NBN Experience Part IV

            The door to the plane stood tantalizingly open, letting in the bright light and sweet air of a Tel Aviv Summer morning, but we were asked to wait in our seats. An Israeli customs officer boarded hesitantly, as though he almost felt unwelcome on our plane. The Nefesh B’ Nefesh staff handed over our passports to him – a bundle of brand new Israeli passports with my American one somewhere in the middle.

            Five minutes later the customs officer returned with our passports through the open doorway and welcomed us off the plane. At first no one moved; by now the plane felt normal enough, even a bit homey. I could feel the mounting excitement, everyone waiting for someone else to courageously lead the way off the plane to the new reality that waited past the open door. I don’t remember who was the first off the plane, but I left shortly after, waiting to make my way back to my yeshiva to rest.

            The sharp sunshine hit me as I walked through the doorway in front of tens of orange vested Israeli cameramen snapping photos of everyone as they took their momentous first steps, as citizens, onto Israeli soil. For me it was just one more step in a journey that had hardly reached its destination. Airport shuttles waited to take us to the original Ben Gurion International Airport, now used exclusively for Aliyah flights. I waited a few minutes on the tarmac, watching people leave the plane. I stood there until the last person stepped off the plane, clearly exhausted but also aware of the importance of this moment in his life.

            No one spoke on the short ride to the terminal, and after about a minute we could hear music playing and people cheering. There was a large crowd singing, waving banners, and dancing, waiting for us as we stepped out of the shuttle. Soldiers, Bnei Akiva-shirted teens, and Israeli men,women, and children gave us flowers, small flags, gifts, big handshakes, and warm hugs. They congratulated us on making Aliyah and welcomed us, some with tears in their eyes, to the Holy Land. They shook my hand, gave me presents and told me how happy they were that I joined them. I returned a weak smile, a little ashamed; I decided not to spoil the fun and tell them that I was only press and had not really made Aliyah.

            We walked into the airport, past a blockade of tables lined with different types of cakes, candies, ice-cream, and coffee, to the rows of folding chairs between two stationary baggage claim conveyor belts. Soon enough, the room flooded with people eating, talking loudly over the music, and embracing friends who came to the airport to welcome them. It seemed as though the whole Jewish world had come out to welcome us.

            After the chairs filled up, people climbed on top of the conveyor belts for extra seats. Children climbed on top of them, while their parents sat and listened to speeches by Israeli officials in varied Russian, Israeli, and American accents. The camera,like the jumbotron at a baseball game, panned the audience, broadcasting new Olim, like Sirena Rubinoff, to her excited mother or anyone else viewing the ceremony online.

Afterwards, one member of each family went upstairs to fill out the last bit of paperwork, while the remaining members made the mad rush to the hectic baggage claim in the next room. After things were gathered and paperwork was filled out, everyone filed into prepaid taxis, moving on to settle down and begin their new lives, while I caught my own taxi to Alon Shevut where I would  stay during my trip until I moved on back to America.