Back to “Is-ra-ayl”

The last time I was in Israel, I was surrounded by 40 other Jewish teenagers on a jam-packed, month long summer tour. We dug up shards of pottery dating back 2,200 years, listened to Orthodox Jews chanting Shabbat prayers, peed in the desert (actually quite an accomplishment for me) and swam in practically every body of water in or adjoining the country. It was one of the most amazing and memorable experiences of my life.

This week, I headed back to the country for the sixth annual Murry Fromson press tour highlighting the latest and greatest research at Ben Gurion University.

I wondered whether it had been so long that I wouldn’t even notice any changes as I stood in line to go through a second security screening into an enclosed pre-boarding area. The woman behind me interrupted my thoughts.

“Are you going to the Holy Land too?”

Holy Land? I paused, taking a moment to digest the odd juxtaposition of this clearly non-Jewish woman and the two Israelis speaking Hebrew in front of me, not to mention the absurdity of the question. Of course I’m going to Israel, why else would I be standing in a security line for a flight to Tel Aviv? I just really get a kick out of taking off my shoes?

For the sake of being nice I struck up a conversation. Oh, yes, she said, it’s her first visit. And you? 1998? But you’re so young! Yes, I agreed, I look young, It’ll be awesome when I’m 50.

Once past the screening, I’m confused. Where are the agents to grill us about the nature of our trip, or whether we packed our own bags? This was not what I remembered. Likewise, I’m intrigued by the mix of people packed into the small area. There’s an older Asian woman with a hairdo that my grandmother’s friends would admire, a teenager sporting a gangster-worthy gold Jewish star, a horde of priests, Israelis chatting in Hebrew and dozens of elderly couples wearing tour group name tags.

Of course, there aren’t any Orthodox families. I expected that – no flying on Shabbat. Still, it was weird to see SO many Christian passengers. Just before the plane door shut, it was impossible not to overhear the woman in the row behind me on a last minute call.

“See how good Jesus is?” she said in a thick Eastern European accent. “He sent us an angel.”

It got weirder when the priest next to her walked up to the loudspeaker and urged everyone on board to join him in praying for a safe flight to “Is-ra-ayl.”

“Where’s the rabbi?” someone murmured behind me.

“There’s no rabbi,” someone else responded.

Right, that whole Shabbat thing. So off we went, sans rabbi.

For me, though, the most unexpected twist was yet to come. Just about an hour before the flight landed, I saw a woman walking back from the bathroom who looked very much like an old friend of mine from Charlotte, North Carolina. I dismissed the coincidence – after all, if this was her, she would have been with her husband and three adorable children.

Unable to shake my curiosity, I walked back toward her seat and feigned a stretch to get a better view.  It was her all right.  We climbed over other passengers to get to each other and spent the rest of the flight catching up. I couldn’t have asked for a more serendipitous welcome to the “Holy Land.”

Para-surfer on the beach in Tel Aviv