Like Lawrence of Arabia, I approached Aqaba from the wrong direction. Unlike Lawrence, who stormed the Ottoman city after crossing the desert from the north – an idea so audacious that the Turks did not defend that side of the city – I was not on a military mission. I was simply trying to get home.
What should have been a few relaxing days in Prague over the weekend of June 12-15, while taking in a Bruce Springsteen concert that Sunday, turned into days of worry and uncertainty – my own private hell – as I was constantly checking my phone and in contact with my wife and children who were in Israel.
Arriving in the Czech capital on Thursday, it was obvious by the next morning - Friday the 13th - that the world had changed overnight. Israel had done the daring and attacked the Islamic Republic of Iran. Immediately, I knew that flights and travel would be affected, not to mention my family’s home life in Israel. Kindergarten has been closed all week, the children were at home, and like parents across the entire country, my wife had to juggle parental duties with work and keeping everybody safe.
Prague did its best to cheer me up. One of the most beautiful cities in the world, I couldn’t have picked a more supportive city to try to keep my spirits high. Israeli flags were seen dotted throughout, bars had patches of Israeli military regalia, there were photos of hostages, and Shabbat dinner at Chabad was full of Israelis in a similar situation: stuck abroad with no way to get home.
Bruce did his best to cheer me up, too. At 75 years old, his doing a three-hour performance with no break was a fantastic achievement, and he and his band were incredible. But there is something surreal about standing in a field near Prague, while the Boss is laying into “Thunder Road,” the lighting is flashing as the rain pours down, and you are checking your phone to make sure your family is in the bomb shelter as another Iranian missile barrage hits your country.
Detour to England
With no hope of returning to Israel early last week, I headed to England on Monday, June 16, to stay with family and to work from afar.
By Thursday, however, my desperation was becoming a real hindrance to my sanity.
There are only so many times you can refresh a website (El Al, Air Haifa, Israir, Arkia) throughout a day and see the words “Sold out” before hope starts waning. When will I get home? Could it be days? Weeks? Who knows?
Then a miracle happened.
The next day, Friday, I somehow came across a Cypriot TUS Airways flight from Athens to Aqaba, Jordan, departing at 2 p.m. Some 723 euros later, including an extra fee for arranging the border crossing (documents, fees, etc.) plus a coach from Eilat to Tel Aviv, I now had a mission and a way home. I simply needed to be in Athens by the following morning. Easy, right? Because there are a million flights (exaggeration) from the UK to Greece and Athens every day.
And so my mission began.
Setting off immediately for Manchester Airport in the north of England, I had a ticket bound for Basel, Switzerland, where I would wait out the night before jumping on a flight to Athens.
Stage 1 of my plan got off to a pretty disastrous start. Unexpected traffic on the M62 motorway between Leeds and Manchester left me sitting there for an hour. The situation got so desperate that I was searching for other flights from different airports in case I missed this one.
Then the traffic cleared, and I finally made it to Manchester, and then on to Basel without a hitch. Stage 1 complete. An hour and a half’s sleep on the floor of Basel Airport through the night gave me some much needed respite while whiling away the hours until my morning flights to Athens.
Then on to Athens
Despite a short delay with that flight, I arrived in Athens to find a chaotic transport hub filled with international travelers, holidaymakers, and hundreds of Israelis who, like me, were just trying to get home. Stage 2 complete.
Several flights to Israel and Jordan, operated by their respective airlines, have been and are constantly being delayed or canceled, raising the levels of uncertainty and worry even higher. The biggest threat is getting your hopes up that you are finally going home, only for them to be dashed.
I boarded the Aqaba-bound flight with hopes of finally being able to hug my family. But two hours after boarding, the captain announced that the flight had been canceled, with no information about a replacement flight.
The passengers who descended the aircraft steps with me were heartbroken. Many were crying, many were speechless, and many were just drained of all hope. People left the airport after booking flights with other airlines for Saturday, Sunday, or Monday. Many booked hotel rooms for the next few days, not knowing how long they were going to be waiting.
I felt drained, exhausted, and helpless. I decided there was no point in going anywhere, and I didn’t particularly want to be around anyone, or see or do anything. I simply updated my wife that the flight had been canceled, told her I was working on an alternative plan, and wished her Shabbat shalom. I booked the same flight for the next day (somehow, some tickets were still available), made “Kiddush” in the airport on some water, and prepared for another night sleeping on a floor inside a terminal.
I met people who needed to get home because their house had been hit by missiles. I met others who had left their children with elderly grandparents for a day or two, which suddenly turned into more than a week. And I know people who lost parents while they were away and needed to get home for the funerals.
‘Enjoy yourselves’ over there!
The attitude in Israel seems to have been one of “It’s not the worst thing to be stuck outside – at least there are no missiles.”
But like the comment last week by Transportation Minister Miri Regev when she announced rescue flights – “You’re in chutz la’aretz [outside of Israel]. Enjoy yourselves” – it is an ignorant and thoughtless attitude toward what those outside the country trying to get back are going through.
These “rescue flights” were not put on by the government at their expense to bring stranded passengers home to Israel. They were private airlines charging fees for a ticket as if this were a normal situation.
Nobody is suggesting that airlines or the boat companies that have provided ships should cut their losses and help innocent people for free. But hotels cost money, flights cost money, and food costs money. People cannot afford to stay away for much longer.
After our flight was canceled after we had been sitting on the plane for two hours on Friday afternoon, people were scouring the Internet for hours, seeking other alternatives. I saw people book themselves onto three different flights, paying thousands upon thousands of shekels, just for any opportunity to get back to Israel.
Later that night, I received a message indicating that a replacement flight had been scheduled for the next day. Now, with the extra ticket I had purchased following the cancellation, I had two options to get back. I still couldn’t let my hopes rise again, though – that would have to wait until I walked across the Israeli border, taking a bus from the airport to there.
Jordan – almost home
The second attempt to leave Athens was much easier. Many of those on the original flight returned to the airport for another shot at home, but many did not show up. Whether they didn’t see the message in time or simply decided to wait for a different opportunity, I don’t know. But the second time around, we finally got on our way, in the skies and en route to Jordan. The plane flew into Aqaba, surrounded by the beautiful red mountains that adorn the southern desert. After flying over the port, we turned around and headed straight for the runway from the north. Stage 3 complete.
Compared to everything else, Jordan was a breeze. As we approached the airport, at least we could see Israel again with our own eyes – it was right there! – just on the other side of the border.
A short bus ride from the airport to the border and three passport checks later, I finally walked across the short strip on no man’s land to see the words “Welcome to Israel” on a sign. I felt like kneeling down and kissing the ground with gratitude and relief. It had been an exhausting 48 hours with almost no sleep and very little food.
A coach ride from Eilat to Tel Aviv, before the short hop to Jerusalem, and finally my family was in my arms again.
What I went through is nothing compared to what those in Israel have experienced, and I would never pretend it was. But there was a panic and a worry of our own for those of us stuck outside. We didn’t know when we would get back, or what would be awaiting us on our return. But we made it back, and I only hope that the thousands who are still stuck outside of Israel make it back soon, too.
Aqaba is a good option to choose, and I was lucky the airline was working on helping us cross the border and provide transport back up north. Despite the cancellation, which was not their fault, I have nothing but good words and gratitude for TUS Airways.
Israel to Czechia to England to Switzerland to Greece to Jordan to Israel. It is safe to say that I won’t be going anywhere any time soon.
Mission completed.