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Dec. 16, 2011
A soul-awakening loss
Possessions are fleeting and offer false security.
SORIYA DANIELS
On a sweltering, humid day this past August, I packed the last remaining items that I needed for my final days in Miami before my long-awaited anniversary trip to Europe with my husband of 11 years. I was not only eager to escape the oppressive summer heat that plagues south Florida in those long, protracted summer months, but to renew my marriage, which suffered from its share of neglect.
With this in mind, I shopped for beautiful outfits I would wear on the Italian Riviera, accessories to dazzle, new make-up and radiance-boosting anti-aging creams, high-heels and flowing evening gowns custom-fitted by a tailor, in anticipation of the two formal nights featured on our Italian cruise. We were, after all, jet set on a spectacular, expensive trip spanning Italy, Spain, Switzerland and then some.
My oversized, overstuffed red suitcase could hardly contain my 16 days’ worth of clothing, replete with several changes of outfits per day, depending on the situation I found myself in. I grabbed a couple of my T-shirts from the dryer and a few spare pairs of underwear, since it was an overnight trip and that time of the month, and one frumpy, comfortable dress and stuffed them into my large pocketbook, since I was not planning to pay the airlines any more than I already did to bring a carry-on bag. The taxi honked, I grabbed a few packages of tuna fish to tide us over for the long trip until we were reunited with our stash of packed kosher food and, with that, off we went to the airport. It was going to be a great trip and quite an adventure.
One stopover and almost 24 hours later – factoring in the time difference – we arrived in Milan, tired, hungry and in need of a shower and fresh clothes. The conveyer belt carrying the luggage went round and round and there was no sign of my big red suitcase. Nor my husband’s small (relative to mine) black suitcase. Three hours passed and still no sign of either. This was not good. Not good at all. I had only my two very old T-shirts, a few pairs of underwear and an eye mask to catch some Zs on the plane, which never even happened. I was exhausted and not only did I need my clothes and toiletries but I also needed my insomnia gear: my beloved HEPA air filter that I shlepped along and even happily paid the $75 extra-luggage surcharge because I cannot fall asleep without the loud sound it makes that obscures other noises, plus, for added protection against noisy hotel hallways, I took my portable sound-machine (think “sounds of the sea”) and the electrical converter set I bought the preceding week. After all, what good would my carefully planned itinerary be if I was sleep-deprived and cranky?
I looked around and found the sign that said “Lost Luggage,” one of the few signs not in Italian, and headed that way. There was a long line, no surprise. We filled out the requisite paperwork and were told that the luggage would likely come the next day. Dismayed, we headed to our hotel, not at all the fine hotel we envisioned, and took a nap. I then hand-washed the dumpy clothes I wore on the plane, chosen for sleep potential and not style, and put on my spare frumpy dress, heading out to walk around the capital of fashion, Milan, looking like a tired slob.
I felt bereft without my possessions. I couldn’t concentrate on anything the city had to offer. All I did was go into over-priced pharmacies and buy as many replacement items as I could find and, believe me, it was slim pickings. I couldn’t even find a simple comb under the equivalent of $15, which offended my sense of fiscal responsibility. Hair conditioner was so ridiculously overpriced that I opted to let my long hair get knotty. It was now Thursday evening in Italy and, Friday morning, we were set to travel to Lugano, Switzerland. When we returned to the hotel, I asked the clerk if our luggage had arrived and it hadn’t. Discouraged, I went to bed fitfully in this dinky hotel that didn’t deserve even a two-star rating, let alone the four stars it claimed it was. We decided to check out and find a better hotel, which added an extra layer of complication to the saga of getting back our belongings, but the hotel manager assured us that they would give our forwarding information to the luggage courier.
Instead of going to Switzerland the following morning and relishing the beautiful vistas of lakeside mountains amid beautiful landscape, we spent (or wasted, depending on how you look at it) half a day in Milan buying some fancy shirts and slacks for my husband, plus some fancy underwear since he didn’t pack any spares. With the hours waning before Shabbat, we went on an abbreviated trip to Switzerland, spent a couple of hours on a Zen lake cruise, and decided to head back to Milan, certain that, by now, our belongings would have been delivered. It was minutes before Shabbat when we arrived back at our new hotel, and I needed to light the Shabbat candles and say my daily Tehillim, both of which were packed in my suitcase. We were informed the luggage hadn’t arrive. I was starting to panic. I still had the 18 minutes after the stated candlelighting time to perform any urgent tasks, so I quickly hand-washed the day’s clothes that I would need for the following day, e-mailed the airlines for help for the umpteenth time, frantically e-mailed our travel insurance, who informed me that our coverage maxed out at $200 and, to my chagrin, could not light the Shabbat candles as sundown washed over Milan.
I spent Shabbat worrying about not being reunited with my belongings, and boarding the cruise the next day practically empty-handed. The stores in Milan didn’t open Sundays until noon and, by then, we would be on a train to Genoa and it was too late to buy anything. Who knew what the cruise would sell. I’d be lucky to find a bathing suit. This was not a good trip, it certainly was not romantic. I couldn’t sleep without my noisemakers, and I heard my husband’s every sound, not to mention all those noisy neighbors in the hallways, chatting up a storm at 7 a.m. on their gleeful way to breakfast. I pined for my air filter, which I affectionately call “the defumigator.”
Just as I was about to give up all hope, Shabbat ended and, the moment I turned on my cellphone, it rang. It was the courier. He had our suitcases and the defumigator. He was at the first hotel. “I’m running over, I’m on my way,” I practically shouted into the phone.
As we lugged our suitcases the two blocks between hotel number one and hotel number two, I felt such relief and such happiness. Back in my room, I opened up my suitcase with a great sense of relief and saw all my possessions. After about 10 minutes of marveling at this sight, it started to dawn on me that I had felt that I had nothing without these things. Why is that, I wondered. Why am I so attached and dependent on my belongings? I didn’t feel at home without my stuff. I was truly a foreigner, in a foreign land, and felt poor and alone with only the clothes on my back and a few spare items.
Then a deeper thought hit me: at least I had my husband at my side, my identification documents, my cellphone (so I knew my children were safe with my parents) and the few belongings that I had carried on the plane. I started to ponder death, as dreary as that sounds. I thought about how we can’t take anything with us but our deeds on this earth, the Torah that we learned and the descendants we leave behind and the good that they do and the Torah that they learn. I started to think about whether I’ve packed well for my final journey, hopefully in many, many years from now. I had been to maybe one or two Torah classes that entire year. I can’t even count how many times I’d been to the mall. I thought about how important those few pairs of underwear I put in my pocketbook at the last minute turned out to be; I wondered if I, unwittingly, did a few good deeds that I would need to carry me over far longer that I ever expected them to.
I have since learned to live simply and make do with less. I packed up my house and now have less than a week’s worth of clothes available to me in my closet and only a few pairs of shoes. I am no longer daunted by hand-washing my clothes with shampoo. I still need my defumigator to sleep but I realize that possessions are fleeting and provide a false sense of security. I have been trying to up the ante on Torah study and I hope to incorporate more good deeds and truly meaningful activities into my daily grind. I have heard that this world is analogous to a long corridor and what we do in it determines what our eternal life will become. That’s why it is important to pack well: unlike an airline, the Almighty doesn’t lose track of our true possessions, our merit, and this is the only currency that has an exchange rate up in heaven.
Soriya Daniels is a Florida freelance writer.
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