A Harpie at 30,000 Feet

I like to think of myself as a wheels-up, wheels-down kinda flyer, meaning that when I travel by plane, I go to sleep when the wheels go up… and wake up when I hear the mechanical bump of the wheels locking back down. 

When Zahava and the kids came along I had to make certain accommodations to this routine so that I could do my fair share of wrangling the children (and to avoid being stabbed by Zahava with the airline-issue dull butter knife during meals).

But this trip to the states I knew I’d be flying solo, so I was looking forward to examining my eyelids from the inside for the entire 11+ hours from Ben Gurion to JFK.

But then I encountered Haim’s family… specifically his wife.

Haim, and his three delightful children were seated in the row directly behind me.  His wife (whose name I still don’t know… and hope never to) was seated across the aisle directly to my left.

It seems Haim and his kids are my kind of travelers; relaxed, quiet… and if left to their own devices, comatose.  Haim’s wife; not so much.

As soon as we boarded I watched with trepidation as Haim and his kids filed into the row behind me.  But I needn’t have been worried.  Without a word, each of the kids allowed themselves to be changed into pajamas and placidly accepted blankets, pillows and stuffed animals from their father.

Before the doors of the airplane were even shut, Haim was tucking his kids in… and they were miraculously showing sings of actually going to sleep.

Then Haim’s wife announced her presence.

From across the aisle and one row up, she began what would become an unbroken string of imperative commands:

“Haim… the bear pajamas are Ruchi’s and the clowns are Esti’s.”  You need to change them or they wont be able to sleep.”

The two nearly identical children had not made a peep of displeasure about the pajamas theyd been issued, and showed no sign of doing so… but the tone of Haim’s wife’s voice left no room for doubt… changed they would be or nobody was going to be getting any sleep.

Once the kids had been changed, the next command was passed down from on high:

“Haim, they don’t have the right stuffed animals… they’ll never be able to sleep (this despite the fact that one of the kids was already asleep and none of the kids had made a peep about the stuffed animals they’d been given). 

But to his credit, Haim silently went about switching animals and children… glancing at his wife for confirmation as he did so.

Even after the kids had drifted wordlessly off to sleep, the harassment continued:

“Haim, Yitzy’s head is at an odd angle… fix it or he’ll be paralyzed for life!”

“Haim, they’ll be bringing the food soon, wake up the kids!”

“Haim, don’t let them eat that this late at night, they’ll have gas!”

And on and on and on…

By the midpoint of the dinner service everyone within earshot was visibly wincing with each shrill command aimed at poor Haim.  And to his credit, I never heard Haim’s voice.  He silently complied with each and every directive.

After one particularly forceful shout of “Haim!” an Israeli man in the row in front of me lifted his plastic cup of diet coke in tribute and said “L’Haim!”

From that point on, those of us who were within the range of this Harpy’s harangue answered each shout of ‘Haim!’ with a raised glass (real or imaginary) and a soft salute of “L’Haim!”.

The best part is that she was so intent on sending each criticism and correction towards its intended target that she seemed not to notice the mocking salutation that was being offered by her neighbors.

At the end of the flight when the plane was at the gate and the ‘fasten seatbelt’ light had been extinguished, the normal bustle of people retrieving their belongings from the overhead was drowned out by the now-familiar bark of “Haim… check to make sure you aren’t leaving anything behind.  The kids will never forgive you if you leave their stuffed animals on the plane.”

An unspoken thought passed among the small group of us who had witnessed the saintly and uncomplaining Haim’s trip through the seventh sphere of hell… an uncharitable thought of leaving someone else behind.   Then the Israeli man who had been in the seat in front of me turned to us with a wink and raised an imaginary glass in tribute.  And on cue we all intoned, “L’Haim”.