It is now 1:40 am and we are stranded at Newark airport, New Jersey. The flight was delayed until morning, they won’t tell us why, and Continental stopped giving out hotel rooms to all displaced persons. Lucky us. It’s been a cold sleepless night here, trying to sleep on vinyl airport chairs by a chilly window, but I’ve comforted myself by listening to New Jersey pirate radio.

I am the only one still awake in this entire airport. Only six Tel-Aviv-bound travelers remain at the gate at this ungodly hour. One has covered his face with his hat to get some rest. Another lies on the floor, crotch revealed to the world. All shops and food vendors are closed. Five more hours until our flight departs from purgatory. I wonder if Ariadne is listed in the phonebook?

Hours earlier, a trail of passengers waited together for the verdict of whether we’d ever make it to Israel or if the flight would be cancelled. There was a tangible sense of unity in that line for Tel-Aviv. Heck, we’d waited in line with these people for so long, they became like family. Many were exhausted and became confrontational with the airline employees. Mothers with young children became agitated, foreheads were wrinkled, sighs epidemic. Our downtrodden little tribe had nearly given up.

That is—until we caught sight of a pair of angels: Two merry orthodox Jews appeared out of thin air with sacks full of treats for everyone in line for Tel-Aviv.

“Happy Purim,” the younger man said with a warm smile as he handed me a special bag, decorated with festive Hebrew script and filled with kosher Israeli candies and hamantaschen. It is impossible for you grasp just how grateful I was for this small gift that was about to become dinner! It was a small act of kindness, but to me, these were undercover angels who had secretly conspired to bring smiles to our weary faces, by making us feel cared for.

Hours later (and only after many complaints) Continental offered hotels to those with small children only. “Now what do we do?” I muttered to HB. An Israeli father ahead of us in line turned to us with a compassionate smile and said, “I advise that you make children very quickly. Small ones.”

His suggestion sounded like fun to me, but instead we aimlessly wandered the empty airport, looking for food. Hungry and disappointed, we glided silently on the people mover. I blankly watched the opposite people mover when suddenly a familiar face tipped his head in our direction. It was our neighbor, Vassi! (What is he doing HERE?)

“Hey,” he said, as he rolled by non-chalantly, as if it was perfectly run-of-the-mill to bump into our neighbor on the other side of the continent. My jaw dropped as he glided away in the opposite direction on the opposite people mover. We sprinted off the people mover and chatted excitedly about the bizarre chance meeting. (As if it wasn’t strange enough that he grew up in Kiev but met HB in California... Do you suppose he’s following us?)

Happy Purim from Newark airport!


P.S. (hours later) When the plane landed, all the passengers roared with applause.

departure - arrival