Chag HaTayas
A couple of days ago, a wild story appeared in the news. As a historian obsessed with 9/11, the stark similarities to the story of United 93 appeared, and answered the eternal question never asked: what would have happened to United 93 had the plane been full of 174 Israelis, with specific experience with terrorists and required military service?
On this FlyDubai plane, after the co-pilot stabbed the pilot mid-flight, the plane dropped from 34,000 to 16,000 feet in 3 minutes. The pilot, struggling for his life, had the good sense to open the cockpit door slightly in the struggle. This critical opening allowed Israeli passengers to overpower the co-pilot, retake control of the plane, and navigate an emergency landing in Saudi Arabia.
For our upcoming Chag, Simchat Torah, we are meant to celebrate both the end of the yearly ritual of Torah readings, and the beginning of the next one. For this Simchat Torah, however, may I suggest a (satirical) vignette & menu in celebration of the Israelis on board that showed us, truly, what being Jews in the post-Holocaust age means: we save ourselves.
***
Chag Ha’Tayas: The Festival of the Pilots
I called the family meeting for 7:00. In my house that means everyone is late if they haven’t arrived by 6:58.
“Sit,” I said to my husband, pointing at the kitchen table. “Put your phone away. I’m making a new holiday.”
“You can’t just make a holiday,” said my son, ah, my Jewish education dollars at work.
“The Maccabees made a holiday. Esther made a holiday. Some committee in 1948 made a holiday. I’m a Jewish history teacher living in an unprecedented age. Why not me?” I unrolled a sheet of butcher paper across the table. At the top, in Sharpie: THEY TRIED TO KILL US (AT 34,000 FEET). THEY FAILED. LET’S EAT.
“Mom, it happened yesterday,” said my eldest daughter.
“Purim took a whole megillah to get organized. I’m a busy Millennial mom. I’m efficient.”
I tapped the paper. “First, the story, so you all know it. A flight from Dubai to Tel Aviv. The co-pilot decides he’d like to crash the plane. The captain, a hero, fights him off while bleeding. The passengers rushed the cockpit, regained control of the plane, and guess who just happens to be sitting in the back? Off-duty pilots.”
“Of course there were off-duty pilots,” said my husband. “On every flight to Ben Gurion, forty percent of passengers are off-duty pilots, thirty percent are reservists, and probably 100% think they could fly it better than the other one.”
“For once,” I said, “I agree with you.”
***
THE MENU
1. The Chicken and the Fish
“On a plane they ask you, chicken or fish. On Chag HaTayas we say: we just survived, we’re having both.“
2. Turbulence Kugel
A lokshen kugel that drops 18,000 feet in the oven and then comes back up. “Like the plane,” I explained. “Like the Jewish people. Like my heart when I saw the news.”
3. Saudi Dates
The plane landed in Saudi Arabia. A hundred and seventy Israelis landed in Tabuk with no normalization agreement, no ceremony, nothing. “So much for foreign policy; diplomats spend twenty years on this. We did it in one afternoon with an emergency landing.”
“Is that meant to be dessert or a peace process?” asked my husband.
“Both. Pass me another Sharpie.”
4. The Captain’s Curry
My voice went thick with emotion. “The captain is from India. He got stabbed and he kept fighting. So we make a curry, the Cochin Jews way, and we say l’chaim to him, refuah shleimah to him, and may his family never have to pay for a meal in Tel Aviv again.”
Everyone agreed this was would be the most important dish on the menu. Nobody argued, which is how you knew it was serious. My four-year old still declared she wouldn’t eat it anyway.
5. Headphones Challah
Challah, to be braided as tight as the headphone cords that the passengers used to truss up the co-pilot after they neutralized him.
6. Applause Rugelach
Israelis always clap when the plane lands. Everyone makes fun of them for it. Now who’s laughing? They were right the whole time. You should ALWAYS clap. Landing is a miracle.
THE FOUR QUESTIONS, Chag ha’Tayas style
My middle son was given the honor, because my four year old can’t read. I scrawled them on the butcher paper in the best teacher-writing I had:
“Why on this flight, of all flights, did Israelis stand up before the seatbelt sign turned off?”
“Because this time it was useful.”
“Why on all other flights do we argue with the flight attendant, but on this flight we listened?”
“We didn’t. But the flight attendant was also Israeli, so it worked out.”
“Why do we eat both chicken and fish?”
“Did you not hear me? We almost died.”
“Why is Saba already asleep?”
“Some traditions are older than the holiday.”
***
At the end, I raised the glass of wine that is required for all Jewish holiday planning.
“Every Jewish holiday is the same,” I said. “Someone has a plan. Pharaoh, Haman, Antiochus, you know the list. This one had a plan. And every time, God sends us someone: a Moses, an Esther, a Judah Maccabee. Or, in this case, a bleeding captain and two guys from economy who happen to have a pilot’s license.”
Am Yisrael Chai
