Or, whatever the Jewish equivalent is. (Do they have anything like saints? My education begins.)
This has been. The. Longest. Day. I'm now past hour 36 and going strong. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it.)
It started yesterday at 7 am as I travelled to Newark airport. At check-in, I was ready for the Spanish Inquisition that awaits anyone flying to Israel (you might say I expected it), but I was unprepared to be called into a back room, strip-searched, and have my iPod and Kindle, which many people on the plane had, confiscated as "flagged machines" (How many lights are there, Picard?) That was fun. I was then escorted onto the plane, since it had already boarded while an El Al agent and I got to know each other much better. Then, the 11-hour flight began.
My movie screen thing worked for exactly 14 minutes (no spoilers for Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, please) at which point it went kaput. My Kindle and iPod were nought to be found, so I people-watched until dinner (couldn't eat it, though the hummus was good), after which I tried to sleep.
Tried, of course, being the operative word.
The woman next to me, who, curse the day, I was oh so quick to judge, proceeded to prod me awake to assist her with the overhead light. Across the aisle, a gaggle of women stood talking to a seated passenger, forcing anyone who needed to pass to have to sit on me just to get by, not to mention every time they themselves would jostle me. But the true icing on the cake, the true crusty topping on the creme brule, the real frosted coating on my wheaty breakfast cereal, was the baby.
Now I love babies. Probably too much. (Say it with me, "Kidnapping is wrong.") But this little girl screamed for 11 hours straight. I do not mean she cried most of the flight. I do not mean she had a somewhat annoying cry. I mean precisely what I said--she screamed for 11 hours straight. She was still screaming in the front row as we disembarked.
I am at breaking point with this flight. It never ends, I have no way to kill the time, sleeping included, and I barely know what I'm doing once I get there. But, the woman next to me, saint on Earth, starts chatting in English. She learns that I'm going to study, and we chat about the Bible and languages and Israel. She was returning home from visiting her sister and assured me Israel was a welcoming place. As we started to land, she reached into her purse.
"Here," she said in thick but intelligible English, "I have many, many of these. You take this one." She hands me a tiny, palm-sized Bible written in tiny Hebrew. The cover was almost worn through, but the pages were clean.
I tried to refuse her offer, but she just pressed it into my hand and said, "You are very welcome her ein Israel." She made the whole nasty flight worth it.
However, she couldn't make up for the shuttle ride to the University. Israel is fond of shared cabs, called a "sherut." It costs about a quarter of a cab. The catch being that you have to wait until it fills with 10 passegers, and you may have to wait while they are all dropped off. Like if your University is on the far side of the City. Or if there's crazy traffic. Or if your driver has to get to a funeral and shunts you into a taxi.
But I made it in the end. The city is gorgeous, pictures to come.
-C
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