Several hours after take-off, the magic moment was here: the focus of every Jewish man, women and child’s thoughts and prayers emerged from beneath the clouds, like an eagerly anticipated gift that is finally unwrapped. Eretz Yisrael. The end of the journey. Home. At long last.
Waiting to greet and embrace the new olim as if they were long-lost relatives who had finally found their way – which of course they were, in a very real sense – were hundreds of young chayalim (soldiers) and sailors in crisp, spotless uniforms, a military band, and a huge crowd of Israelis, some of them newly minted and English-speaking, others the descendants of earlier generations of pioneers.
We left the metallic womb that had protected us during our journey and emerged rejuvenated into the sunshine and light and warmth of home, accompanied by tumultuous cheers and words and songs of shalom, a word that simultaneously means peace and welcome. A field of blue and white flags waved to us from hundreds of outstretched, embracing arms as we made our way to the official reception organized on behalf of the new arrivals. Only in Israel. Because everyone – every one – counts.
I looked at the faces of those travelers – young and old, bearded and smooth-shaven, bewigged and loose-haired – that I had accompanied on their journey to Eretz Yisrael, and gave them my silent blessing for success and fulfillment, and my gratitude for allowing me to be in their holy company.
I quote the words of 85-year-old Rae Walker of New York – an Orthodox activist, a teacher and a poet. She echoed the feelings and thoughts of her fellow passengers, the pioneering olim on this flight to the future:
