Written from Port Harcourt, Rivers State, Nigeria.
Definition: “expert†n, a shlemiel with a briefcase from out of town.
Ecco shlemiel.
Traveling as often as I do, it has become habitual to pack toothpaste, shampoo, etc., in clear, resealable three-quart bags – each item no larger than 3 oz. – and have them out for inspection when passing through security. I was surprised, then, when the TSA inspector raised a concern about the contents of my carry-on. It seems that the habitual precautions did not exactly get translated into action when I decided to pack two large bottles of kosher wine in my hand luggage, the better to prevent breakage.
As Reb Carlos would say: “dee-di-dee.â€
I rarely pull the “Rabbi Card,†in no small measure because it doesn’t carry as much weight as it used to. (I remember receiving clergy discounts while I was in rabbinical school, which allowed me to fly home to Chicago from New York fairly cheaply, on “Agony “– Allegheny – Airlines. Those days are gone.) I decided, though, that in this case, I would try to use my profession for leverage. I took my carry-on back to the American Airlines check-in counter and said that, even though I had already checked in two items, I would consider it a great kindness if I could check in this additional item without charge. I am a rabbi, I said, and this wine was going to be used for sacramental purposes. (That was one of two motivating factors – the need to have wine for kiddush for all three Shabbatot that I will be spending here in Nigeria. The other factor is my fundamental abhorrence of throwing away something that is perfectly good. Had I left the wine at security, it would have gotten pitched. Please note: it was not the loss of money that would have eaten at me. If others had been able to use the wine, I would have been perfectly happy letting them keep it.)
So the rabbi card did work – and I guess it didn’t hurt that I had a first-class ticket for my flight from Heathrow to Abuja. (The first-class gambit had already been used that morning, when I walked into the airport and found some 50 young people – all headed to their Peace Corps postings – ahead of me in line. I went to the first class check-in and looked like I belonged there.)
First class?
(Reminds me of the classic rebbetzin story. She goes to shul one day, and the yentas remark, “With what we’re paying her husband, you would think she could dress nicer.†The remark reaches the rebbetzin, who goes shopping for a few new dresses. Next Shabbes, the yentas remark, “If she can afford to dress like that, then we must be paying her husband too much.â€)
No, I did not buy a first-class ticket nor did someone buy it for me. I used frequent flyer miles. And it was worth it. I rarely sleep the night before starting a trip, especially if we must leave the house before dawn. (Which is why it never entered my brain that packing two bottles of wine in carry-on luggage was not such a great idea.) Nor can I sleep on the plane. I knew that I had a long day ahead of me and whatever sleep I would get on the plane would come in handy. It did.
A fellow first class passenger – who, unlike me, looked like he actually belonged in first class – greeted me as we were about to deplane, “Good morning, my Jewish friend.†I have gotten used to people commenting or asking about my religious affiliation; it is common throughout Africa – at least, in the countries that I have visited – and it is not at all considered rude, like it would be in our country. I returned his greeting, and he promptly told me that he too was Jewish. “You’re an Igbo man?†I already knew the answer, which he confirmed. How he defines what it is to be a Jew and what we have been taught are not necessarily the same, but it drove home once again the fact that Igbos as a tribal/ethnic group see themselves as Jews.
The plane landed in Abuja at 5:25 am. Shmuel and Habbakuk, whom I have known since my first visit to Nigeria in 2004,: Natan , whom I met during my second visit; and Emmanuel, a new acquaintance were at the airport to pick me up. Surprisingly, I made it through security and customs in excellent time; it helped that I was fairly rested and did not wander around in a fog. We were on the road before 6:00.
Shortly after dawn, our driver pulled over to the side of the road. “We are going to say tefilat haderekh (the traveler’s prayer).†The Ashkenazic custom is to say this prayer only upon crossing large bodies of water. The Sephardic custom is different. They say it as soon as they are a fair distance away from their starting point, even if they are only traveling by car. Natan read the Hebrew beautifully – from a Siddur Sim Shalom that we shipped in February 2006 – and concluded by reading of Psalms 121: “HaShem will guard your going out and your coming home, now and forever.â€
The driver of the van that we had hired was not as aggressive as other drivers on the road. In fact, his assertiveness when deciding to pass slower moving vehicles was not all that scary. However, the prayer and the Psalm were reassuring.
We reached our first destination – Enugu – at 2 pm, loaded up some cartons of books for our final destination – Port Harcourt – and hit the road for the last four hours of driving, arriving in PH after 8 pm. A group of some 20-25 was waiting for my arrival. After unloading the car, we davened Maariv. Shmuel led, excellent as always. With all of us crammed into a room about a quarter of the size of the Library Chapel and in spite of the low ceilings, poor lighting and having no place to sit, the service was very uplifting; the participation of every member of the congregation was vigorous and knowledgeable.
Before the service started, I noticed that there were three rather solid young men, all wearing black suits, none of them smiling, in the room with the rest of us. Clearly, they were not part of the community; none was wearing a kippah or hat. In spite of my night’s rest on the airplane and in spite of the sleep I got during our 14-hour trek from Abuja to Port Harcourt, it took me a while to realize that these guys were my security detail. And boy did they take that role seriously: they ordered Shmuel to taste my food before allowing me to eat it.
To paraphrase Rabbi Israel Salanter, rabbis who do not have their detractors are not really rabbis. The difference is one of degree. In Rockville, my detractors are content with lashon hara (badmouthing), bullying and miscellaneous barbs, detractors here take their role more seriously. That – and the fact that it is generally considered a lot less than safe to travel in the Niger Delta states – led to security measure that I thought were a bit too much. Three guards? Food tasting? Sitting on either side of me in the back seat of the car for the five minute ride from my host’s home to the hotel. Puh-leez.
So here I am in a decent hotel room – with a ceiling fan and A/C – ready to turn in for the night. And if I am feeling anything other than fatigue, it is gratitude – gratitude that my family allows me to go off on these adventures and gratitude that my congregation – yentas and detractors notwithstanding – encourages me to do this work in Africa.
Shabbat Shalom.
Tags: Rabbi Gorin, travel