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end for yourself men…” (Bamidbar 13:2)

 The Jewish People were never granted complete forgiveness for the Sin of the Spies, suggesting that sending spies was more severe than the Sin of the Golden Calf. Yet on surface level, it seems that Cheit Hameraglim, which entailed lashon hara and ingratitude, wasn’t as bad as the eigel, which involved avodah zarah.

Still, we find that although Bnei Yisrael acknowledged their sin and tried to repent, their teshuvah wasn’t accepted and they were destined to die in the desert.

If Hashem forgave them for the terrible sin of the eigel, why didn’t He forgive them for Chet Hameraglim? (Rav Yitzchak Zilberstein, Aleinu L’shabeiach)

I slid into my seat on the plane and closed my eyes. Traveling halfway across the world always brings its fair share of adventure.

This time, I’d nearly missed my flight out of Baltimore. With a blizzard due the next day, I was mumbling Hallel, grateful that I’d make my connecting flight from New York to Tel Aviv. I closed my eyes and tried to calm my racing heart.

“Are you okay?” A uniformed steward leaned over my seat.

“I’m fine. Just catching my breath.”

“Can I get you anything to drink? Eat?”

I must’ve looked even worse than I felt. No other passengers were being offered refreshments. A few moments later, he returned with ice water and said warmly, “I’m Robert. If there’s anything you need, please let me know. You sure you’re fine?”

Was the pilot nervous to take off with a wreck of a passenger aboard? This could throw off my connection as well.

I pulled myself together. “I’m great! Thanks!”

Seforno explains that the reason Chet Hameraglim was regarded with such severity was because it caused a terrible chillul Hashem. Bnei Yisrael were demonstrating that they didn’t believe that Hashem had the ability to lead them to victory.  And chillul Hashem can only be atoned for with death.

After takeoff, Robert zeroed in on me again. “You doing better? Want some pretzels?”

“I’m really fine. It was just trying to make this flight that threw me.”

“You have a lot of traveling ahead of you… All the way to Tel Aviv.”

“Um-hhm.” I shifted a bit in my seat. Was this why I was the target of his attentions?

As if to answer my question, he leaned a bit closer and said in an undertone, “You know, you and I are really cousins.”

“Is that right?” My tone became artificially chipper. “How’s that?”

“I was born in Iraq. I speak Arabic.”

Getting into Middle East tensions 30,000 feet up was something I wanted to avoid.

“How’s the situation in Israel?” His tone was full of camaraderie and I was stuck. Which side of the negotiating table did this guy sit on?

“Ah, never believe everything you hear.”

He nodded. “Let me know if I can help you reach your final destination.”

Was there a double meaning in that? I couldn’t wait to get off this plane.

The primary expression of kiddush Hashem is when people observe a Jew’s exemplary behavior and emulate that behavior.

The Midrash Eichah (2:26) states that Dovid Hamelech had a harp above his bed. At midnight, a north wind would blow and the harp would begin to play. When Dovid heard the music, he’d rise to learn Torah. When the nation heard the sound of Dovid Hamelech learning, they too would go learn.

For the rest of the flight, Robert kept hovering and my thoughts kept racing. What type of cousin was he? How many times removed? From the Yitzchak side of the family or from the Yishmael branch?

If this was a long-lost Jewish brother, I had to be nice and warm. I was clearly recognizable as a representative of Klal Yisrael. But if this guy had murkier Iraqi roots, I wanted nothing to do with him. On the other hand, I was representing Judaism to him too. And with a plane full of passengers, it was unlikely that all the situations running rampant in my imagination would occur. Still, I was grateful when we bumped down in New York.

“Thank you, Robert, for all your care and concern.” In any event, I was determined to be a gracious ambassador of my nation.

“Shalom, achi!” he waved.

Okaaay. Brother or cousin? Unless I meet Robert at the Kosel, I’ll probably never know. But at least I did my part to strengthen family ties. (Originally featured in Family First, Issue 595)