A Change of Pace (Article# 63) 11/8/2007

I should be used to typing at 40,000 feet already. Unfortunately, I am standing while doing so, since the aisle arm rests on Continental planes do not lift up and I am too big to sit with the laptop actually on the top of my lap – there is no room.

I was prepared to skip a week this week as there is not much eventful in spending a week working in NY. I saw some of our alumni on campus (which I think is the most enjoyable part of my job). I met some of their parents as well and generally did what I do.

I got to see many of my friends and had the enjoyment of meeting new people whom I had not known before and have become friends through these articles. Your concern for our family and for Goldie was definitely felt and appreciated.

On Thursday, with nothing left to do but mail an envelope with some deposits in it, I headed off to the airport nice and early to check in. I am a little neurotic about getting to the airport early. It actually results in my luggage being close to the last to come out of the plane – but makes me feel comfortable.

The truth is, until I got married I was always a last minute guy. I wasn’t late, but always managed to be barely on time and never early. So I guess this is Goldie’s influence on me. Among other things.

As I drove, I passed a couple of mailboxes and could have easily stopped to mail the envelope. But I decided not to bother, since I usually just put my mail in a mailbox in the airport while I wait for the flight. Bad move.

Apparently, Newark airport removed all their mailboxes within the last few months for security reasons. There isn’t a single mailbox anywhere in the airport, not even at the New Jersey Transit station (I know because I rode the monorail there to check.

So I was stuck. I needed to mail the envelope, but had turned in my car and had no way (other than hopping into a cab) to get to a mailbox.

I decided to wait by the departure lanes outside the terminal and ask someone dropping off a friend or relative for my flight to mail the envelope on their way home. A flight to Israel had to have a few religious Jews on it and I figured I would be safe getting one of them to take the job.

A couple of minutes had passed when a large van pulled up with a chassidish chareidi family from Bnei Brak (this is going to be a good chareidi story for a change) who were returning from a trip to the USA. I immediately asked the driver if he could do me the favor of mailing the envelope and he took it right away and seemed happy to do so.

As I watched the family begin to unload themselves (they were a total of seven people), the father saw me speaking in English to the driver and asked me if I had a minute to help him check the family in since he only spoke Yiddish and Hebrew. He pulled me over to the side and told me that he might have some overweight luggage and I should not be helpful in translating that part, since he didn’t want to pay penalties on them.

I walked them to the check in counter and (I am quite proud to say) translated the entire dialogue between them and the ticket agent. Everything was progressing smoothly until we got to the luggage.

The agent asked if there was any bag more than fifty pounds and the father said (through me) “of course not, we’ll be fine.”

The first bag we put up on the scale (out of fourteen bags) weighed in at eighty eight pounds.

The ticket agent began to laugh. Not only was the bag tremendously overweight, but the airline wouldn’t accept anything over seventy pounds and even that would have a fifty dollar penalty. They would have to move things from bag to bag.

Picture this. Five little kids (none of them over ten years old) are busy roaming around the check in area while their father argues (through me) that if they would only multiply fifty pounds by the fourteen bags, he is sure that the total weight will come in below the allowed limit.

Which didn’t work.

He turned to me and said, “but they let me do that in Israel when I came here.”

I replied that he had probably bought a lot of stuff to take back to Israel and the bags were not likely to have been as heavy on the way to the USA as they were for the return trip.

He was stunned to hear me say it, “But I didn’t buy anything in the USA, this is exactly what I came with.”

The agent recommended that we try to redistribute the weight and be prepared to pay some penalties, since at least five bags were overweight.

I had all the kids bring the bags to an unused scale and it turned comical. I began to weigh bags and then we started opening suitcases to move stuff around. I had to laugh.

I am not sure about you, but I had never before seen someone who travels from Israel to America and back with brand new towels that still have price tags on them from Bed Bath and Beyond, without somehow buying them in the USA.

There was candy. There were rugs. Coats. A brand new dustbuster still in its’ box. There were boxes that were unlabeled but clearly were new purchases. For a family who had bought nothing, they sure had a ton of new stuff.

Then they dug deeper for the heavy items………like canned goods? There were cans of vegetables and tuna fish that they had brought with them and were bringing back home. When I asked why they were taking Israeli products with them back home, he answered that he had already paid for them – why just give them away? To which I had no response.

