotel room, where all of his possessions were located, by the hotel manager, apparently over some monetary misunderstanding. He needed $100 to get back in and straighten things out, and get his belongings back. He told me that he was visiting from Israel, and that he was completely alone in America, and that without the money, he would be completely stranded and would have no place to spend the night.
I generally strive to be a good Samaritan. In fact, you could say that I have a problem saying "No" to people, and that night was no exception. I definitely wanted to help this man, who seemed to be in dire straits. So my initial reaction was to automatically pull out my wallet.
But then, as I was pulling out the money, other thoughts crept in. $100 is not a trifling sum, especially to give to a complete stranger. So after a few moments of reflection, hesitancy crept into my thinking.
My new friend sensed this, and began to plead his case. He quoted from Maimonides, the great medieval Jewish scholar, who extols the virtues of giving charity. I continued to hesitate. He continued to describe the desperation of his situation, and how badly he needed the money.
After a few minutes, I was truly torn, between the impulse to help my fellow man, and my sense of caution and prudence. My mind was double-tracking a mile a minute. Two miniature versions of myself, one perched on each shoulder, were having it out. The one argued: What if, because of my refusal to help this man, he ends up stranded alone at night in a foreign country? Am I really that miserly? The other countered: What do you know about this man? How do you know he'll return the money to you? And all during this time, my new friend continued his entreaties. As the two strands of this dilemma raced in my mind, one observation suddenly struck me like a bolt of lightning:
He was too calm.
The thought struck me just like that. I know myself: if I were in a strange country, where I didn't know a soul or speak the language very well, locked out of my hotel room, and access to all of the belongings I had brought with me, with no money left, I'd be absolutely hysterical. No doubt about it whatsoever, I'd be manifesting 1,001 symptoms of anxiety: sweating, eyes popping out of my head, high-pitched voice, flushed red, gnarled body language, shortness of breath, visibly shaking, hands gesticulating wildly, and so on. This man was not exhibiting even one. Throughout his entire pitch, he was completely cool and relaxed, speaking with such an even voice that he sounded like an FM radio broadcaster. Something is not kosher here was the thought that entered my mind. In that brief moment, I looked at him with an odd clarity, as if his face were behind a magnifying glass.
Still, I was not absolutely sure. What did I do? I decided that I needed an objective opinion, from someone not swept up in the emotions of the situation. So I called my father long-distance on a public phone, described the situation to him, and awaited his verdict. Three guesses as to what my father advised.
You can imagine my new friend's reaction as I delivered the verdict. Visions of a hundred-dollar-bill with wings, flying away. Still, my mind could not completely rule out the possibility that his was a legitimate case, so I told him that he was welcome to come with me to my friend's dormitory, and we'd find a place for him to spend the night. He declined, and repeated a phrase that continues to this day to mystify me: "I blame myself. I blame myself."
My only qualm in publishing this piece is the apprehension that I may be tipping off con artists out there as to how to improve their technique. So if any of you are reading, I say this: Maimonides tells us that truthfulness is an important virtue.
My ex-fiance told me a similar story. When he was a naive YU student, an Israeli man approached him and, addressing him in Hebrew, told him a moving story that involved a sick wife, a financial crisis, and the need to get back to Israel. He promised to pay back my ex once he gets back to Israel. If I remmember correctly, the man asked for a large sum as well, and even suggested that my ex take out money from the ATM. I believe my ex did in the end give him a few bills, deciding it will count as charity.
ReplyDeleteFast forward several years. My ex is approached by an Israeli man, who tells him the same exact narrative about a sick wife and being standed in America. He asks for the same exact sum of money and makes the same promises to pay back. My ex is not fooled this time. Not only does he tell the man off, but he informs all his YU friends to beware of the con-artist Israeli who preys on naive, religiously sensitive, yeshiva boys.
The man you met could have been the same Israeli with a different story or one of a dozen such tricksters. Unfortunately, it may be the latter. At the Kotel too, a friend of mine was approached by a black-hatted man who was collecting money to buy tefillin for his son's upcoming bar-mitzva--and this happened sevral times over a span of several years.
Let us beware of people with desperation stories who approach us for money on the street--and especially if they try to manipulate our moral or religious sensibilities. I've learned my lesson the hard way. Now I only offer food.