Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

Even those who haven’t read their Bible in a very long time, or ever, know that the Old and New Testament hold stories of messages and warnings, migration and settlement, pleasing and displeasing (God as well as other people), sacrifice and punishment. From Abraham, asked to sacrifice his long-awaited and beloved son, to Jesus, the ultimate sacrificial figure, and in between, life in the Holy Land seems to require sacrifice.

US Airways Flight 796 from Philadelphia to Tel Aviv took off on time, but never reached its destination. A bird struck the plane shortly after lift-off and the pilots were required to return to the airport. After they flew enough time over the eastern seaboard to use up sufficient fuel for a safe landing. For five hours in the middle of the night a full plane of passengers looped from Newark to Atlantic City, from New York to Philadelphia, over the Atlantic Ocean, the tiny airplane symbol’s route an unexpected red spirograph on the screens behind each seat.

As all travel glitches eventually become stories of perseverance, unexpected difficulty and ultimate overcoming, so did this one. Yes, we flew for over five hours, only to deplane in Philadelphia at 3:30 am, be told to claim our baggage, and wished well as we were each handed a business card with a customer service phone number. “Have a good night,” the airline employees on the ground said. No statement of apology. No offer of help. Just a gentle prod. “Move along, please. Proceed to Baggage Claim.” We managed to find alternative flights to the Holy Land, but we’d lost a day of travel. We managed to get a hotel voucher, which gave us enough time to shower and nap for a few hours before we had to be back at the airport. We managed to get an airport meal voucher, which covered 40% of a Philadelphia cheesesteak (my son’s first). We managed to get on a plane that wasn’t in a bird’s flight path, and land safely.

As we met fellow travelers in the airport, or at common tourist sites, we bonded over having been on The Bird Flight. Most people began their story with the bird as the protagonist. They refer to it as the suicidal bird. The bird that ruined the flight. The bird that delayed travel. The damned bird.

Not me. Something bigger than the ram, or the lamb, the chicken or the far corner of a field’s yield is always the protagonist. The Almighty is the protagonist. This was no bird playing chicken with a 194-foot long, 198-foot wide tin bird weighing over 500,000 pounds. This was no “I’m just out for a quick flight, think I’ll head over to see my Aunt Lucinda” dumb blond of a bird – that somehow didn’t see the gigantic Airbus hurtling up into space, didn’t feel the shock waves at take off, and didn’t hear the deafening roar of the twin jets. And this certainly wasn’t a suicidal bird, looking for the best, most efficient way to kill itself, after having ruled out drinking contaminated water, flying over the outdoor gun ranges, or starting a heroin habit. Birds, dogs, cats, mice, rats, spiders, cows, camels, whales  – you name the species, I dare you to find one that has the cognitive capacity to choose an intentionally early death as the way out of unending despair.

No. This was a sacrificial bird; the burnt offering to appease what at times continues to seem a hard-to-please Almighty.

Few people these days believe animal sacrifice is still required. Symbolic sacrifice is our preference. Or constant/chronic overwork. But maybe, just maybe, we should give up the daily sacrifice of all our time/energy/joy/pleasure in pursuit of the mighty dollar, and instead consider what true sacrifices we should make, and for whom. Or Whom.

I’d like to say I don’t believe in sacrifice. But I believe even less in suicide. Even less in the supposed stupidity of certain creatures. Randomness is the only alternative belief, but randomness, no matter how scientifically appealing, offers me no comfort.

The entire passenger and crew landed safely.

Three generations of my family were on that plane; three generations of my family were kept safe throughout the entire journey.

Tonight, three generations of my family are out and about telling all kinds of stories about our trip, including the suicidal bird story.

Not unusual within my family system, I tell the story slightly differently.

Blessings on the bird whose life ended on (in) Flight 796.