I can't believe I'm actually on a plane to Israel.
I have an Israeli friend already and I haven't even left the ground.
My gregarious seatmate, whose name I can't pronounce correctly, declares enthusiastically that he "loves science" and decided after a few minutes of conversation that I would be an excellent business partner for his new venture idea. He's delighted that I'm an American Jew visiting Israel and is absolutely certain I will have a fabulous time. And he seems entirely disinterested in religion.
All around me, Hassidic men with their curlicue sideburns and black hats file into seats. Sprinkled between them are Jews from Miami and Christians from Texas. Two Israeli lovers across the aisle indulge in PG-13 kisses and put their hands in places better caressed in private. Two rows up an ordinarily dressed man with a kippah sets aside a cloth bag that holds the small, scroll-containing boxes, called tefillin, that orthodox men wear on their arms and heads when they pray. When we fly through sunrise he and other orthodox men will don their prayer shawls and tefillin and stand at the front of the plane davening their morning prayers. In the back row a cranky mother and son speak Arabic and roll their eyes at the pilot's mention of Israeli airspace regulations.
These images ricochet off one another, seeming contradictory and yet all belonging to a place that's come to be synonymous with meaning and conflict.
I can already see that Israel is a complicated place.
I have an Israeli friend already and I haven't even left the ground.
My gregarious seatmate, whose name I can't pronounce correctly, declares enthusiastically that he "loves science" and decided after a few minutes of conversation that I would be an excellent business partner for his new venture idea. He's delighted that I'm an American Jew visiting Israel and is absolutely certain I will have a fabulous time. And he seems entirely disinterested in religion.
All around me, Hassidic men with their curlicue sideburns and black hats file into seats. Sprinkled between them are Jews from Miami and Christians from Texas. Two Israeli lovers across the aisle indulge in PG-13 kisses and put their hands in places better caressed in private. Two rows up an ordinarily dressed man with a kippah sets aside a cloth bag that holds the small, scroll-containing boxes, called tefillin, that orthodox men wear on their arms and heads when they pray. When we fly through sunrise he and other orthodox men will don their prayer shawls and tefillin and stand at the front of the plane davening their morning prayers. In the back row a cranky mother and son speak Arabic and roll their eyes at the pilot's mention of Israeli airspace regulations.
These images ricochet off one another, seeming contradictory and yet all belonging to a place that's come to be synonymous with meaning and conflict.
I can already see that Israel is a complicated place.
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