- On Returning to Israel, an Israeli -
Boarding the Czech Airlines Flight to Prague, on my way back to Tel Aviv, I have little thought to the fact that I was flying home to Israel – as an Israeli citizen – for the first time. I was surprised to hear Hebrew spoken around me, but soon discovered that most of my fellow passengers were also returning from a holiday trip to the United States.
The young Israeli woman next to me slept the whole way, while I read an Israeli book (translated to English) from cover to cover to keep myself awake. Across the aisle sat a couple, about my parents’ age, who were traveling from Florida to volunteer with the Israeli army for 2 weeks. Behind me were two Israeli women returning from a three-week stint in Central America.
The flight felt long and I was anxious to get back to my cat, my home and of course my boyfriend. I watched the tiny digital airplane jerk closer to Prague on the GPS screens and tried to sit still. Finally, we were preparing for landing. We studiously moved our seats to the upright position and secured our tray tables tightly against the seat in front of us.
And then the pilot, in a deeply accented English, mumbled something about circling the airport for 30 minutes. Nearly an hour later, he informed us that it was too foggy to land in Prague, and that with our fuel running low, we had to re-route to Dresden. In Germany.
During my first visit to this infamous city – we sat on the runway for over an hour. There was no food, little water, and only two dirty bathrooms to service entire aircraft. I was antsy, but knew that with a four hour scheduled layover in Prague; we would still make our flight to Tel Aviv. The clocks in Prague were turned back an hour, giving us an extra hour of leeway to make our flight.
Finally, we took off from Dresden, a mere 40-minute flight from Prague. Arriving again in Prague, we again prepared for landing, until the captain informed us in his indecipherable syllable that we would be circling the airport – again. Someone said something about fog. The woman next to me had heard him say “logistical difficulties.”
With my book finished, I was unable to fend off sleep. When I awoke, it was three hours later, and we were still circling.
We had little information about what was going on. The flight attendants made their usual announcements about overhead bins and seat cushions, and we finally descended upon Prague – 30 minutes after our flight to Israel was schedule to leave.
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I sprinted off the plane, following the maze of signs leading me to the “Transfer Desk.” I spotted a departure/arrival board and saw that the Tel Aviv flight was still at the Gate – calling for final boarding! I quickened my pace, and ran on the front of the transfer desk.
“I’m from the New York flight,” I told the desk clerk, assuming she knew something of our story. “I need to get on that plane to Tel Aviv! May I please have my boarding pass?” I asked, trying to remain calm and somewhat polite.
Unapologetically, without sympathy, she informed me, “The gate is closed.”
I pleaded and pleaded as my fellow passengers piled into a lone crowded line behind me. “Please hold the flight!” I begged, wondering why Czech Airlines would prefer to strand 100 angry Israelis in Prague instead of further delaying an already delayed – and half empty- aircraft.
Anger began to surge amongst the crowd. Disbelief at the stupidity and wastefulness of it all. Surely the event, and its handing, was costing Czech Air an incredible amount of money, logistics, and fuel. And there seemed to be such a simple solution.
The women at the desk tucked their faces toward their computer screens and told us to stand and wait (more waiting!) for their manager.

