"You thought that just because you’re old enough to get married, you have children? Whoever said you’re capable?"

The only thing I hate more than airplanes is flying in one — the stale air, the crumbs on my lap under my toddler, the constant whining of bored tykes, the cramped muscles. But family overseas means I need to overcome my aviation aversion if I want to occasionally see my relatives. Rosh Chodesh Iyar found me at JFK’s El Al counter, surrounded by shtreimel and sheitel boxes, Bloom’s potato chips, and Amazing Savings sticker projects.

I boarded, and found myself seated near a small group of secular Israelis returning from a tour of The Big Apple. I stowed my belongings in the overhead compartment, then, gritting my teeth, tried to arrange myself in the cramped seat.

A half hour into the chaotic flight, one of the tourists, a secular woman, around 50 years old, suddenly planted herself in the middle of the aisle. She leaned forward, two rows over, where a baby hadn’t stopped screeching since takeoff.

“Mah zeh?” she exploded, whipping her bleached hair from her face. “Don’t you know how to take care of kids?” she bellowed. “Whoever gave you permission to have kids? You thought that just because you’re old enough to get married, you have children? Whoever said you’re capable? Well, let me tell you, you’re not.”