"Why don't you ask the steward?" the rabbi suggested.
"And get another fresh answer?"
"All right. I'll ask him. I'm curious myself."
When next the steward passed, he plucked at his sleeve and said. "Isn't our dinner kosher? In what way are those others more kosher?"
The steward shrugged and smiled. "Six years I’ve been with the airline and I haven't been able to find out."
The rabbi smiled and nodded his thanks, but his friend across the aisle shook his head slowly from side to side. "Fanatics, that's what they are. I understand the country is full of them."
Shortly after dinner the lights were turned out, and the passengers settled down for the night. Both Miriam and Jonathan slept, but the rabbi succeeded only in dozing fitfully. Nevertheless, when the sun came up, he was neither tired nor sleepy. Miriam was already awake, as were a good half of the passengers. In the aisle two or three men were standing facing the windows reciting the morning prayers in their prayer shawls and phylacteries.
"Are you awake, David?" asked Miriam. "The steward said they would be serving soon."
He nodded but did not answer, and seeing his lips move, she knew he was reciting the prayers. When he had finished, he said. "For this once. I said the prayers sitting down. At least I'm facing in the right direction. They"— nodding toward the men in the aisle—"are facing in the wrong direction."
"What do you mean?"
"The plane is heading east, and so am I. They are facing north and south."
Again the man across the aisle tapped him on the arm and nodded toward the men in the aisle. "What did I tell you? Fanatics!"
After breakfast, the passengers began to make ready for the landing, although it was still several hours ahead. They shuffled in their bags for passports, for addresses; those who had left their seats to visit with friends returned to them; those who had made new acquaintances on the plane wrote out their intended itineraries or addresses at which they could be reached. Every now and then, the pilot announced points of interest that could be seen through the broken clouds— the Alps, the Greek coastline, the Greek islands— and dutifully, the passengers momentarily stopped what they were doing to look through the windows. Finally, he announced that they were approaching Israel and Lod Airport. For those on the right side of the aisle there was a glimpse of green fields and then the expanse of black tarmac. When, a few minutes later, the plane touched down lightly and taxied to a halt, there was a burst of applause from the passengers, whether at the pilot's skill or in relief that the long trip was over and they were safe on Israeli soil the rabbi could not tell. He noticed that Miriam's eyes were moist.
In Hebrew the pilot said. "Blessed be the coming to Israel." and then in English paraphrase. "Welcome to Israel."
It had evidently just rained, and there were puddles on the tarmac as they made their way to the lounge, clutching Jonathan firmly by the hand to ensure his walking around the puddles rather than through them. The air was as mild and clear as a May morning.
A large crowd waited beyond the customs barrier, to greet friends and relatives among the passengers. While they kept an eye on the baggage chute, Miriam and the rabbi scanned the sea of faces for someone who resembled the photograph of Gittel in the family album, taken years before. By the time they had reclaimed their bags and gone through the customs desk the crowd had thinned out considerably, but still they saw no one who might be Gittel. Only after they had repaired to a bench and Miriam was searching through her bag for her address book did Gittel arrive, inquiring anxiously. "The Small family? Miriam?"
"Oh, Gittel!"
Gittel hugged Miriam to her breast and then shyly offered her hand to the rabbi. He took it and then kissed her upturned cheek.
"And this is Jonathan!" She held him by the shoulders at arm's length and then clutched him to her ecstatically. She released him and stood back to look at the family as a whole. And now she was ready for business. "I had trouble getting my car started." she explained. "When it rains, the battery you know. And this morning it rained— the first time in weeks— the crops are thirsting for water, but you brought the rain. It is a good omen. You are hungry? You would like a coffee, perhaps? No? Then let us get started."
Waving her umbrella, she commandeered a porter with a luggage carrier, chivied them all out the front gate, and, planting the tip of her umbrella firmly on a spot on the sidewalk, ordered them to wait right there while she brought up her car from the parking lot. Before the rabbi could offer to accompany her in case she needed help with the car. she was gone. This time, however, the battery must have worked properly, for they did not have long to wait. She came chugging up the driveway, her horn blaring to warn away anyone who might have designs on the parking spot she had selected. She brought the car to a halt and jumped out. From the trunk, she brought out a knotted mass of rope, which she handed to the porter, and supervised him as he secured the bags on the luggage rack on the roof of the car.
The rabbi whispered to her, "How much do I pay him?"
"I will pay him," she said firmly, "and afterward you can reimburse me. He would take advantage of you."
As the rabbi waited on the sidewalk while the porter finished with the bags, he was approached by a youngish man in the long caftan and the broad-brimmed black felt hat of the Orthodox. He had a full beard and long, carefully curled ear ringlets. He sidled up to the rabbi and asked in Yiddish, "You are from America?"
"Yes."
"This is perhaps your first trip here?"
"It is."
"So I am sure you would like to have your first act on this holy land an act of charity. I am collecting for a yeshiva—"
Gittel. who had already paid off the porter, had overheard and exploded in Hebrew, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. A stranger comes to the country, and he has barely landed, and you shnorrers descend on him. What sort of impression will he have of us?" She pushed the rabbi into the car and then got in herself behind the wheel. "Besides." she went on through the open window, "this man is a famous rabbi in America." And in a parting shot as she put the car in gear "He's in the business himself."
As they pulled away, the rabbi remonstrated with her. "I'm not in the business of soliciting funds. Most rabbis in America are not."
She turned and patted him on the shoulder, almost colliding with another car in the process. "I know, I know, but that's the only argument that convinces that kind."
As they drove along, she kept up a rapid-fire comment on the passing scene. "That grove— ten years ago, there was nothing there but rocks and sand. Over there, just beyond that house— it wasn't there then— a good friend of mine was ambushed by the Arabs and shot down in cold blood...That road leads to a settlement. In forty-eight it was under attack. Three men with a machine gun stood off a whole company until they were able to get the children to safety...We grow flowers for export...
Last year our agronomists tried a new fertilizer which doubled the yield per acre— fantastic!... Those are Arab fields. We taught them how to protect the seedlings with plastic. It has quadrupled their production...
That's an Arab village back there. Primitive! You wouldn't believe the amount of dirt and disease...Trachoma and gastroenteritis were endemic. The children died like flies in the summer months. Then we opened a clinic there. At first they didn't trust us. Treatment had to be carried out in front of the whole family. And when we gave them pills, they would swap them among themselves— I’ll give you two white for a red'— that kind of thing. But they learned, and now the children don't die anymore. And some of the young people are taking advantage of government help and building modern houses when they get married instead of adding a room to the patriarchal compound...