So we spent at least 45 minutes moving stuff from one bag to another and then carefully weighing each bag to make sure that it was at the legal limit without going over. There is no way to describe the frenzy of activity. The agent even helped us out by allowing up to fifty four pounds per bag instead of the usual fifty.

We crammed those suitcases so full I was amazed they didn’t pop open right there in the airport. Yet we somehow managed to get every suitcase at or under fifty four pounds and got them all checked in without paying a dollar in penalties.

They were so grateful to me for really being active in translating and also coordinating the redistribution of luggage. The father asked for my address in Israel and I refused to give it to him telling him that instead of doing something for me he should please give something to tzedaka (charity).

He persisted, telling me that he wasn’t going to give me money and I insisted that it was my pleasure to help. He said, “OK – you are Shmuel Katz from Beit Shemesh right?” And I said, “No – I am Ephraim Levin” and we both laughed.

Then he did something that impressed me to no end. He pulled me to the side and whispered to me that I should please cooperate because it is a very important lesson FOR HIS CHILDREN to see that one must express thanks to someone for helping you when you need it.

I couldn’t argue the point. Whether it is simply a letter of thanks or some flowers for Shabbat, he was right. It was an excellent opportunity to teach his children a valuable lesson. So I cooperated.

(He just stopped by my seat on the plane for a brief chat and saw me working on the computer. When I told him what I was doing he asked me to email the 5 Towns Jewish Times website to him so that someone can translate the article for him. When you read this Mendel, please don’t send flowers – I don’t want anything beyond a simple note that allows you to show your children how to say thanks.)

I could end the story right here and it would be just that, a nice story. To me, that’s not enough.

I have written these articles for over a year and a half now and one thing I have seen is that there is definitely someone above directing traffic down here. From our housing crisis to Goldie’s illness and treatment, when push came to shove the things that had to happen, did happen.

This too was no mere coincidence. I could have mailed that envelope at any time. I had multiple opportunities to do so that very same day! But I didn’t. So I needed someone to be there to take the envelope and mail it for me.

My new friend needed help getting checked in and handling his luggage. There is no question in my mind that without my advocating to the agents and my active assistance in repacking the luggage, that he would have paid penalties and had a lot of aggravation with the luggage.

Yet there is even more. He just mentioned to me that four pieces of his luggage weren’t even for him. People asked if he could bring things back for them (one person sent a chest full of frozen whitefish) and he accepted.

So there we were. Me with an envelope for the Yeshiva and him doing chessed (acts of kindness) for some of his friends and neighbors. He (and by extension the neighbors too) needed me to be there and I needed his driver to be there. As we have seen repeatedly throughout the past couple of years, when there is a true need, the one above somehow makes things happen.

Although I only saw her for a few minutes on Thursday, Chaya asked for permission to have an “out Shabbat” instead of being with the family. When she asked us to let her go with a group of friends to Chevron for Shabbat, we couldn’t refuse her request.

About 30 girls rented their own bus, brought their own food and arranged to sleep in a school building in Kiryat Arba in order to join the thousands of Jews who come to Chevron on Shabbat of Parshat Chayei Sarah.

We were a little nervous about her being there; in the past there have been violent flare-ups associated with this Shabbat, but we could not let our concerns override our commitment to the city and people of Chevron.

She had an awesome time. They walked to the Maarat Hamachpela (Burial Cave of the Patriarchs) several times, they enjoyed the hospitality of the Chevron community and they experienced something unique and uplifting.

They were invited to (but were too late to attend) the Oneg on Friday night, and enjoyed the Kiddush and Seudah Shlishit that were hosted for all the guests by the community.

Moshe’s playgroup teacher grew up in the neighboring community of Kiryat Arba and her father is a Gabbai (sexton) of the Avraham Avinu shul in Chevron. While the girls were in Chevron, Chaya met up with this teacher’s daughter (who goes to the same school as Chaya) who brought Chamin (cholent) from her grandmother’s house for the girls to enjoy.

Chaya has made a very central connection with the land and people of Israel. There is no doubt in my mind that a major part of her happiness here is the fact that she is so openly able to be Jewish and display her love for Israel. Needless to say, she came home glowing with an inner joy from the experience.

I know that many of you attend this Shabbat gathering every year and salute you for your support as well.