#UnexpectedReunion

🕊️ It’s All About the Vibes – Me, Moshe, and a Cup of Chai (Seven Years Later)

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People always ask me the same question:
“How do you do what you do?”
And every time, I give them the same answer:
I honestly have no idea.
I just vibe. ✨

Today’s story is about Moshe — and what coincidences, spiritual connections, and freaky timing are really all about.

☕ The First Encounter – Before the World Changed

Seven years ago, long before COVID and before I even knew what gluten-free meant, I randomly walked into a tiny, worn-out coffee shop. Far from home. No idea why I went there. Zero expectations.

And then, Moshe walked in.
We started chatting like long-lost friends reunited by fate.

We talked about home, family, Israel. 🕍
We talked about spirituality, religion, and—yes—spies. 🕵️‍♂️

At the time, I was working in a place heavily infiltrated by organized crime. Not even exaggerating. It was like a real-life spy movie—minus the cool gadgets. Lots of people with secrets. And Moshe? He fit right in.

To this day, I still don’t know if our meeting was a pure coincidence, or if Moshe had actually targeted me. 🧐
I believe it was the second one.

🧠 Forgotten… Until Today

I eventually forgot about Moshe and his strange energy. I forgot how he wanted to shake my hand immediately after my first sip of chai.
I left. Life .

Until today. 🌞

I was just walking down the street, looking for a natural juice spot (gut health is real, okay), and I stepped into this random, quiet place. I glanced up…

👀 And there he was.

Moshe.
His picture — plastered on the wall. Smiling. Big Jewish nose. Just beaming at me across the room like,
“Told you I’d be back.”

I almost dropped my green spirulina smoothie.
This wasn’t even the same neighborhood. Not even close.
But there he was — again. Like a glitch in the matrix.

✍️ The Weirdness of It All

I ran to find a place to sit and write this. Because what the actual universe is going on?

How can two people cross paths in random, distant places with zero planning and zero awareness?
I didn’t know Moshe had ever been here. Heck, I barely remembered him until today.

But the moment I saw his face, the memories rushed back.
And I smiled. 😊

Back then, Moshe was Israel to me. His stories. His mystery. His vibe.
Now, he’s become a recurring memory in this weird life of signs and coincidences.

✡️ Who Is Moshe?

Seriously, Moshe —
What do you do for a living?
Because you keep popping up in places like some spiritual Where’s Waldo.

Let’s break this down:

🕎 The Hebrew name “Moshe” (מֹשֶׁה) comes from the verb “mashah” — to draw out or pull out. In Exodus, Moses was pulled from the Nile by Pharaoh’s daughter. He later pulled his people out of slavery.

So I ask you now, Moshe:
Will you pull me out from Hell?
Out of this mess, out of this chaos, out of the spiritual confusion I live in?

Because somehow, through strange stores and forgotten memories,
our paths keep crossing.

🌌 Final Thoughts

Some people walk into your life, sip your chai, and disappear.
Others haunt your smoothies.
And some—like Moshe—just keep showing up, reminding you that maybe… just maybe… nothing is random.

The Dance I Didn’t Dance

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As we grow older, we begin to forget people we met once or twice in our lifetime.

Their faces may linger in our memory, but their names—and where we met them—fade away.

But somehow, you still know you’ve seen them before. Their face tells you that!

And today, it happened.

I knew I knew him from somewhere!

I remembered him being much younger the last time I saw him. But I couldn’t recall when, or where, or even who he was.

So, I passed by—thinking, like always, Just another crazy déjà vu. Another face that looks familiar…

But deep inside, I knew I had seen him before.

He, however, remembered me… and came after me, offering me a deal:
To dance.

And as I watched him trying to gently accommodate my poverty, it came back to me—I remembered where I knew him from.

Once upon a time… long, long ago…

On a wintry night, someone played Schumann on the piano like no one else could.

I was so captivated by the music that I followed the sound, weaving through halls until I found a small, forgotten room tucked between stacks of broken chairs and old tables.

And there he was—the young boy.

Playing Schumann as if it were heaven itself.

Afraid to speak, but pouring out his soul through the keys.

I sat with him for a while, told him how wonderful his playing was—told him that to play piano like that, he didn’t need to be Shakespeare.

Years passed. I never saw him again—forgot our little encounter like one forgets the details of a dream.

But for him, it seems… it was enough.

I didn’t recognize him. He had grown up—no longer shy, and now he speaks Shakespeare, haha!

And I?

I’m old, poor, and broke—and still don’t care much for Shakespeare! LOL


But he remembered me.

He ran after me when I couldn’t afford the price of a dance ticket, and offered me a discount.

And then—I recognized him.

The Schumann boy.

God truly has his ways of bringing people together.

I said yes to the dance… but I didn’t go back.

I was ashamed—of my age, my poverty… and mostly, I felt too uncomfortable to dance.

How could I dance ?

But thank you—for Schumann.

Thank you for your kind soul—for not forgetting me.

Granny,
The dancer who didn’t dance.