It started innocently enough. My grandson was getting married in Yerushalayim, and the Benyowitz Bunch started thinking about traveling from Baltimore and celebrating together. A very normal occurrence and a very normal reaction; any frum family would think the same. However, this is a close-knit family of parents, grandparents, and 13 children!
Yirmiyahu and Esther Miriam Benyowitz, the awesome parents of the chasan, had already made chasanas for their son Mordechai and daughter Bracha, plus a bar mitzva for son Tzvi Hirsh within the last six months. Now they decided that all 13 children would be in attendance at this most joyous life-cycle event, the marriage of their brother.
Son Mordechai and his wife Adina were already in Eretz Yisrael, where he is learning in yeshiva. The chasan, Binyomin, was also there, having spent the last six years at the yeshiva in Tifrach. His kalla, Raizy Schechter, lives in Eretz Yisrael. The Schechter family is a well-known Yerushalmi family, with a close family connection to the Rav Shalom Schechter Yeshiva. That left 11 children to transport, somehow.
Bracha and her husband Yitzchok live in Lakewood and flew from the New York area, accompanied by brother Eliyahu. That left nine children awaiting transportation from Baltimore. The Eldest one Yaakov Yitzchok, decided to go a week early with his maternal grandparents, Fagie and Reuven Yudkowsky, to help with luggage and logistics. Now there were eight children left to travel with their parents. In order to help with the children, it was decided that I, the paternal Bubbie Benyowitz, would travel with the core group, which now numbered 11.
Chugging to the Windy City
Thus begins the saga of three cities. To save on costs of transportation, it was decided that the eight children and the parents – along with some 33 pieces of luggage – would take the train from Baltimore to Chicago, where they would meet the Bubbie. Why Chicago, two hours west of Baltimore, only to board a plane to regain the two hours east to JFK? Because the price of Chicago-Tel Aviv tickets was considerably cheaper than that of a Baltimore-Tel Aviv ticket. The whole point of the exercise was to save a bit of money. And taking the train gave the children an adventure! Bubbie opted to fly to Chicago, and meeting her in Chicago seemed doable and sensible.
The train trip began in Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia – even though they could have boarded in Baltimore. Why? Again, it saved money and a lot of time to simply drive to West Virginia to board the train. Hey, this was supposed to be an adventure for everyone. Aunt Devorah Yudkowsky had the privilege of providing chauffeur services to Harper’s Ferry.
The 16-hour train trip went smoothly once all the kids and luggage crossed the train tracks at the single-track West Virginia station. There was no bridge or walkway to cross the tracks – oh no. Everyone scrambled over the tracks, carrying luggage, packages, a stroller, coats, food, and a one-yearold.
Once settled on the train, which was surprisingly comfortable and not full, it was time to explore. Eating their own food in the dining car, watching the countryside go by in the observation car, and sleeping on fairly comfortable seats all made the time go more quickly. It was a real-life geography lesson as the train wound through Pennsylvania and into Ohio, Indiana and Illinois.
Disembarking in Chicago meant a head count and luggage count. All in order; no one got lost or left behind in South Bend, Indiana. Was there anything to see in Chicago with the limited time available before meeting up with Bubbie at O’Hare? The Sears Tower was close to the train station, so it was decided that Abba would take a taxi with all the big luggage directly to the airport, while everyone else walked over to the Sears tower with the remaining luggage. Can you picture this family walking down the street with eight kids and luggage? What would you think they were planning to do? The Sears Tower, in all its magnificence, was shrouded in fog and mist, the top barely visible. But bragging rights were secured, allowing everyone to say they saw the famous Sears Tower in Chicago.
After assembling at O’Hare and meeting up with Bubbie, the family, now enlarged to 11, was ready to board for the flight to JFK. We boarded all right and then sat on the tarmac for about two hours as planes were being de-iced in turn. Every 30 minutes or so the captain came on to announce, “We are fifth in line to be de-iced” or “Thank you for your patience, we are now third in line to be de-iced.” Finally, the captain explained that O’Hare had only one deicer working and it would get to us “soon.” Finally we were de-iced, and we took off for New York.