Behind, the crowd of my fellow Israelis began mumbling bitterly. Most remarked at the stupidity of having our initial flight leave without us - and with all those empty seats! Others bemoaned enormous amount of fuel and money that had already been wasted. One girl had to get to the army. Another had lost her passport in the States and was forbidden to leave the terminal in Prague. Some of the tourists had weddings, family reunions and trips waiting for them. One woman rebooked her vacation – to Amsterdam.
Finally, the manager arrived. Smartly dressed in a suit and a bluntly highlighted bob, she informed us - with authority and not trace of sympathy – that we would all receive a hotel room across the street, plus two meal vouchers. Our luggage had already been unloaded for us beyond passport control and we could pick it up after we received our vouchers. She told us to wait in our rooms for a phone call at 7PM. At that time, we would be notified about when we were booked to fly out. All the upcoming flights were booked, so they were trying to bring in a larger aircraft, she explained.
Chaos ensued. I asked the woman behind the counter to push me to a later flight in a day or two so that I could freely tour the city without waiting endlessly for a call from Czech Airlines. She declined. The guy behind me rushed toward her first as the rest of the crowd pushed in afterward. “I need your card,” he growled. “For my lawyer.” Everyone shouted their requests. I received my vouchers and pushed my way out, wishing my fellow Prague prisoners good luck.
A few people rushed to the front of the line, and one woman screamed out to chastise them. “That’s just not fair, what you’re doing,” she screamed in Hebrew. “It’s not fair, and it doesn’t fit us.” Despite her anger, I wanted to hug her. I longed to tell everyone in perfect Hebrew. “We are always being watched. We represent our country. We’re under a microscope. Behave with civility if you care about our country.” But I stayed quiet and tried to remain one of the calmer passengers.
On my way out of line, a young woman at the end of the line approached me asking if we could spend the time together until our phone call. I gave her my number. Another girl asked me if she could send a text message from my phone. As I began to pass the phone around, I felt the warmth and closeness of this haphazardly assembled community. We shared something more than our crappy situation, a connection, a bond, link a barely noticed wink from a stranger across the street. It’s this same feeling that I love about Israel, and that I find so difficult to explain.
Our delegation herded over to the Marriot across the street (except for the girl who lacked a passport who stayed in the airport.) Even the hotel clerks, who are surely used to cancelled flights and the stranded passengers accompanying them, were shocked by our massive pilgrimage. Throughout the day, we crisscrossed paths everywhere – in the elevator, in the lobby, at the restaurant. A few people offered to go into the city with me – a couple in their 60s, a woman alone who spoke little but asked me to join her in town. Several people invited me to eat with them, and we all began to refer to each other as mishpuche (family.)
People trickled in with updates. Was there a plane to Tel Aviv leaving at 9:30? Were we all moved to the 11:55 flight? Why did none (not one!) on the phone cards we received from Czech Air work? (The hotel clerks told us they never do…)
I slept, ate and chatted with a German-Croatian guy in Prague for a three-week business trip. I learned the stories of my fellow passengers and at 9PM, we made our exodus across the street to the airport. (My bags got stuck in the red sea – or rotating doors – nearly swallowing me alive until a guy on his honeymoon pulled me free.)

Back at the airport, we all watched out for each other. Everyone had been reschedule for the midnight flight and while the normal passengers checked in at one counter, we were exiled to a distant corner of the airport terminal.
Where again, we waited. And waited. And stood in a vague resemblance of a line. We joked that the Jews were banished to the corner, and how Israelis can’t stand in line. We searched the airport for scattered members of our clan. I sent a text to the woman from the morning, wondering where she had disappeared to. Turned out, she was fast asleep, thinking it was still afternoon. I reassured her that she had missed nothing and held her spot on line.
When the Czech staff finally arrived, they made us all form a more perfect line, beginning about 50 meters behind us. We struggled to move backwards, wielding jackets, gifts and oversized luggage filled with goodies from America. One woman took the lead screaming at everyone to move back. Someone yelled back at her and warned her to calm down. Another declared that we needed a mefakhed (commander) to take the lead.
Finally. Finally at 20 past 11, we began to board the plane bound for Tel Aviv. With each announcement of the crew, we prayed that all would go smoothly – that we wouldn’t be re-routed to Prague, or Istanbul, or Tehran.
I chatted happily with my new friend and - grateful that I had woken her for our flight – she later treated me to a cab ride with her back to Tel Aviv. She is a musician computer specialist from a moshav in the north. Another couple took my phone number. When the plane finally landed, there were cheers, sighs, and contagious applause. Disregarding my usual disdain for this habit, I joined in clapping.
Our family separated ways and I find myself wondering about many of them throughout my day. As I told the story to Ori, noting how close I had felt to each of the passengers, he realized that a few weeks ago we had almost gone to a concert of the girl sitting beside me. My new friend, was in fact someone we were already connected to.

Sort of like everyone else here in Israel.