There was a winter chill in the air when I stepped into the cab to make my way to the Reno/Tahoe Airport, to begin my daylong journey to my company's corporate headquarters in McLain, Virginia.
I had rushed out of the house so quickly that I had forgotten my coat and gloves. As the steamy breath flowed out of my mouth, I told myself this was not the way I wanted to start the day.
My plane was leaving at 6:00 am so it was way to early to start my morning davening. Since I had yet to daven on an airplane in front of strangers, I decided to wait until I arrived in Washington DC before davening. It would be a little late in the day but I figured it would be ok just this once.
Before boarding the plane I donned my kippa, pulled out my siddur and read the prayer for travelers, asking G-D's blessing during the trip. When I was done I noticed a rather smartly dressed fellow walk by wearing a brightly colored beret. I love wearing stylish looking hats but it is not every day that you see someone with such a “distinctive” looking chapeau on his head. As he walked through the terminal I noticed how proud he was of his beret and how he appeared to enjoy showing it off.
As I reached for my kippa, to tuck it away in my travel bag, I suddenly felt compelled to leave it on. I've had a lot of first since discovering Chabad, but I can honestly say I've never worn my kippa, outside of my home or shul, for any great length of time.
But watching the fella proudly wearing his beret made me think, “This was the day to wear it in public.” Filled with great trepidation over what my fellow passengers would think, I pushed my black kippa to the back of my head, like a confused cowboy, and boarded the plane. My plan was to wear it until I arrived in Denver and then take it off while running to my connecting flight.
The trip to Denver was a long two hours. I felt very self-conscious. I thought everyone was looking at me, judging me, laughing at me! In truth my fellow passengers were more interested in their morning copy of USA Today than they were about the "Yid with the Lid," but you don't always notice the truth when you are filled with anxiety.
As we approached the Denver airport a flight attendant informed us that the Denver to Washington DC flight was delayed 2 hours. Since it was only 9 am Denver time I suddenly had plenty of time for my morning prayers. After disembarking I strolled through the airport until I found a nice, quiet, private place to pray. When I was done, I carefully rewrapped my Teffilin, folded my tallis and put them away in my bag. As I reached up to grab my kippa and put it away, my friend with the brightly colored beret strolled by, walked over to the automated sidewalk and disappeared into the crowd.
I slowly withdrew my hand from my kippa and left it on my head. I figured if the guy still had his beret on, maybe I should leave my kippa on a little while longer as well. Walking to the gate I decided to leave it on until I arrived at my hotel room later that day. “Go for it Shlomo Yakov" I told myself, "make your dearly departed Great Grandfather Charlie proud.”
When I found my seat on my connecting flight there was an older, rather sad looking woman sitting in the seat next to mine. We exchanged "good mornings” and got ready for take off. As the flight attendant showed us how to buckle our seat belts, I quietly asked if there was anyone who has driven in a car built after 1963 that didn’t know how to buckle a seat belt.
For the first time since I sat down the woman next to me smiled. The ice broken, we started talking. As time passed she shared a sad tale about her son, who was mentally challenged, as a result of a surgery that went horribly wrong. Tearing up, she told me that he was in a special rehab center and would require care for the rest of his life. She told me she was terribly angry with the doctor and just didn't know if she believed in G-D anymore.
I asked her if she was praying to G-D while her son was in the operating room. She said she had. "So you do believe in G-D," I said" "You’re just angry at him right now because you don't understand why this happened." " I guess you're right" she said. " I just don't understand how this could happen or how he could let it happen.” Drawing upon the many lessons my good friend Rabbi Chuni Vogel has shared with me over the years, I spoke with my fellow traveler for over four hours. The time seemed to go by in the wink of an eye as we jetted across the country, talking about her feelings toward the surgeon who operated on her son, her husband who never wanted the surgery in the first place and her inability to do anything constructive for her son or about the situation.
We discussed how in some cases it takes time for the true blessings of a perceived negative experience to turn into a significant, life-altering blessing or learning experience. We also agreed that sometimes it is impossible to understand why bad things happen to good people, because as human beings, it is impossible to truly understand G-d’s plan.
As the hours rolled by my newfound friend began to brighten up and literally surge with energy. When the flight attendant announced that we were moments away from landing, my neighbor began to cry. I asked her why she was crying and she said that she never speaks to strangers when she travels but this time she felt it was okay to speak with me. I asked her why and she said she born into an observant Jewish family but had married a non-Jew and had lost her sense of Jewish identity. But when she saw the kippa on my head, she realized I was an observant Jew and felt compelled to speak with me. I started to smile and she asked what I thought was so funny. I told her that I have been on a spiritual journey for a number of years but this was the first time I had ever worn my kippa in public.
With a look of wonder she said she travels hundreds of thousands of miles every year on business and NEVER speaks with strangers. She asked me, “Why of all days did you decided to wear your kippa today.” I told her about the guy with the beret and she laughed a soft laughed. I went on to say that due to myriad problems, my seat on this flight had been changed at least four times in the past two days. “I guess it was meant to be,” she whispered. “I guess so,” I whispered back.
As we got up to leave the plane she said, “Steve this has been an enlightening experience. All of the pain and guilt I’ve carried around for the past six months is gone. When I leave here I am going to channel my energies into positive efforts. I am going home and become an advocate for mentally challenged patients like my son. The next time you see me I’ll be on C-SPAN talking to a congressional panel about benefits for the mentally disabled.”
And with that she said goodbye and disappeared into the undulating crowd moving through Dulles Airport. As I looked out the window at the setting sun I couldn’t help but marvel at the many separate and distinct events that had transpired that day, resulting in this memorable meeting. I never saw the guy with the beret again!
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