December, 2018
I.
Some maxims seem to have always existed, invented by no one in particular and yet known by all.
The adage “When it rains, it pours”—typically signifying unpleasantness hitting someone in droves—would be seen as just
such a proverb.
However, while this saying may seem to be self-generated, it indeed has a known genesis.
At the turn of the last century there was an odd problem with the salt that people were buying. Not only was it coarse and uneven, but also when it was humid or rainy outside, the granules would stick together, which would inhibit its ability to pour out. Even when it would pour out, it would fall in large clumps, which would
often ruin dishes.
In 1911, the Morton Salt Company figured out that by adding magnesium carbonate to its salt it could inhibit clumping.
They soon hired the famous advertising company N.W. Ayer & Son to come with a slogan for this breakthrough technology.
They settled on the very positive-meaning “When it rains, it pours,” meaning that even when it rains outside your salt will still
be able to pour out flawlessly! This soon led to the now famous Morton Salt logo of a child holding an umbrella, thereby being
blocked from the rain.
Ironically, although invented as a positive, this adage now has negative connotations.
This past week, and on one day in particular, this saying came to mind.
II.
Wednesday morning, the third day of Chanukah, began like a typical day.
In fact, Chanukah is almost a mini-vacation for me. Aside for my duties in my shul and my vaad, I teach at the local Beis Yaakov, and have the zechus to do some teaching in Yeshivas Noviminsk, Yeshivas Springfield and Yeshivas Telshe-Riverdale.
However, during the week of Chanukah I am not asked to come in, which gives me a chance to catch-up on other matters. Specifically, this is the time of year when I begin putting together the next year’s kashrus teudos, the letters of certification that each
company receives at the beginning of the new billing cycle.
However, and without getting into specifics, as I began to work on these, and speaking with some of the companies, it became clear that three of them needed an immediate visit so as to address issues that had just arisen.
The problem was that these three companies are in three separate states!
While we often hire mashgichim to go on our behalf, these issues would be best and quickest resolved if I went myself.
I quickly booked a ticket to an airport that was in between all the factories, and reserved a car. I was to arrive late Wednesday night, drive the three hours to where factory number one was, stay over, and be there first thing in the morning. This would then allow me to drive the rest of the 250 miles or so on Thursday, visit the other factories, make minchah in Columbus and fly home to light at about 9 p.m.
Okay, hectic, but manageable.
“Es ‘chata’ai’ ani mazkir hayom“, I booked my flight through SkipLagged, a legally protected site that offers the cheapest tick-
ets out there. Their secret is stopovers. So, for example, if you want to fly from New York to Denver but the cheapest ticket is $700, they will fly to Charlottesville that has a stopover in Denver for $320. You simply do not get on the connecting flight!
This is called “hidden city” pricing.
I asked a lawyer and was told that it’s perfectly legal; however, I was feeling uncomfortable. It seemed to smack against
yashrus and emes (see my post “Daniel’s Deals” regarding the issues of ‘theft’ in advetizing airlines’ mistakes, etc.)
This would later come back to haunt me.
III.
Before I left, I made sure to stop by the hospital to visit a member of my shul who has been ill for some time. His disease was eating away at him for months, and he is not lucid or able to speak any-
more.
There is not much to say on such visits, and I usually recite Tehillim. But being that it was Chanukah, I sang to him most of
Hallel. I kissed him on the forehead and went home to get ready for the airport.
As soon as I took my seat on the plane I received a call. I had that “feeling” as soon as I heard the ring. This member is now a gossess (in the finality of life, when even touching them may hasten death is to be avoided), I was told.
When the plane landed later that night, I received another phone call, the inevitable.
Baruch Dayan Ha’emes. They had passed.
An already difficult trip was now made even harder. After speaking to the new widow, I realized that with the levayah scheduled for first thing in the morning, there was simply no way to make it back in time.
Being that I am a kohen, and it being Chanukah, which forbids hespedim, I was at least relieved that I would be in their home
for Shacharis first thing Friday morning. Nevertheless, I was a wreck, torn up that I was stuck in no man’s land when a
member passed away and a family needed support.
IV.
There is something very lonely about kashrus travel. It is not just that one is literally by himself, but religiously one is by himself. Often, on such trips I wonder—as I bentch, let’s say—if this
area of the country has ever yet heard the shem Hashem uttered (see a post from 2011 where such a thought was wrong, as I soon discovered that one of the earliest Jewish graveyards in America was just a mile from where I was then bentching in this middle-of-nowhere town!).
