Two bikers and one rabbi

Should I, a bearded rabbi, open my window to ask directions, or should I just drive on?

By EMMANUEL FELDMAN
scarey biker 88 (photo credit: )
scarey biker 88
(photo credit: )
After numerous delays, my plane landed at Atlanta airport long after midnight. I had been away for several days, and was anxious to get home to my own bed. I found my car in the parking area, maneuvered it out of the lot, and was just settling back for the 30-minute drive home when I realized that I was humming along in a completely unfamiliar area and was hopelessly lost. Apparently, I had missed the cutoff to the highway and was on a dark road in strange territory. To my relief, I noticed lights up ahead, apparently some kind of shop. I prayed that they be open so that I could ask directions. As I approached, I saw the flashing red neon sign: "Bar and Grill." I pulled up alongside, and there, right in the front of the door, were two oversized motorcycles. Sitting on top of each motorcycle was an oversized man, and perched on the head of each man was an oversized helmet. I felt a slight tremor of trepidation. The fact that these two large gentlemen happened to be black did not calm my anxiety. Should I, a bearded, yarmulke-wearing rabbi, open my window to ask these fellows directions, or should I do the sensible thing and just drive on? I rolled down my window. "Evening, guys," I said brightly. "I'm looking for I-85 into town, but I think I missed the entrance. Can you help me?" They got off their bikes and sauntered over to me. I caught my breath. "No problem, sir," one of them said. "You missed the cutoff. Turn yourself around and head back about two miles. You can't miss it. The sign will say I-85." "I sure do appreciate it. Thanks a whole lot." I turned the car around and, much relieved, headed back down the road. I DROVE and drove, but once again I could not find the entrance sign. Frustration grew within me. In my rear-view mirror two headlights were coming closer and closer. It was not another car. It was two motorcycles. I was now really apprehensive. Were these the same two cyclists? Had they deliberately misled me and were now about to ambush me and do me some harm? They pulled up alongside me and motioned me to pull over. I did. It was the same two cyclists. One of them got off and strode over to me. I said a prayer. "Hey, man," he said, "you done missed that cutoff again. Turn around and follow us and we'll show it to you real clear this time." Once again I turned the car around. They zoomed out ahead of me and in 30 seconds they pulled over to a crossing, motioning me to stop. "That's it over there. It ain't lit up good, but that's it. I-85 right ínto town." "You guys are great," I called out. "May the good Lord bless you." It was one of the most heartfelt blessings I had ever given. They thundered off back to their bar, and I drove off to my nice warm bed. The writer served as rabbi in Atlanta for 40 years, and is presently on the editorial staff of the Encyclopedia of Mitzvot.