Bleary-eyed, I nudged the suitcase with my right foot, moving it a few inches ahead. The airport terminal at Ben Gurion was beginning to fill up and I was anxious to check in my baggage. I was next in line for the security check. There was a man who hurried in, making his way to the back of the line. I noticed he was unshaven with the same mournful look in his eyes that I had. Two obviously close relatives were escorting him, with clear and open affection. I was lulled out of my observations by a crisp voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cSir, may I please see your passport?\u201d said the efficient Israeli security staffer, greeting me with a smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, of course,\u201d I replied, producing it along with my airline ticket and handing it to her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you coming from?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYerushalayim.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat brought you to Israel?\u201d she said as she scanned the documents expertly, not looking up.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy father passed away here in Israel, and I flew in to sit shiva,\u201d I replied, my own voice sounding disembodied and shaky. Her head shot up, and she looked at me sympathetically.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am very sorry,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I believed her.<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cHas anyone but you packed your bags?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHave you been with your baggage from the time you left Yerushalayaim?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you understand why I am asking all these questions?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOK,\u201d she said, scribbling on little green stickers before putting them on my luggage. \u201cYou may go to the ticket counter. Have a pleasant flight. And I am very sorry about your father.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said, but I was already turning my head toward the unshaven man. I sensed a connection with him, although I was sure I\u2019d never seen him before. He now stood alone in the line, preoccupied with his thoughts, just as I was. I wanted to talk to him, but it didn\u2019t seem appropriate somehow. I checked in my baggage and went upstairs, through passport control.<\/p>\n
I saw him again sometime later. He avoided my glances, running his hand over the growing stubble he hadn\u2019t gotten used to. All the signs were there; I knew why he had come.<\/p>\n
When the boarding call was made, I made certain to line up near the unshaven man, my instinct to reach out to him too strong to suppress. We soon stood side by side.<\/p>\n
\u201cBahta Levikur<\/em>? – here for a visit?\u201d I asked him.<\/p>\n \u201cAizeh bikur<\/em> – some visit,\u201d he replied with some bitterness, looking at me for the first time.\u00a0\u201cIma sheli nifterah – <\/em>my mother died,\u201d he continued.<\/p>\n Our eyes remained locked.<\/p>\n \u201cMitzta\u2019er – <\/em>I\u2019m sorry,\u201d I said sadly.<\/p>\n Maybe it was the look in my eyes that he suddenly noticed.<\/p>\n Maybe it was the way I ran my hand over my stubble.<\/p>\n \u201cMah ateh oseh po – <\/em>what are you doing here?\u201d he asked quickly, sensing the answer.<\/p>\n \u201cAbba sheli<\/em>\u2026\u201d was all I could manage to say before choking up.<\/p>\n We stared at each other in silence, eyes moistened, both of us fighting the need to cry. Finally, I put one arm around him and wished him the traditional phrase of comfort. He did the same to me. As we went down the steps together, towards the tarmac to our waiting bus, we exchanged some of the heartbreaking details leading up to our respective losses. The bus arrived and we boarded. We stood together, arriving moments later under the belly of a 747-400, fueled and ready to transport us back to another world.<\/p>\n We wished each other the best. \u201cBe well. May you have a very happy life from now on,\u201d we told each other. We tried to smile bravely, communicating volumes of empathy through mere eye contact. I knew I\u2019d never see him again. But it didn\u2019t matter; I had shared some comfort with a new brother.<\/p>\n