Ehud and the Bible

Hello everyone,

I am back in Paris after spending two weeks back home visiting my family and friends.  It was a very lovely time and I was not ready to come back to Paris.  There is a certain level of comfort that can only be reached at home, and while in Paris, I find myself searching around to find something similar to it, but with a lack of familiarity comes a void.  And so it goes.  

My story today comes from a rather strange experience I had on the plane ride over.  

It was cloudy, it was cold, it was rainy.  I kept hoping (but I dont remember ever verbally stating) that my flight would be delayed and then cancelled so that I could spend one more day at home.  Alas, (haha, or maybe not, depending on how you look at it) the flight took off around the general time it was booked.  When I checked in, I asked the man behind the counter if he could give me a seat closer to the front--preferably exit row (more leg space, duh).  He told me he would try to find something and I should ask again at the gate. 

Yeah.  Not only did I have one of the last seats on the plane.  I was 44 K.  Middle seat, people.  I went to the counter four times to ask if there was any way I could switch my seat, at least to an aisle or window.  I even considered telling them that I was claustrophobic or had a terrible fear of flying that would only get better with an aisle or exit row seat.  But, I'm pretty sure those things have to be stated when you buy your ticket, or at least when you check in.

So, I was fated to a middle seat.  The dreaded seat.  I hate hate hate the middle seat. 

Sure, it's uncomfortable.  But its not just that.  It the throw up thing.  If I'm on the aisle, or in the window seat, I only have to sit next to ONE stranger.  So the probability of sitting directly next to someone who is a plane vomiter is considerably lower than sitting next to two complete strangers.  I wish it were normal to ask the people you're sitting next to if they usually vomit on the plane.  That way, I can mentally prepare myself (haha, yeah right, I will never be able to mentally prepare myself for vomit) OR I mean, that could be a reason to ask for a change of seat, right. 

"Excuse me, but if I sit next to this person, and he/she vomits, then I will in turn, begin hyperventilating and/or crying and/or behaving in a manner similar to those people you see in the psych ward of the hospital.  

It's not me, I swear.  Something ticks in my head and I can't control the way I react.  Sometimes I think I've calmed down about it, but even if it doesn't get me right when it happens, I have nightmares about it.  That is, if I can even fall asleep.  Most times, I spend the night awake thinking about it.  

ANYWAY, I don't like the middle seat when I'm flying on my own.  Actually, even when I'm flying with my family, I don't like the middle seat.  WHO likes the middle seat?  Does anyone actually enjoy flying seven hours stuck between two people?  Crazy.  

So, I board the plane and I'm walking to my seat.  Walking past business class is disheartening, especially on international flights.  I mean, they set the bar high.  You'd think that with a bar that high, economy would be a LITTLE better.  Right?  I mean, come on, a little better.

Finally, I got to my 44k, and I noticed that on one side of me sat a very large man, African, carrying rosary reads and reading the Bible, adorned with gold-laced pages.  And on my left, an older man, rocking a kippa.  I laughed, yes, this WOULD happen to me.  Me, who has the SSS stamp on every single one of my plane tickets.  I think this was actually one of the first flights in a while where I was NOT searched.  But, what's more:  after contemplating whether or not I should, I had decided to carry on the book I'm reading at the moment, "Inside the Jihad: My Life with Al Qaeda."  Yessssss.  Yes.

So I smiled, sat down, laughed to myself a little, got comfortable (rather, got as comfortable as I could get) and waited for the plane to take off. 

Now, the first half of the trip was nothing too remarkable.  I kept to myself; read my book, watched "Smart People" (pretty good movie); ate some (really gross) food.  Monsieur Yamaka on my left got a kosher meal, that per Ramin Ostad's remarks, I took to taste much better than my beef concoction.  

By the time "Smart People" was over and "Sex and the City: the movie" had started, I was officially bored.  My eyes strayed over to the golden pages of the Bible, and lingered just a little too long because Agha rosary beads looked at me and smiled.

"Where are you from?" 

"The US, Virginia, northern VA." 