Biting the Big Apple
We arrived two hours late and made our way to the connecting flight, which was to bring us on the next and final leg of the trip to the Holy Land. But, not so fast, folks. The plane left JFK two hours ago, we were informed. It didn’t even wait for these 11 straggling tired passengers. I would have thought the airline would have already arranged a new connection to Tel Aviv for us, knowing that we missed the flight because of de-icing problems in Chicago. But no, they acted as though this were the first time they had dealt with a plane arriving too late for passengers to make a connecting flight.
After examining all possible connections from JFK to Tel Aviv, they decided to put us in a hotel for the remainder of the night – it was already about 1 a.m. – and told us to return to JFK by 6 a.m. for the flight on British Air to London, where we would connect to El Al for the final leg to Tel Aviv. London? You mean there are no direct flights from JFK, one of the world’s busiest airports, to Tel Aviv before Friday morning? No airline could service us? This was the best that could be done, we were assured, and if all went well, we should arrive in Tel Aviv about 5:30 Friday morning. We were originally supposed to arrive in Tel Aviv on Thursday afternoon, and now we were told we would arrive Friday morning. Not the greatest news, but at least it was well before Shabbos and the ufruf for Binyomin, the whole impetus for the trip in the first place.
So, we tiredly piled into two taxis and were shuttled to a hotel 30 minutes from the airport. Thirty minutes from JFK? There are no closer hotels to one of the world’s largest airports? Not to worry – we figured we’d get a few (very few, it turned out) hours of precious sleep and be able to take a nice, soothing (even more precious) shower.
How to Take a Shower
Not so fast. We got into our assigned rooms and headed for the shower. Seniors first. (Rank has its privileges.) I am a fairly intelligent, college-educated, active senior, still holding a full-time job – but I could not figure out how to turn on the shower! Oh, water flowing into the tub was no problem, but the shower-head remained dry. After turning, pushing, and twisting every handle and nozzle within sight, I gave up and settled for a semi-bath. Next came my granddaughter Yehudis, with whom I happily shared a room. She also could not figure out how to turn on the shower. She had to wash her hair by ducking under the tub faucet. Grandson Moshe, in the room down the hall, said the same thing. What was so difficult about turning on a shower?
In the morning at check-out, I mentioned to the clerk that three of us had trouble activating the shower. He seemed very surprised and pointedly directed by attention to the sign in the lobby with “instructions” on how to use the shower. In all my years of taking daily showers, I have never needed instructions on how to turn on a shower. “Instructions?!” I exclaimed. “If the shower is so complex that it needs instructions, why in heaven’s name are the instructions in the lobby and not in the bathroom? Surely you don’t expect your guests to shower in the lobby?” My question elicited only a blank stare from the clerk, but my displeasure was duly noted by the manager. I would have demanded a discount or money back for the inconvenience, but since the airline was paying for the hotel rooms there was nothing to demand.
After re-piling into two taxis to return to JFK for the flight to Tel Aviv, now via London, we briefly expressed concern about the fate of our luggage. Not a problem, we were assured. It has been ticketed directly through to Tel Aviv, and you don’t have to do a thing with it in London. “All is taken care of.” Famous last words.
Tel Aviv at Last
Sure enough, when we arrived in Tel Aviv, some of the luggage was missing. A very thorough search was made at El Al baggage claim, where missing suitcases reside temporarily before reunion with their owners. No reunion was in store for us. The younger girls had gowns in their suitcases, which they intended to wear for the wedding. Gone. Two special rainbow cakes from Baltimore’s famous Sion Bakery had been packed in heavy cardboard to be served at the ufruf. One cake was in my suitcase, and one cake packed in another suitcase. My suitcase with the rainbow cake was among the missing. My wedding outfit, as a proud Bubbie, was also missing.
It was obvious that the suitcases were not in the terminal, and we were assured they would be delivered as soon as they arrived. The next flight from New York was later that same day, but with an early winter Shabbos, El Al would not deliver it on Friday. On Shabbos, obviously, there would be no delivery. The earliest we would expect delivery was Sunday, if they were on the plane. The wedding was scheduled for Thursday, so we felt it would be a tight schedule, but doable.
