“???????” is the Hebrew word for jackpot. The amount of time it takes to say that word is the amount of time this incident took to occur. Except this is not a jackpot, this is the complete opposite. The shockingly sharp turbulence jolts me awake up from my slumber, and I notice a flashing light on my dashboard; both engines have failed and we are losing altitude quickly. The low hum of machinery has been replaced by desperate shrieks coming from the passengers stationed in the cabin, and the curses of my co-pilot, Azaiah. The obscure blur of blues and greens beneath us are travelling closer by the second. I try to remain calm. “This is your captain speaking, brace for impact”, I announce over the intercom to the passengers of the Boeing 777 airplane I am flying. Azaiah, the formerly stubborn and mutinous co-pilot, is now helpless and ashamed of his actions. He rocks back and forth in his seat and begs me to not let him die. I do not know what will happen to my passengers, Azaiah, or myself. I quick-wittedly jolt my steering tiller perpendicular to the dashboard, in the hopes of leveling the plane’s angle. Despite these thrusts, we are plummeting toward what appears to be a small island, in a nose dive position. The impact of gravity is restricting me from sitting up, and forcing me to lean over my flashing dashboard. I have experienced turbulence multiple times when flying, but nothing can compare to this. I glance at the altimeter, we are moving at least eighty feet side to side. My last hope is to slow to a turbulence penetration speed, but to no avail. Just then, we hit the ground. The left wing hits first. The plane continues to tumble forward. The noise and the impact are inconceivable.
My son Immanuel, and my wife, Daniela, have been waiting for me at our home in Savyon, Israel for quite some time now. I decide to pray to my god, Elohim. I beg him to let me return home safely.
In the midst of my prayers, the plane comes to a screeching halt as we slam into a land mass in front of us. I am momentarily knocked out and, in my haze, I begin to recall what has brought me to this moment...
I am a commercial airplane pilot for Delta Airlines. My typical routes involve medium-length flights from Israel to other destinations in the Middle East and Mediterranean, mostly tourist destinations. There is also the occasional long haul flight to a destination in Europe and even the United States. I like to think of myself as a good traveler – adventurous and curious about the places I go and people I meet. But this recent series of flights and adventures has been too long. I have not seen my family in what feels like an eternity. I am homesick and I am aware that my normally wise wife Daniela has been tempted by others in my absence. Rumors have it that she has been part of jubilant festivities designed to influence her to leave me. I trust her loyalty, but am all the more eager to return to her. My young son has also been lacking a father-figure. He is certainly troubled by my absence, but I have heard that he has been taking over my role in our family, and providing for Daniela.
Earlier that morning, I am sitting in the Delta office, in Manhattan, New York. I am eager to depart New York. I do not relish the city life, but in New York, I am constantly viewed with suspicion as a stranger from the Middle East. When I pass people and policemen on the streets, I am constantly reminded of my dark skin tone and the fear it strikes in people. Encompassed by the steamy windows of the Delta office, I listen to the drone of my superiors and their instructions. Beyond the corporate offices, I see a fine mist hovering over the blurry skyline. I know that the wildlife has yet to awaken. Forcing my mind back to the moment, my ear picks up on some ominous weather alerts. Many of my colleagues in this meeting appear concerned. Apparently there are severe storms forming over the Mediterranean Ocean. After a number of recent tragedies in the air, the corporate offices are warning us to take lengthy detours around thunderous cloud formations that rise miles into the sky. I recall the additional long-standing order to avoid the central European routes over Ukraine, shuddering slightly at the memory of the Malaysian Airlines jumbo jet shot down by Russian insurgents only months earlier. Delta Airlines wants no chances taken with its equipment or passengers. I brace myself for what will be an exceptionally long flight, with all the mandatory detours, yet, I am solely focused on returning home safely.
Just a few hours later, I await take-off clearance at the expansive John F. Kennedy airport in Queens. I am seated with Azaiah, a brash, young, and relatively new pilot for Delta. Behind us sit more than three-hundred passengers; impatiently awaiting a timely take-off, a delicious meal, an exciting movie, perhaps a brief nap and naturally a speedy return to their own families or tourist activities in Israel. After performing the take-off sequence, we are given permission for immediate take-off. Lifting off to the East, we float up over the Long Island Sound, with the early-afternoon sun at our tail. I allow myself a long and pleasant exhalation. I am on my way home.
Northeast of Labrador, somewhere on the edge of the North Atlantic, the first hint of trouble occurs. Azaiah informs me of a new time saving route. He suggests to me that we divert. I hear Azaiah’s announcement to the passengers:
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be making a slight shift in our route this afternoon in an effort to cut a few hours off our planned course.”
I hear loud cheers and clapping coming from the passengers for Azaiah’s new route. I retake the controls and begin to track his new course. Several hours later, I am overwhelmingly exhausted. It has been an excruciatingly long journey so far, and I need a quick rest. I leave the steering tiller to Azaiah, allowing him control of the plane and the passengers. I recline my seat and begin to drift into a deep sleep. Sometime later, I am jolted awake by a lurching turbulence so extreme that it takes my breath away. I know immediately that Azaiah has foolishly chosen to steer directly into the face of the storm. This mutinous decision goes directly in the face of the warnings of Delta. Azaiah is risking all our lives, steering us through the storm clouds, just to save time. What kind of hubris is this? How could he be so foolhardy?
I slowly regain consciousness. I am crumpled inside the wrecked aircraft, uncertain of the time or even the day. I am encompassed by an absolute silence. My next movements are blurred; but I am aware that I have been spared. I am the only survivor of this tragedy. Azaiah lies dead in his seat. Countless passengers are strewn about the cabin. I have no vessel and no crew. I am saved, but still a prisoner. Why has God granted me the chance to live out of everyone here? Is this disaster my fault for adhering to Azaiah’s plan? Am I ultimately the one responsible for this?
I dig myself out of the wreckage and stumble toward the gaping exit that faces out onto this new and foreign land. I shudder involuntarily and contemplate the difficulties that may lie ahead. Israel has few allies in this region. Many of the region’s countries barely have governments – only roaming tribes who pray to their own gods and follow a harsh set of laws and live a miserable existence. Other locations are like a paradise. It is not clear that I will survive what is to come next, even though a miracle has allowed me to make it this far. Perhaps I have landed on an island with a civilization similar to mine, with a culture akin to my own. Maybe the inhabitants of this land will provide me with a way to return to my family, or perhaps I stand on a land where I am the enemy. There are many such places in the region, with danger lurking at every turn – especially for someone from Israel. I scope out the unfamiliar terrain and observe a few hopeful signs, such as blooming parsley and violet, and bubbling springs surrounded by greenery. I take a few cautious steps outside of the aircraft. I begin to hear a  mellow cacophony of birds and other wildlife. My fear and homesickness fade ever so slightly. I feel curious and tempted by what I see in front of me. For a moment, I allow myself to push the memories of home to the back of my mind, and begin to walk toward what awaits me in this new land...