On our last night in Tel Aviv, we had a wonderful dinner and began reflecting on what we saw and what it meant. As we stepped toward our bus, the sirens went off. And we swiftly moved to the shelters.
Israelis now measure distance in the time it takes a rocket from Gaza to reach a destination. On this trip, our distance was between 20 and 90 seconds. Tel Aviv is 90 seconds away. But as I looked southward, I saw the flash of the Iron Dome taking out a rocket. I didn’t wait to see a second one. We were fine. But to say the least, it is an odd experience. I guess this is something that Israelis never get fully used to but learn to live with.
We entered Ben Gurion airport and were escorted to a particular security check-in. This esteemed bunch of American Rabbis were to be treated as VIPS. And the sirens went off. And swiftly, we went into the shelters, just like everyone else. The moment passed, and we all emerged, but Ben Gurion didn’t return to normal. Security and travelers engaged in the typical dance that is done at departure. But this time, it seemed different. I felt discomfort. The airport routine wasn’t quite the same. The dance was off by a beat. The process seemed longer, as though the thorough checking still needed double-checking. The ramp leading to the departure area was lined with pictures of hostages, just like the ramp on the arrival side. The message was to remember the hostages from the first moment you entered Israel and as the last thing as you left.
The airport was empty; El Al and Emirates were flying. One or two other airlines were on the board, but the major carriers were not listed, and half of the departure floor was empty. 
We left a different place than the one I remembered from previous travels, and yet the emotional and spiritual connection remain strong, perhaps stronger.
David thank you. ❤️