Talking With God In Airport Terminals

As part of its airport renovations, the regional airport authority where I live in New York wisely included an interfaith prayer room, for which it enlisted the support of different religious communities. In one corner of the quiet room are prayer books and other ritual objects for a variety of faiths, while tucked away in the other corner is a Muslim prayer rug. Simple benches adorn each side, beckoning to travelers to sit and allow themselves a few moments of contemplation.

I often use the prayer room prior to flying. Set apart from the coffee bars, intercoms, security guards, and noisy travelers, it is a place where I, a regular worshiper and a somewhat nervous flyer, can connect with God in privacy. Judging by the numerous entries in the room’s sign-in book, I’m not alone in my appreciation for this bit of sacred space that helps me prepare mentally and spiritually for each trip.

Almost without fail, the first thing that I do when in other airports is ask at the information desk about a similar prayer room or chapel in which I can pray peacefully. Sadly, the American airports that I have been in, most far larger than ours, have no such islands of calm. In the past, this presented me with a big problem, because the occasions on which I fly are in the early morning when there is a limited window of time for me to recite morning prayers according to Jewish religious law. Out of necessity, I’ve learned to be comfortable praying in public at any airport terminal. I find a quiet spot where few people are sitting, I put on my Tallit and Tefillin (the ritual clothing of Jewish prayer), and I try to pray. Each time I do this I grow a bit more un-self conscious. Are passersby curious, put off, or suspicious about me, as I attempt to pray intently while wearing strange clothes that contrast with their Capri pants and business suits? I don’t know, because I’ve trained myself not to look around to see who, if anyone, is looking at me. For the longest time I shied away from such public displays of religious involvement. I reasoned that they violate the personal space of others and that they could invite trouble from Anti-Semites. My deeper concern, the one that none of us shakes off entirely after adolescence, was that I would be laughed at or that someone would think I was weird. Over time my reasoning has changed. Almost by default, the public places of America have become showrooms for multicolored hair, various ethnic dresses and styles, and more body parts prominently displaying piercings and jewelry than one can imagine. I’ve learned to be more comfortable as another strange note in the music of the diverse American experience, which often sounds more like a tone poem than a symphony.

Notwithstanding my accommodation to the necessity of being a religious Jew publicly, I would like to convince every airport, train station and bus depot in America to build a meditation room similar to the one our region has. Places for public transportation are microcosms of the breathless cultures in which we reside, and of our harried, un-reflective races through the day. Stand in a corner of any of these venues, count the cups of coffee, the cell phones, and the business suits zooming by and you are certain to become dizzy or get a headache. Add to this mess the terrifying significance of these places in the back of each traveler’s mind: they are often points of departure from the familiar and the safe, for destinations that hold out uncertainty at best. Setting out on a trip should be an opportunity for centered contemplation of one’s life and the meaning of one’s inner and outer journeys. Instead it becomes a chance to get heartburn from overpriced fast food and to feel angry and anxious as we try to beat the clock to leave a terminal or a gate. A reserved space for meditation would reverse so much of this unhealthy living simply by being there as a protective refuge from the headlong rush. To paraphrase Rabbi Abraham Heschel, it could be an island in time and space. Atheists and fundamentalists, sinners and saints, could all sit side by side in this sacred space, sharing the blessings of meditative silence. Strengthened and refreshed, we could reenter the terminal, station, or depot feeling better prepared to deal with life’s challenges and more capable of behaving like human beings towards each other.

Governments and industries build amenities that reflect the demands and needs of their customers, making certain to provide the community at large with what it values. Airports in particular resemble mini neighborhoods, hosting business centers, conference rooms, malls, and even hotels that arch gracefully over their grand concourses. As the recent Pew Study showed about American Jews, the overall emphasis in American religion continues to shift away from formal membership in denominations and towards the private spirituality of the individual. Whether we like it or not, this changed emphasis coupled with geographic mobility is growing a class of Americans, Jews in particular, who practice a kind of “personal religion on the go.” They will demand increasingly that the comforts of meditative spaces be included among the options already offered for those in transit, and those who develop America’s travel centers would be wise to heed those demands. I look forward to the day when our public places will provide these mini-retreat centers for the private enrichment of our inner lives. Their presence will send the powerful message that people’s increasingly diverse spiritual paths are of the greatest importance and deserving of support. They will also gently reassure people like me that, even when we are on the road, we are never too far away from home.

About the Author
Dan Ornstein is rabbi at Congregation Ohav Shalom and a writer living in Albany, NY. He is the author of Cain v. Abel: A Jewish Courtroom Drama (The Jewish Publication Society, 2020. Check out his website at