We were in the Ben Gurion Airport in Tel Aviv some years ago coming home from a long and amazing camp.
One fun thing of that trip was that after only one day of walking in Jerusalem, my favorite pair of sandals gave up. I had to put them in the trash and cared for the biggest blister I’ve ever owned.
Adults and children, the seventeen of us, were worn out from the intense travel in the past weeks and barely could standing on our two feet to go through the security check. I saw the security guard asking my youngest daughter to take off her shoes, and they searched them manually. I’d been in other airports before, but this was one very well watched. And that was good.
One of my friends and I were a little worried about the bag of dirt each of us had in our luggage, ( I like to bring dirt from where I go abroad, I brought some from China and they didn’t mind it.) We successfully passed the “dirt test” in Tel Aviv and went to the gate. They validated our tickets and showed us to the bus.
Here comes the mystery.
Everybody in the bus had a carryon, a bag, or something.
I watched that woman. Tall, thin, dark, curly hair, dark eyes with a pretty masculine forehead, her entire attitude was suspicious. My detective intelligence got alerted and I was Agatha Christie’s best friend. What was extremely suspicious for me was the fact that she didn’t carry a bag.
I looked at my friends, but I couldn’t share with them my discovery for the sake of keeping them at peace. I chose to bear this terror on my own shoulders, alone. I was terrified. I knew inside me that this woman was there to blow up the plane. People who know me have no doubt that I am a woman of action. That time, right there in the heart of our beloved Israel I was ready to step in and uncover the enemy’s plans.
We get on the plane and yes, I call the flight attendant and show her the questionable person on board.
“I watched her since we got on the bus. She doesn’t have a carryon, she is so serious.Please, search her. I’m sure she is up to something.”
I knew that my professional information along with my deep wisdom were rescuing a full plane of passengers from certain death.
“No, no, you don’t have to thank me,” I was ready to reply to the flight attendant who was staring at me with open mouth.
“This is an Israeli diplomat working for the Israeli Embassy in Bucharest, ma’am. She is just fine.”
I needed a glass of water.