It’s not a vacation said the brochure that came in the mail with the packet we got from Pentecost tours, which probably explains the forty-eight-hour first day, of which I’m about eight hours in. Presumably, that includes a solid eight hours in the friendly skies overhead between Newark and Tel Aviv; however, that mainly applies to those under three feet and well less than a hundred pounds on which both accounts I am uncomfortably more than twice over. No, I shall lie awkwardly back, my lumbar lordosis in a strained convex contortion with a crick in my neck from one of those weird pillows that never work. The only thing that makes it tolerable is the reality that it represents suffering, and this is a pilgrimage, and suffering is what Catholics do best. I try to not be too comfortable for the flight. The only thing that would make it perfect would be a hard flat surface where I might kneel for about 30 minutes, offering absolutions.
After the restful flight, we land in Tel Aviv at 0800 and begin the first day. I am filled with anticipation, and the day did start with a biblical omen when Sue asked if she should pack the fiber-gummies. Given that I tell everyone else to take them and in the spirit of leading by example, I said that we should, and then did the math, lets see, 10 days x 2 people x 2 gummies/day (total of 5gm soluble fiber/day) equals 40 gummies.
“Huhn! 40 gummies!” I said, “that’s like a sign. I mean, it’s the first Monday of Lent.”
Eight-hours in and already some number of Our Father’s and Hail Mary’s under our collective belts, which are two of my most favorite prayers. Our flight leaves in one hour, God-willing.
