Shachein Tov.
Shachein Tov,” hummed the elderly Chassidic man dressed in a regal bekeshe and sporting a white beard that flowed like water gushing over the cliffs of Ein Gedi. He greeted me, smiling and
shukeling, as I unloaded my hand luggage onto the seat next to him.
I looked around the aircraft. Two days prior the flight was half empty, and now it was filling with passengers – mainly religious Jews – who managed to change their tickets just in time to board the final New York to Tel Aviv flight before the gates of Ben Gurion Airport were to shut for at least one week.