On Eagles’ Wings: Don’t Forget Your Ziploc Snacks
Last week, my husband and I did something that has been on our bucket list for quite some time. It’s consistently been out of our price range, and we had resigned ourselves to maybe getting around to it when we retired. Until two weeks ago, that is, when the perfect opportunity finally presented itself: we took an El Al flight.
Dovid and I love El Al. I unashamedly cry at all their ads, especially the recent ones. One of our most prized possessions is a coffee table book on El Al trivia that we have read cover to cover. (Did you know the flight attendant uniforms in the ’70s were neon orange?) When people criticize El Al, we are the first to shut that down. How many commercial airlines do YOU know, we say, that have missile defense systems on its planes? (We know all about this, because it’s in our book).
That being said, ever since other airlines have decided to treat their Israel routes like a will they/won’t they trope (“We’re reopening flights to Israel!” they said. “Oh, wait, the Ayatollah sneezed. Never mind.”), El Al tickets cost approximately one million-jillion dollars. Since we still need our kidneys, we have not flown El Al in a while. Sure, we’ve tried other companies, in the rare three-month window when they actually operated. But it’s just not the same.
Recent events changed all that. Like many others, we got stuck outside of Israel with no return ticket. Of course, seeing as we’d booked on Air France (Motto: “We Surrender”), we probably should have seen it coming, and no other airline was flying till at least 2027. And suddenly, thanks to El Al mercifully deciding to cap prices on a one-way return, our favorite airline no longer seemed so extravagant, and our dream was finally within reach. Not that any other airlines gave us an option, anyway.
The great day arrived. Our bags had been packed, stuffed to the brim with everything online shopping had to offer. (We had been in America over Prime Day and took full advantage of the festival.) Upon arriving at Newark Airport, we followed the long line of Yidden pushing strollers and hat boxes till we reached the front, preparing ourselves to take part in the sacred tradition known to Jews all over the world: lying to El Al security.
“Are you bringing any packages for someone else?” the agent asked us, already exhausted. It had been a long day dealing with hangry Jews — we were flying on a fast day.
“Absolutely not,” we assured him—while teetering under the weight of the extra bag filled with teething toys for my nephew, clothes for my sister, and a freshly baked birthday cake from home for my brother-in-law. He waved us ahead, already turning to face the rest of the line, none of whom will admit to also carrying packages for all of their family and friends. The agent, of course, knew we were lying. But such is the magic of El Al: Israelis don’t care if you’re carrying 40 ml of liquid. They care if you know what this week’s parsha is.
And we did. (We Googled it in the car.)
We zipped through to our gate, where the first of the approximately 30 Mincha minyanim was taking place. This one was the Pre-Mincha Mincha, since the next one would take place by the airplane bathrooms after takeoff. Being that it was a fast day, we didn’t eat, but instead did the next best thing: had a deep conversation about everything we wanted to eat.
Finally, it was boarding time. The cabin crew warmly greeted my husband in Hebrew and me in English (because that’s what not wearing Blundstones gets you). We squeezed past screaming babies, people speaking a babble of languages, and a very overwhelmed looking family of Christian tourists, to get to our seats.
Once seated, the screens played El Al’s signature safety video starring Lior Suchard, the famous Israeli mentalist.
It was tremendous. He folded the seat in half, made things fly through the air, and performed gravity-defying tricks. No, wait — that was the guy behind us trying to get his hat box to fit in the overhead compartment.
Having miraculously picked the seven of hearts twice, once in Hebrew and again in English, we turned our attention to the entertainment options. A note about the El Al movie selection: It is hilarious. There’s no obvious theme or logic. It’s just a bizarre mix of old, foreign, and totally random films. With the exception, that is, of a lovingly curated section devoted entirely to Gal Gadot. I mean literally everything she’s ever done. If you wanted to spend 11 hours working your way through her entire oeuvre, you could. On the other hand, if you wanted to watch, say, The Office, forget it. For those inclined to something more spiritual, there were shiurim of all kinds, including the current Daf Yomi. Try to find that on United.
We skipped the Gal Gadot movies and instead watched an amazing Haredi rom-com (I bet you never heard that sentence before) called Matchmaking 2. It’s about a boy named Baruch and a girl named Shira from Bnei Brak, who land at Ben Gurion too close to Shabbos and have to spend all 25 hours in the airport. Not only am I not making this up, but the movie was also phenomenal. It was like Shtisel mixed with My Best Friend’s Wedding. We loved it. You should watch it.
The best moment of the whole flight happened about four hours in. As I mentioned previously, that day was a fast day. Until that point in the flight, the lights were off, and the plane was silent, under the stupor of movies and artificial nighttime. But the second the Zmanim clock on our screens said the fast was over (because yes, El Al flights have real-time Zmanim updates), it was sudden pandemonium. As if we had rehearsed it, everyone got up in unison, suitcases were unzipped, people raced to the back of the plane to make tea, and snacks went flying everywhere. The cabin crew did not even bat an eyelid. It was the funniest thing I had ever seen, though I was too busy tearing into my own million containers of food to properly enjoy the moment. Also, due to us flying towards the sunset, we had shaved off four hours of the fast. Hooray!
I almost didn’t want the flight to end (at least not until my episode of Kupa Rashit was done). As the pilot smoothly touched down, the sun was just starting to rise over Tel Aviv. We all emotionally applauded, thrilled to be home, and grateful that the Houthis had not bombed the runway. The flight attendants urged everybody to remain seated until the seatbelt light went off but, of course, nobody did. Pushing and shoving (affectionately, in the way that only Israelis can), everyone gathered their stuff and blocked the aisle from any possible access. Eventually, we clambered over the seats and walked off, scattering our sleep masks into the breeze, just like Lior Suchard does with his trusty deck of cards at the end of the safety video.
We’d made it home in style. And best of all, there was just enough time to grab a much-needed coffee before the 7:30 AM train.
It was perfect.