That is what I was thinking I was walking into the first plant Thursday morning, located in Nowhere, USA.
“I am probably the only Jew this manager has ever met,” I thought to myself.
But I was wrong.
Somehow we got to talking and he revealed something he never shared with me before. Years before he was under our hashgachah, Rav Yitzchok Chinn certified him.
I knew Rav Chinn—rav of McKeesport, Pennsylvania—for many years. In fact, His son and family were my wife’s neighbors in
Toronto, and, more, this son was my son’s mohel when we had a Shabbos bris in Buffalo!
When we were first married and would spend Sukkos with my in-laws, Rav Shmuel Kamenetsky—who was staying with his Toronto-based son—would walk over to the Chinn’s sukkah to greet Rav Chinn. We would all sit in the sukkah and spend time
with these greats.
But the manager had more than just a passing connection. “I would even visit the rabbi in his home” he told me. “He would always have special passes for museums for me and my family. His wife would bake us cookies…”
When Rav Chinn was getting on in his years, he would stop certifying this company, but this manager wanted to maintain a relationship with a rabbi.
I sat there stunned. “I am no Rabbi Chinn, but I will try to have a relationship with you as well.”
What a reminder of how a rav can have an effect on all people, and how one should never cease seeking to be a ribuy kiddush sheim shamayim in the world.
More, it was a stark reminder that when a rabbi comes arrives for a kosher check, being fastidious in his duties is not a contradiction to also being mindful, kind, and endearing.
V.
The rest of the day has its own stories, but for space, let’s skip to minchah–maariv.
Davening in Rabbi Goldstein’s shul in Columbus, Ohio, was a real treat, as their weekday beis haknesses is a one-of-a-kind beauty.
After Maariv, I was off to the airport. I had the last flight out of Columbus. The first thing I noticed as I stood in line at American Airlines is that I made a huge error.
I had parked my car at JFK, not realizing that I would be returning to LaGuardia. No big deal, I guess. I will take a cab to JFK
when I land; what’s a little more traveling after the past 24 hours of state-hopping?!
But then a greater blunder arose.
Remember SkipLagged?
My flight home to LaGuardia was supposed to be a stop-over for a morning flight to Montreal.
When I arrived at the airport they asked to see my passport, as in their eyes I was a traverler preapred to head to that country.
Lucily, I had my passport card (it is the size of a drivers license, andmay be used for travel from the US into Mexico, Canada, inter alia).
I was quickly informed that such cards are only good for land travel, but not air travel.
“Wecan’t let you on the plane!”
Inside I was thinking that perhaps this was deserved for using such a site to book my ticket.
I asked if they could just cancel the Montreal portion and write me up a new ticket for the New York portion. They were kind
enough to do that for me…for a $400 charge!
Since I had to get to this shivah house by shacharis, I had no choice but to repurchase the same ticket for $400 on top of the money spent on the original.
I arrived safely in LaGuardia, and went straight to JFK parking. Relieved to be back and having this long 24-hour trip behind me, I opened my car and, as I got in, a gust of wind blew off my hat and yarmulke.
I never recovered the yarmulke, and -as international travellers watched on with curiousuty -my yarmulka was swallowed by the wind whilst I ran for my hat like Wile E. Cayote, smashing my phone in the process of catching the hat midair.
I finally arrived home at 11:30 p.m., starving, exhausted, pained at the missed levayah, with no yarmulke beneath my hat, a smashed phone, and a wallet $400 lighter.
I lit the menorah. It was the fifth night, when for the first time the majority of the menorah is lit, and we are tasked with
seeing the positive outweigh the negative (it is also the only night that will never fall on Shabbos, which is why some have the minhag to give money/gifts on this night).
I thought of how Rav Chinn took a far-off company and made it into a kiddush Hashem; how, yes, when it rains it pours, but perhaps the positive within that rain should be our focus.
After all, I made it home safely, learned a lesson about being more honest when purchasing tickets, will be able to go to the shivah in the morning, and a broken/cracked phone will likely be
better for my time management in the long run.
After lighting the menorah, I began to sing with my children. I fell asleep in the middle of the third stanza of Maoz Tzur…it had been a long 24 hours.
Shul Chronicles 
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