JACOB, ALIEN PREDATORS, AND THE PLANE THAT BEGAN WITH ROW 28

I get on the plane this morning in the dawn light of Tokyo. A gesture made thousands of times. My seat is in row 29, so I advance inside the aircraft without looking very carefully at the row numbers, and before long I find myself way too far back. I then discover to my surprise that the rows on this plane start at number 28, something I have honestly never seen in forty years of travel. My seat is therefore in the second row. I take this as an invitation to rethink priorities and starting points. After all, not everything starts where we would expect. The Torah does not begin with the first letter of the alphabet, the letter Alef, but with the second, the Bet of Bereshit, an aspect that has often caused commentators to wonder.

The plane takes off, and shortly afterwards I greet on the side the beautiful Fujiama, whose splendor I wanted to take with me in photos.

At that point I open the screen in front of me and choose a science fiction movie to relax. The movie turns out to be less relaxing than expected, with ferocious alien predators ravaging New York City conquering everything and devouring humans. At the heart of the story, however, is not the classic epic battle to save Earth, but rather the dogged desire of a seriously ill young woman to return to her favorite pizza place, along with her cat Frodo (pictured so she can say I place kittens too!), to see if there is a slice of pizza left (those who know me know I would do the same). In a collapsing world, the young woman chooses to focus on a fragment of everyday life that restores her sense of normalcy.

Next to me, an Oriental girl watches a completely different film: I discover by peeking at the subtitles that it is a romantic story where a very sad woman finds unexpected love in a handsome and kind neurosurgeon. I notice that she also peeks at my screen, however, intrigued by the alien predators and the kitten Frodo. This embarrasses me greatly, for I seem to come across as puerile watching such a film, but then again, it is my inalienable right to be puerile from time to time.

At one point I look for where to insert my phone charger, and as in any practical if elementary activity I find it difficult to do so. The girl, smiling, offers her help and does so without any problem. At that point, the ice having been broken, I allow myself to say to her in English, “I am sorry if the movie I am watching comes across as disturbing or threatening in any way, excuse me.” The girl laughs and says to me, “I saw that you were also occasionally watching my movie a bit. Don't believe, love stories and the like can sometimes be more disturbing and threatening than alien invasions, that's why I used to watch your screen from time to time.” I laugh. It's not like she's wrong, the girl in post 29b. We do not always find reassurance in what at first glance should be reassuring. I think of the week's Torah readings. Yaaqov/Jacob is running away from his uncle Lavan who has deceived him for many years, and is preparing to meet his brother Esav/Esau, whom he has not seen since the latter threatened him with death for taking away his role as firstborn. At this point “Yaaqov feared greatly and was distressed” (Ge. 32:8). Why does the Torah use two distinct expressions, if not to describe two distinct fears? I like to think that he was fearful of moving forward toward the uncertainty of meeting his brother, but also anxious about turning back, toward a place of hypocrisy and abuse. This was the same Yaakov who years earlier had dreamed of the staircase with emissaries going up and down, as if to remind him that in life many things change position and role. Like the rows of airplanes, which do not always start at row 1 as I had always seen. What seems stable one day may falter the next, what was a source of alarm yesterday may be cause for relief today instead. As with the two films, among which the most alarming was not necessarily what would appear as such.

Accepting this constant movement, these necessary shifts in perspective, is not always easy, but often necessary. Then again, if the rows of planes can begin at 28, anything is possible, and it is up to us to accept certain changes and know how to position ourselves among these quicksand.

Finding in it all fragments of normalcy that anchor us, like a slice of pizza rescued from a ruined world and the smiles of our fellow travelers, who are under (or in) the same sky as us.

Shavua Tov, Have a good week