Rick's wild ride

Twas the night before our annual pilgrimage to Israel. The spring of 2004. I don’t want to say it was the height of TSA’s paranoia but it was positively in full swing 2-1/2 years north of 9-11. We’ve traveled overseas since the permanent restrictions wrapped around our nations airports and brought the lowest common intelligence denominator to curb level and created hysteria around 4oz tubes of toothpaste and little old ladies with canes. Over the past 13 trips to Israel, I’ve began refining my packing checklist in my mind to 4 buckets that need filling. Documents were my responsibility, Clothes & Toiletries were a joint collection activity between me and my wife, and last, the Presents were all Nami’s including a packet of sacred “tzadaka” money from her religious boss which we need to give to the poor in Israel for good luck and protection on our journey. Once those four buckets were filled I packed them up in our prearranged luggage and set them near the door ready for the ride to the airport the next day, and this trip was no different. For the first time our flight would be connecting through DC instead of Paris or Toronto. Every year we scoured travel agents for the best deals to avoid a layover in New York. Our least favorite connection city. You know what they say, “Great place to visit but I wouldn’t want to layover there”. 

The day was here, dropped off at MSP and on our flight to Ronald Reagan Washington National without a hitch. After a bathroom break and a little bite we made it to our gate with plenty of time for our 3:00pm departure to Tel Aviv. I checked us in at the gate and the gate agent informed me that our child’s passports would expire soon and travelers cannot travel on a passport with less than 6 months before expiration. I begged, discussed, got angry, asked for a manager raised my voice and pleaded. My wife and kids were by my side slowly moving from confusion to tears until the boarding concluded and we were left exhausted in desperation on the wrong side of the door. Adrenalin kicked in once I realized the goal was to get on board the next flight. After heated discussions with three gate agents and their manager I was informed that there are only two offices in the US that we can get a passport renewed in person, one in Chicago and the other was in DC not 5 miles away from the airport. 

It was around 3:30 on a Friday in DC and we had 1 hour to find our luggage and make our way Downtown DC to the passport office for renewal before the office closed. I decided that the best way to handle this situation was to hustle downstairs, leave Nami and the kids in luggage claim in search of our bags that were removed from our original flight. I scurried off in search of transportation. 

The taxi line was long, I could wait but then I saw the car rental counter and it was clear. Wide open, ready and willing to accept my hurried pitch. They helped me through the process as quick as they could and I was driving my car around to baggage claim as Nami and the kids were rolling out the door looking for me. I grabbed the bags and the kids, threw all of them in the back of the car in the same motion and hopped into the drivers seat. I handed Nami the paper map the car rental associate gave me with our highlighted route to the passport office and, as polite as I could in that moment, told her to navigate. The details of the drive are lost to me but the utter disbelief turning a corner in downtown DC and seeing our destination was a moment so burned into my mind that it over road any other details of that car ride. The time was 4:25, I had 5 minutes before stated close. I left the car at the curb with the family, burst out onto the street and sprinted to the door. I arrived just as someone was exiting and didn’t even touch the door on my way in. I leaped up to the counter and started in with my story of sorrow and the need for two little passport renewals for my innocent young kids just trying to get a few moments with their elderly grandparents half a world away. The response I received was, “What are you doing in here? How did you get in here, the door is locked? We are closed!” I explained, “the door was held open when I walked up”, “I need help and have nowhere else to turn” and began my story of heartache and agony all over again. The lady at the counter was not going to relent. She had locked the doors and there was nothing she was going to do about it, but then a voice came from behind her and said, “maybe Jeff could come in tomorrow and help?”. I asked who Jeff was, how could he help and how can I get  hold of him.? I was told that Jeff can renew passports on the weekends by appointment only and he has left for the day and I couldn’t get a hold of him. I asked if he had a cell phone which, in 2004 was not a given, and I was told he does but they are not allowed to give it out. I pleaded my case all over again and the second, more sympathetic girl said she would call him from the office phone for me.  Jeff answered the phone quickly and the second gal handed me the phone. I thanked jeff for taking the call and laid out my sob story for him. He was a patient man and agreed to come in and meet us at noon the following day to renew our passports. I thanked everyone 5-6 time each and ran out the door to tell the family we had a solution. 

Back in the car we still had two calls to make. The first was to the airline to confirm us on stand-by for the 3:00 flight the next day and the second to my step brother to ask if he had room for 4 more at his shabbat dinner table and a room we could use for the night which he was more than happy to oblige. We showed up to the Gold’s in Frederick Maryland shortly after 7pm, ate a wonderful home cooked meal and in payment regaled the group with the story of our day at the airport and passport office. By 9:00 the food and emotions of the day took their toll and we turned in for the night agreeing to have breakfast with them and then joining Jeff,  for a tour of the National Mall before our noon meeting with Passport Jeff.

The next morning went off without a hitch and we showed up to the Passport office 11:30 to meet Jeff. Jeff also arrived early, 20 minutes and $200 later we were waving goodbye to Jeff & Jeff, hoping never to see one jeff again and hoping not to see the other Jeff later that day. Drove back to the airport, checked baggage and arrived to the gate as stand-by passengers with no indication from the gate agent of our chance. I began to relay the story of our recent trials and tribulations from yesterday and she fained interest while pointing to seats we could use while we waited for her heartless soul to decide our fate. The boarding began and 45 excruciating minutes later we were told there were no seats for us and there is a 7:30 flight that may have room. We all put on our game faces, found somewhere in the terminal to camp out for the next 3 hours and pouted. The next gate agent was much more sympathetic to my story of the last 24 hours as she glanced down and my deceivingly innocent look children’s faces sitting on the floor near her feet.  She gave us hope and said she would do all she could to deliver us in the longing arms of the Israeli family. When the news came that we would not be walking down the jet bridge that day the whole family began to cry. A tear may not have rolled down my cheek but inside I was a mess watching my family’s sadness. We moped downstairs, collected our luggage, rented another car and drove the hour and a half to my stepbrother’s house after first adding our names to the standby list for the first flight on Sunday, which was 7:00 pm. 

The next morning, Jeff and his family joined all of us at two of the Smithsonian museums for the day. The Air & Space museum fascinated the kids almost as much as it captivated my step-brother and the American history museum infused just enough distraction to pacify my travel anxiety. After the day of history gawking, we said our goodbyes again and headed to the airport with visions of airplanes at 30,000 feet in our heads. Once inside the airport, bracing myself for added frustration and dismay, I trudged up to the gate, presented our four passports, two of them never used, and the gate agent welcomed us and returned our passports with 4 confirmed tickets on the 7:00pm flight from DC to Tel Aviv, Halleluiah. 

We arrived safe and sound into the waiting arms of our Israeli family without any more hiccups or glitches and that is where the story should’ve ended yet there was a twist. The second to last day, we were visiting one of Nami’s classmates who, since graduating, had become ultra orthodox religious. To the point that when visiting, I am not allowed to touch her. We told her the story of our travels and she looked at us thoughtfully and replied, “I know why this happened to you. You were traveling with Tzdeka and Ha Shem (god) would not let you travel on shabbat.

Was it the hand of god that protected us, kept us safe and threw a monkey wrench into our travel plans so we didn’t travel on the sabbath day and instead keep it holy? 

Or was it my incompetence for not checking the passports?