Missing the Point

The story is told of a man, we’ll call him Chaim, who rode up to the border on a motorcycle, with a large crate on the back.

“Any alcohol or tobacco?” the border guard asked him, after inspecting his papers.

“No” said Chaim.

“Any gifts or articles of value that you purchased that you’re bring over the border?”

“Nope.”

“And what are you carrying in that crate?”

“Sand” said Chaim.

The border guard looked at him incredulously. “Are you telling me that crate is filled with sand?”

“That’s right”, Chaim told him.

“And why, pray tell, are you transporting a crate full of sand over the border?”

“Well, you see I’m building myself a new home in Canada, and I find that the sand from the States is much better for building, so I’m bringing over this sand to use for the construction”.

The border guard burst out laughing. “You must think I’m really gullible if you’re trying to sell me a story like that. Go over to customs, they’ll do a thorough inspection of your crate, and we’ll find out what you’re really up to.”

Chaim drove over to customs, parked his motorcycle, and brought his crate over to the guards, who had already been radioed in advance of his arrival. They took the crate and wend through the contents meticulously, they put it through metal detectors and had the trained dogs sniff at it; but try as they might, they could not find it to contain anything but sand.

Finally, they had no choice but to let him go. “I just know you’re up to something here”, the guard told him as they parted, “you watch yourself, I’ll get to the bottom of this yet!”

Two days later, the border guard looked up to see Chaim drive up again, with his brand new motorcycle, and an even bigger crate. “What are you carrying this time?” the guard growled at him.

“I already told you, it’s sand”, replied Chaim with a disarming smile, “and I already explained you why I need it”.

“Nonsense, I don’t believe a word of it, bring the crate over to customs, they’ll get to the bottom of it this time!”

But once again, the lengthy search proved fruitless, and at the end they had to begrudgingly let him go.

To make a long story short – this repeated itself every few days, over a period of a number of months. Every time Chaim came to the border he was searched and investigated, but nothing significant was ever discovered. Most of the officers were ready to conclude that he was an eccentric individual, and this was one of his idiosyncrasies. However, the original border guard was convinced that this was not the case; he had found Chaim to be an intelligent and down to earth fellow, and he was convinced that there was some explanation to his conduct.

One day, Chaim turned to the border guard with a big smile: “Well good bye now, you won’t be seeing me anymore, as today is the last of these trips that I’ll be making.”

The border guard began to plead with him: “I’m begging you, share with me the secret behind your trips. I promise you no harm will befall you. I just there’s some explanation, and I feel that I must know it!”

Chaim acquiesced. “It’s all very simple”, he said, with a twinkle in his eye, “I’ve been smuggling motorcycles. Every day I crossed with a brand new motorcycle, and now I’ve accumulated enough to open my motorcycle store. You’ve all been so preoccupied with the crates – which were in fact crates of sand – that you never gave the vehicle a second glance!”