We’re at Ben Gurion Airport, hoping to get seats on the 11:40 p.m. flight to Atlanta. It’s not looking good at the moment, but we’ll give it a shot nonetheless. The worst thing that can happen is that our luggage will be put on a flight will be sent to Peru and we’ll stay the night in Tel Aviv then do this all over again tomorrow.

Meanwhile, it gives me time to sit in the food court where people keep coming up to me and talking to me in Hebrew. I’m not sure why this keeps happening to me. I’ve checked the top of my head to make sure somone didn’t slip a yarmulke up there as a practical joke. I just smile, say “shalom” then confess that I don’t speak Hebrew.