They were seated two rows ahead of me on the half-empty
plane and without seeing their faces, or knowing anything about them, I could
tell that they were totally out of their element. What was it? The angle of
their heads? The nervous glances back and forth? The constant whispering, even
though there was no one nearby? I couldn’t overhear their low-toned
conversation, but noticed it was interrupted every few minutes by what sounded
like forced giggles. As if they were making the most of a confusing situation.
As if they weren’t exactly comfortable being in the air. As if they didn’t
really belong. When one of them stood up to make her way to the bathroom, my
suspicions were confirmed.
Coming up the aisle toward where I stood, stretching my
legs, was a young woman—a teenager maybe, or perhaps slightly older. The
red-headed girl was religious; that was quite obvious. Not modern religious,
but rather Haredi. Ultra-Orthodox. Her modest blouse had long sleeves, and she
wore an ankle-length faded blue skirt. Attire that would be suitable to the
streets of Jerusalem but which was strange to see on a flight to Bulgaria.
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