Going our Separate Ways
We split up at that point, and the family of 10 took transportation to Ramat Beit Shemesh, where they were staying and where the ufruf would be held. I took a sherut to Haifa to visit a friend and planned to stay until Wednesday, the day before the wedding. The family of 10 managed to do some touring, visit rabbanim, and see holy sites.
Day by day, some of the luggage started showing up, and eventually we were reunited with most of our belongings. I was not so lucky. Despite almost hourly calls to El Al, my suitcase could not be located. Had it been left in Chicago? In New York? In London? None of the airlines were willing to take responsibility for the missing suitcase. The airline with whom we originally booked our tickets said it was not their fault, since I ended up not flying on their carrier, and they re-ticketed me and my suitcase from New York via London to Tel Aviv. British Air claimed no responsibility, since we were only “in transit,” and the luggage was not given to them. El Al claimed they were nice enough to accommodate our party but had no knowledge of handling the luggage.
I sent numerous emails to Dovid Sachs, the best travel agent in Baltimore (who happens to be my nephew), and he explained the situation to El Al more precisely than I could have done. He finally was able to get El Al to accept responsibility, and a representative worked with me to locate the luggage and arrange delivery to my Haifa abode. A driver showed up at the door of my friend’s house on Tuesday, two days before the wedding. I immediately saw a major problem; the whole bottom of the suitcase was taped to keep it closed. I assure you, I did not pack it that way. I also immediately saw a large hole gnawed through the fabric on the side of the suitcase. Again, I assure you I did not use a defective suitcase with a hole in it.
I questioned the driver, but he only glared at me and kept repeating, “Lachtom, geveret,” indicating that I should sign the release form attesting to the delivery of the suitcase. Perhaps he thought I would not notice the tape or the hole? I told him to pipe down: “Savlanut, adoni,” to have a little patience. With two very obvious problems, I was going to inspect the contents before signing anything. This did not endear me to him.
An Unwelcome Tail Tale
Upon opening the suitcase, I found the cardboard box in which the rainbow cake had been packed by the bakery in Baltimore. I almost screamed when I saw a large gnawed hole in the box that matched the gnawed hole in the suitcase. Not a good thing. I opened the cake box and then I did scream. Half the cake was missing! The mighty mouse had struck.
It was evident that a large rodent got into my suitcase, waddling all over my clothes as it scrambled toward the cake. It had then proceeded to eat its way into the box and pig out on the delicious, colorful, chocolate-covered rainbow cake.
The remainder of the cake was inedible at that point – although the kids did ask me why, since the mouse only ate half the cake, I didn’t bring the other half? I told them the cake now resided in a large dumpster, where it would be dessert for ravenous rodents galore. The tale which started in Baltimore, went to Chicago, on to New York, passed through London, and landed in Tel Aviv ended up as a tail on sugar overload.
Lessons
Is there a lesson or moral to this tale? Well, for one thing, it so happens that Esther Miriam, the extraordinary mother of the 13 children, and I have been chavrusos for the past few months, engaged in learning hilchos lashon hara every day. Yes, this daughter-in-law partnered with her mother-in-law to learn every single day, and we have kept to our schedule no matter what. We do it by phone every morning (and motzei Shabbos), and in 119 days (the end of the sefer) we have not missed one day. Every day in Baltimore, we manage a work schedule, carpools, doctor visits, sick children, and household chores to make time to learn together. Even traveling through three countries and four airlines while tracking eight children and 33 pieces of luggage, we made time to learn every day. We have learned when to keep silent, when it is imperative to speak, and that if it is important enough to you to do something, you will make time for it.
We have learned that one makes time for the things that are important. We have both benefited from our learning together (at least I know I have benefited), and there is no doubt our relationship has grown stronger and closer as well. The children benefit from knowing their mother is engaged in avodas kodesh, and even a few minutes set aside during the day can have a tremendous impact on the lives of those around us.
Oh, yes, perhaps there is one more lesson to be learned. When packing edibles in your suitcase for a big trip, make sure to use a metal container instead of cardboard. The mighty mouse may have been able to eat through the cardboard to get to the cake, but metal would have proven a bit daunting. But, then again, without the mouse, would there be a tail to this tale?â—†
