It’s that time of year. I live in Ramat Beit Shemesh with my husband and four children and try to visit my parents in Miami once a year, around winter vacation. I book a trip for January 17 to February 2 for me and my baby. It’s a direct flight: $745 for the two of us. Awesome! As I prepare to leave, my mother is admitted to the hospital for emergency gallbladder surgery. I will be able to be with her – a perfect “coincidence.”
Sunday, Jan 17: I land in beautiful
Miami exhausted. Do I really have to do this again in two weeks? I’m
not looking forward to my return flight.
The visit
is great, glad I came. My baby loves my parents. The two weeks “fly” by.
Friday, Jan 29: My flight is Monday
night, February 1, and I need to do a PCR test within 72 hours of the
flight. Anything later risks not getting the results in time. It’s Shabbos
tonight. What to do? I take the test at 4:50, p.m. erev Shabbos.
Monday, Feb 1: Last minute shopping at
Walmart. I know there is talk about closing Israel’s skies for two weeks. It
would be nice to get a warning ahead of time. Around 6 p.m., I check in for my
flight on the computer and find out: no flight tomorrow.
Okay, I’ll
try for next week, when they have the weekly Miami to Tel Aviv direct. Oh no, my
Israeli passport expires on February 7. I need to renew it if I want to
fly on February 9. I’m lucky; there is an Israeli embassy in Miami, and a kind
consul in bed at home, recovering from COVID, has the time to respond to my
desperate emails. I overnight my passport to the embassy Thursday, February 4 to arrive Friday. They will call for me to
pick it up on Monday, they say. No call. I call them. They say they mailed it,
but it doesn’t come.
Monday, February 8: Never mind the
passport; my February 9 flight is cancelled, along with two more weeks-worth
of flights, before my Israeli travel agent even sends me a ticket by email. (It
is difficult having a travel agent in a different time zone.)
Meanwhile,
a niece I spent time with contracts COVID. I do PCR tests for myself and my
baby. They get lost in some snow storm. I get it redone, and those get lost as
well. I go into quarantine – no more fun in Miami than in other places.
I need my
passport so I can apply for an “exception.” Israel is only allowing a certain
number of people in; you need a good reason. I think abandoned husband and
children will make the cut. But there’s no rush now, right? I pick up the
passport from the embassy and apply for the exception.
February 15: My new flight is booked for
Feb 22.
New flight
cancelled! My kids in Israel are extremely disappointed, not to mention my
husband. Time to try for an emergency flight. My travel agent is not being
helpful. I get another one on the case. Two travel agents are trying to get
through to El Al to transfer my credit to an emergency flight.
February 28: New travel agent gets
ticket, finally, for March 2. My first travel agent takes all the credit but
then realizes someone else was involved and gets insulted.
Tuesday, March 2: I have a flight today!
I’m exhausted just getting to the airport. I check in four suitcases. (Long
story: My stroller broke on the flight in, and I was given permission to shlep it back to be fixed in Israel. The
other suitcase? Well, can you vacation for six weeks and not fill an extra
suitcase?)
I take a
break after checking in the luggage to reorganize my carry-on. It is very full
of everyone’s leftover Purim junk to bring to my kids. At 7:20 p.m., I go to
security. I wait just four minutes till it’s my turn. What’s this? They are using
special sensors to check every baby bottle of milk, every baby wipe container, even
the baby ibuprofen. Each one needs to be checked separately. I might be
carrying illegal substances. Forty minutes later, I get to my gate. The clock
reads 8:01. “Gates closed at 8.00, ma’am,” the gate lady says.
“Did
anyone announce the flight?” I ask.
“Yes.”
I didn’t
hear a thing. Was I so absorbed in the enthralling security check that I
blocked out all other sounds? I guess it’s a possibility. I cry, I beg.
The lady
says, “Quick. Go to the JetBlue desk next to security. I’ll put your name down
for a seat on the 9:45 a.m. flight to JFK.”
I run. If
I land at 12:30, I can still make the JFK-TLV leg. But no one can help me…. The
flight is full, the connection too short, no stand-by allowed if you haven’t
bought a ticket, they tell me. Huh?
I somehow
get hold of my husband and travel agent in Israel, but any suggestion given
seems impossible. In desperation, I run with my baby to the gate of the 9:45
flight. Maybe someone missed their flight and I can pay on the spot. After a
run in two wrong directions, I get to the gate. “Already closed.”
I am
crying. I call my parents to pick me up. I return to my parents’ house. My
luggage is checked in. Who knows where it is?
Time to
try for another flight. I want the one in two days, on Thursday, March 4. My
exception is still valid; I just need a PCR for me and the baby with same-day
results. I call a bunch of PCR places. They don’t do babies or they can’t have
it ready or they charge too much: $265 each – $535 – for the baby and me. Scratch
that. I think I’ll fly on Sunday instead. My kids cry when they hear the news.
Wednesday, March 3: I make a reservation
on my own for on the El Al Miami-Tel Aviv flight. I call my travel agent. He
doesn’t understand that I want him to transfer my credit to my reservation or
rebook it with my credit. We go back and forth.
No matter.
The Miami to Tel Aviv fight is cancelled. The travel agent has to get me onto
the emergency flight from New York on March 7 and has to coordinate it with a JetBlue
to NY. He does it!
March 4 and 5: I keep calling El Al to
try to get a seat and a kosher meal. Website keeps saying, “Not able to access
your reservation.” I try El Al’s WhatsApp. Doesn’t let me through. I decide to
hope for the best once I get to JFK.
Sunday, March 7: I board JetBlue for New
York. Security takes just a few minutes! I can’t believe it; I’m on my way! In
New York, I go to the JetBlue desk to make sure my luggage is there. The answer
is yes!
I go to
the El Al desk – stand in line for an hour to get a seat and a meal. “What!
Your luggage came without you? That’s illegal!” No matter. I didn’t have to shlep four pieces of luggage through the
airport. El Al gives me a bulkhead seat with a bassinette for my baby. No mehadrin meal, but I brought food. Not hungry
anyway.
Monday, March 8: I arrive at Ben Gurion.
Get all my luggage in two heaping cartfuls. People help me. I get home.
Everyone is there – in-laws, siblings, nieces, and nephews. It’s my birthday.
My mother-in-law brings a cake.
A two week
trip turned into seven weeks. This time I’m not sad to leave my family in Miami.
This time, I’m happy; I am home.