"I live in Maryland, but I'm going back to my home in Nigeria." 

*insert small talk about Nigeria/Maryland/Virginia*

"But you're not American?"

"Yes, yes, I'm American."

"You don't look American."

*Insert the part about me telling him that my family is Iranian but I was born and raised in the good ole' US of * 

"Do they let you marry anyone you want?" 

"Well, I actually havent come across that particular experience yet, but yes, I would imagine though will let me."

"So they're not strict about who you marry.  Because I know a lot of Arabs make their children marry other Arabs."

*Insert part about me wanting to share some of my knowledge on Iranian history/culture yet refraining to do so.  Why?  Why not?*

"Are you religious?"

"No."

"But, when you marry, you will convert to the religion of your husband." 

(notice that it is NOT a question) 

"No.  No. Not necessarily.  No." 

"You have to."

"Oh, but I don't believe I do."

"It is right for a woman to convert to the religion her husband practices because without a shared faith there is cause for infidelity and distrust.  If the man says he is going to church, and the woman does not go with him, she is forced to believe that he is going to church, while he may be going somewhere else.  And how will the woman know?  It will be cause for conflict.  And so, the woman must go to church with her husband to make sure he does not stray." 

"Yes, but I would rather decide for myself which religion I want to practice, if any religion, and I think it be just as destructive for me to lie and go to church when I don't believe in---"

"The MAN is the head of the household, and the woman must learn to respect that."

"I grew up thinking differently."

"Religion creates a bond between the man and the woman."

"Religion also has the ability to do much worse."

"Not Christianity.  Christians have NEVER killed for their cause."

"What about the Crusades?" 

*Insert part where Nigerian man slams Bible shut and looks at me just as the flight attendant comes and asks if we want tea or coffee.  Tea please.  Saved by the bell." 

We stopped talking after that.  But, I was riled up.  Man, was I riled up.  Conversations like that fire me up.  When issues of religion come to play, and they're mixed with gender equality.  When the mere subject of patriarchal societies come into the discussion, I can feel the heat rising to my face.  

I couldn't stop fidgeting after that.  I even dropped my Ipod under my seat (I couldn't retrieve it until everyone had exited the airplane).  

Then it was lefties turn.  We'll call him Ehud.  Ehud seemed nice.  He was quiet.  He spent most of the flight out of his seat, actually, walking around and drinking gallons of water.  He drank SO much water.

He asked me where I was headed.  

"Paris.  You?"

"Israel.  Tel Aviv."

"Oh.  Wow.  I've heard it's nice there.  My dad lived in Haifa for a while.  Actually, he may go back, but his company is not letting him go for the time being..."

*Insert the part where Ehud uncomfortably smiles* 

"Where in Haifa does he live?"

".....Haifa?  I don't really know.  Close to the coast, I imagine, he always talks about the beach."

"I have two sons in Tel Aviv and four more in Jerusalem.  You wont believe, but I have sixteen grandchildren." 

I decided I would like him.  He was nice.  He lived in Silver Spring, but his entire family lived in Israel.  He asked me if I had ever visited my father in Israel.  

"Honestly, I just want to go to Iran first.  After that, maybe.  But, I don't want to go to Israel before I go to Iran."  

He understood.  As much as I wanted to, I couldn't bring myself to ask about Gaza, about what he thought, where he stood.  I couldn't.  Every time I would get remotely close, he seemed to get uncomfortable and change the subject so we were no longer in the same vicinity.  

When we landed.  The Nigerian hastily got off the airplane and me and Ehud made our way out of the plane together.  I wished him safe travels and he told me to embrace all the time I had in Paris. 

"These are your best years"  he said.  He smiled and walked away.  

Yeah.  Paris is a good time.  A great time.  These past couple days have been hard, sure.  I've been lonely and tired (its the jet lag talking) but this semester is going to be completely different than last.  I get to take real classes AND Paris in the spring is lovely, I've heard.  So, I have that to look forward to.

to all my fellow readers--happy 2009!  I hope this year turns out to be the best you've had yet.    

Love,

Ranna