
Food History has a cute (perhaps apocryphal) story about the first kosher butchers to arrive in Cairns, Australia.
The two shochetim willingly opened all their cases. The smallest case, flat as a briefcase, was filled with sharp blades polished and bright and dangerous. Big enough to kill a cow with one stroke and cause it no pain. Big enough and sharp enough to worry Customs. Customs called Security and the two Israelis were taken to a side room for further investigation.
The Australian who was supposed to interpret was unacountably detained and the Israelis didn’t have much English so they sat in the side room, trying to work out what to do.
“All we need,” said one to the other in Hebrew, “Are the English words for ‘Anachnu shochetim’ and they’ll understand the knives.”
“I know the words for that,” the other said, confidently. “I know how to say ‘We’re kosher butchers’ in English.”
When the security team asked them again what they were doing in Australia, he replied proudly “We are killers. We kill for Jews.”
Fortunately for the path of international trade in beef, the Australian who had been supposed to meet them (and whose plane had been delayed) arrived at that point and the pair escaped custody.

It’s almost certainly not apocryphal. I used to know the son of the Australian who was supposed to meet the shochetim. The reason for all my caveats at the beginning is that I’m the fourth person in the chain from the original telling (he told his wife who told my mother twenty years ago who told me) and it’s almost certain that details have been garbled along the way.