|Mrs. X Goes to Israel|
According to our sages, the month of Iyar is when the snake persuaded Eve to eat from the forbidden tree.
I often tried to reconstruct the conversation between the snake and Eve. It must have been a bit hissy, doggy and sneaky. The subsequent conversation between Eve and Adam was sort of rough and not very sociable. But let’s leave Eve and go to my story; about another women and her pet dog.
I met Mrs. X at the airport. (I promised not to reveal her name.) She was having a heated but polite conversation with the El-Al agent. He wouldn’t let her take her dog in the cabin, even if she purchased two first class tickets.
“No madam it’s against the law, I am sorry.”
“Oh, you Israelis,” said she, “you have no compassion for animals! You love your tanks and guns more than anything.”
“No, madam, I don’t love tanks I was in the air force and it just so happens I have two dogs and one girlfriend; I love all three.”
She was no longer angry and said, “So you understand how I feel about my Brutus?” (Rather a pocket-sized dog, I should say.)
“Definitely Madam, I do understand, and by the way, your Brutus seems to be asleep. We fly so many dogs, he will be taken care of in the cargo department, don’t you worry.”
She now spoke calmly, “He’s sleeping all right, my Brutus. I’ll miss him.”So we sat during the flight and spoke about Brahms, beavers and Bush. She complimented the pilot for being brief and the Israeli wine for being delicious. I could see a twinkle in her eye when the stewardess filled her glass again and again, more times than I cared to count.
The chief steward cornered me when I stood up to stretch my legs and held me for a good hour with anecdotes and tall tales about the crew. We become friends, exchanged name cards, and scheduled dinner the following week.
As soon as we landed, tragedy struck. The chief whispered in my ear. “Something terrible happened. Mrs. X’s dog is dead.”
A senior ground agent appeared, and a bewildered and emotional conversation took place between the two. Then the agent had an idea. Not far from the airport there was a kennel; they must have the same kind of dog. The chief patted the agent on the back;
“Wallah, you saved the country and El-Al.
There was an announcement that the cargo would be delayed for security reasons. Actually they were stalling to gain time so they could get another dog.
Mrs. X was sitting happily on a chair, dreaming, tipsy. (Delicious Israeli wine.)
The steward showed up; those former air-force guys are faster than the speed of sound. He had the dog’s fancy box in one hand and in the other hand a shampooed and groomed palm size doggy. I was impressed and relieved.
Mrs X opened her eyes as wide as the Kineret, a little bleary, she said “Oh no! This is not my dog.”
The steward put his hand on her shoulder to steady her and said, “Madam after a long flight, dogs look a little strange, they also suffer from jet lag.”
“You don’t understand,” she said with a hint of a smile mixed with sadness. “My dog died in Pennsylvania and I brought him to the holy land for burial.”
Rava said: “A man should get so drunk on Purim that he can’t distinguish between ‘Cursed is Haman’ and ‘Blessed is Mordechai.’”
Cohen approaches the secretary of the burial society. “My wife is dead, and I have to arrange for her funeral.”