Crossing Boundaries

Each morning on the cab ride from my hotel to the university, we have gone past this place, where a cluster of large tents have been put up in a public park.  My driver told me on the first day that 2,000 Syrian people, and another 1,000 people from Africa, are staying there.

This evening, I said goodbye to my friends at the conference, and with a full heart, began to walk to my hotel, a light rain falling.  Thirty minutes into the walk, the illuminated tents appeared on the horizon.  I decided to walk into the park to see how close I could get, and I quickly realized that it was possible to walk right up to the outer gate.  Just outside the gate, and inside, were a few men smoking, and someone on a cell phone. 

The gate was partly open, so I walked through it. 

I paused for a moment.  No one seemed to take notice of me.  I crossed the empty space, and approached the door to the tent.  A couple of men entered with me, and a man in an orange vest stopped me from going further.  I showed him a bill for 50 Euros, and told him I wanted to make a donation.  He told me to wait for a moment, and then came back with a person who I assumed was one of the staff.  I repeated my request.  He retrieved another man from an office inside the tent, a very tall man in uniform, with silver hair, and steady, deep-set eyes.  Again, I repeated my request.  He ushered me into his office, the staff member following.

The commander asked, "Now, what is it you are wanting to do?"  I looked down at a chocolate bundt cake on his desk.  It looked like a gift.  Maybe he would accept mine.  "My mother-in-law gave me this money to donate to the Syrian refugees. I brought it here because I wanted to do it directly - to make a personal connection."

"Your passport, please."

I dug out the passport.  He inspected it carefully, then asked me where my "mother" lived.  I told him that my mother-in-law lived in Montclair, New Jersey.  "Ah," he said, "the United States."  He told me that I would have to donate this money through an office in Munich.  At that moment the staff member initiated an animated discussion with the commander.  After a minute, the commander turned back to me.  "No, we can't take your money."  I looked into his eyes, and thanked him for all that he and the German people were doing to help the Syrians.  He nodded, and led me back to the door of the tent.

As he opened the door to let me out, he paused for a moment, looked into my eyes, and said, "Give my regards to your mother."