I arrived to the airport on Tuesday with a little more than two hours to check my bag and get through security, only to discover that the first leg of my flight -- D.C. to NYC -- had been cancelled due to sever weather (despite the fact that it was clear and dry in D.C.). I was quickly rerouted through Atlanta, putting me on a later flight to Tel Aviv. My purposeful planning to arrive in Tel Aviv in the middle of the afternoon so I could make my way to Jerusalem and secure a place to stay was no longer my reality. Fortunately, I tend to believe that I'll be able to make do with whatever situation comes my way, especially considering that there was nothing I could do about it. I hunkered down in the airport and wondered how many hours it would be until I'd find myself in Israel.
I boarded my Atlanta flight and proceeded to sit at the gate -- for about two hours. Apparently, Washington, D.C. was under siege and surrounded by hellacious storms, and we were waiting for a window out. The crew treated us well and everyone remained in good spirits; again, what else was there to do? We eventually took off, lifted up through some clouds and turbulence, and enjoyed a carefree flight to Atlanta. I then boarded my flight to Tel Aviv, only to fly back north and cross over D.C. and NYC on my journey east. Rather ironic.
When we finally touched down in Israel some eleven and a half hours later, several people throughout the plane erupted in cheers. I wondered if this were truly an expression of joy over a safe arrival or if this had simply become a tradition written into travel guides that was being preserved by those who knew of it.
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