It was simply appalling.<\/p>\n
Outrageous.<\/p>\n
Monstrous.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere the heck is the security?\u201d I demanded, to no one in particular.\u00a0My wife looked at me and shrugged.<\/p>\n
It was a beautiful autumn afternoon in Washington, D.C., and I had taken the day off to spend some time with my wife. We decided to visit the Mint, and see how they made what I had been trying to earn all these years.<\/p>\n
Being an avid follower of things like fighter planes and commandos, I eagerly anticipated seeing the elaborate security measures protecting our government\u2019s currency. My imagination soared as we neared the Bureau of Engraving and Printing.<\/p>\n
\u201cI bet they\u2019ll have several platoon-sized forces in full battle gear guarding each entrance,\u201d I said gleefully. \u201cNot to mention squads of sharpshooters in key vantage points throughout the area of the tour.\u201d<\/p>\n
My wife smiled patiently at my attempts at military expertise. She had grown accustomed to the talk of this army wannabe who could stand to lose a few pounds.<\/p>\n
We mistakenly tried the rear entrance first, and three very lightly armed security guards, \u201cB.E.P.\u201d emblazoned on their backs, told us in a bored voice to go around the block. They were used to this error, it seemed.<\/p>\n
\u201cI guess the main force is at the front entrance,\u201d I said, somewhat disappointed at the puny display.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe,\u201d my wife said politely.<\/p>\n
Right before we reached the entrance, we saw a loading dock below, with an 18-wheeler being loaded with pallets.<\/p>\n
\u201cWow. Must be millions of dollars being sent across the country,\u201d I said in wonder. A second later, I noticed that not a guard was in sight.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on here?\u201d I said hotly. \u201cWhat if the Mafia would send a squad of their own to take this truck down? These are our country\u2019s assets!\u201d I shook my head in disbelief.<\/p>\n
We were about to walk through the doors of the main entrance, and saw five B.E.P. guards socializing, the same light weaponry adorning their belts. One guard guffawed at something funny as I pulled open the door. My wife and I exchanged glances. I couldn\u2019t get over the rinky-dink security. They barely seemed to notice us as we passed through the metal detectors. The man guffawed a second time. I began to wonder if their pistols were even loaded. \u201cWater guns,\u201d I declared indignantly.<\/p>\n
The tour was interesting, and we learned fascinating information, like the fact that the printing machines for U.S. dollars were made in Italy, and that it\u2019s OK to do your nails on the job if you work at B.E.P.<\/p>\n
We saw what seemed like millions being mass-produced. We tourists were on the floor above the production line, and the crew was at work below. At no point did I see one guard. Any employee could walk out with a year\u2019s salary, for all the guards cared. This was just too much. I had to speak up. After all, didn\u2019t my taxes pay their salaries?<\/p>\n
As we exited, I noticed a mustachioed man in his forties wandering aimlessly in the lobby, a B.E.P. ID badge around his neck on a chain.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcuse me,\u201d I said. \u201cI have some questions, and I\u2019m wondering whom I can ask about the Mint.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019d be me,\u201d said the man, his face expressionless. \u201cAnd it\u2019s not the Mint \u2013 we don\u2019t make coins here. But what\u2019s on your mind?\u201d He turned to face me squarely.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, for starters, I\u2019m flabbergasted at the lack of security you have here. I mean, a couple of guys with submachine guns can walk out of here with scads of bucks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you figure that?\u201d he asked, cocking an eyebrow skyward.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe guards have pistols. They\u2019re deployed only where the tourists are. Nobody\u2019s keeping an eye on the employees. The loading dock is unguarded. I can go on.\u201d<\/p>\n
He seemed rather amused. \u201cSir, can I ask you something?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCertainly,\u201d I replied, confidently.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat denomination were the bills you saw being produced?\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at my wife. She shrugged. We couldn\u2019t remember exactly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2026uh\u2026think they were ones, maybe fives and t-\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo sir!\u201d he interrupted swiftly. \u201cThey were just ones.\u201d He was clearly savoring the moment.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh,\u201d I said slowly, wary of something nameless. Why were his eyes glittering?<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are the higher denominations produced?\u201d I said, not realizing the trap.<\/p>\n
\u201cAha!\u201d he cried. \u201cThat\u2019s classified. It\u2019s in a different section of Treasury.\u201d<\/p>\n
Almost sneering, he leaned closer and said, \u201cThat\u2019s where the real security boys are. Ain\u2019t no gangsters going to take them out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Trying desperately to recover, I said, \u201cW-w-w-what about the employees? No one\u2019s watching them!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWrong again,\u201d came the answer. \u201cCameras monitor their every move.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cB-b-but what about the loading dock?\u201d I spluttered. \u201cAn 18-wheeler was being loaded with stacks o\u2019 cash, and not a guard in sight!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFirst of all, you saw the loading dock for shipments of stamps, which are also made in this building. Secondly, the guard station is just out of your line of sight, right inside the door.\u201d<\/p>\n
He seemed to have an answer to everything.<\/p>\n
\u201cAny more questions?\u201d he asked in a mocking tone.<\/p>\n
\u201cNone,\u201d came my embarrassed reply.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen have a nice day. Welcome to Washington.\u201d He turned and left.<\/p>\n
Here I was, the self-styled security pundit. I thought I was looking at the high bills, and drew conclusions based on that.<\/p>\n
In reality I had been looking at ones the whole time.<\/p>\n
It made me wonder about the things I was focusing on in my life in general. What I consider urgent. What I consider important.<\/p>\n
But what if I\u2019ve been wrong? What if those things really are not important at all?<\/p>\n
The High Holiday season is Judaism\u2019s built-in reminder for us to recalibrate our priorities. To step back and ask ourselves, \u201cIs this really important? Does this really matter?\u201d<\/p>\n
But it\u2019s not just about priorities and the values on which we focus. It\u2019s also about the slights, insults and interactions that make us get our backs up and draw lines in the sand.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow dare she have said that to me!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat a nerve of him to post that about me!\u201d<\/p>\n
How many relationships and friendships have we discarded because either we or the other person took something that was really minor (a one-dollar bill) and conflated it with something major (a hundred-dollar bill)?<\/p>\n
We should be grateful for the national and personal opportunity that God grants us at this time of year to repair our relationship with Him and with people. To reexamine things and decide what is really important. And what is really trivial.<\/p>\n
Part of Judaism\u2019s secret to reshuffling our hierarchy of importance is the realization that it\u2019s not about fitting God into our world. It\u2019s about fitting ourselves into His. Hence the awareness of His Kingship and the emphasis on the role we need to play in helping God perfect His world.<\/p>\n
We do matter.<\/p>\n
We do count.<\/p>\n
The buck stops with us.<\/p>\n