The operative phrase “away from home” haunts me. I hope they cannot see through me
I am invited to spend Shabbos at the Ohel Shalom Torah Center in Chicago, led by Rabbi Daniel J. Raccah with the capable assistance of his son Rav Aharon. It is a treat to spend Shabbos with this Sephardic kehillah.
I’m flying solo for this particular engagement, and as soon as my wife drops me off at Newark Airport, the jitters begin. As I enter the terminal, they intensify. Looking at me you wouldn’t notice anything different. But as we know, looks are often deceiving.
I head for the security check, not exactly my favorite pastime. As I empty my pockets into the small, round receptacle, my heart races. The race is on as I watch my earthly possessions disappear into the dark tunnel while I head for the metal detector.
After I am cleared from the rectangular gantry, the pressure builds as I struggle to get to the other side in time to scoop up my phone before it slides off into oblivion.
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