c. 1997 Religion News Service

(Rabbi Rudin is the national interreligious affairs director of the American Jewish Committee.)

UNDATED _ Because flying is a necessary part of my job, I recently boarded a plane at New York’s LaGuardia Airport for a routine flight to Atlanta without giving it much thought. But it was to be no ordinary trip.

I was traveling to the rededication ceremony of Gay’s Hill Baptist Church in Millen, Ga., a rural black congregation somewhere between Augusta and Savannah. As part of the Jewish community’s response to the epidemic of burned churches, the American Jewish Committee raised nearly $90,000 for rebuilding efforts that was contributed to Gay’s Hill.

The plane left the gate on time with 250 passengers on board, but we were delayed on the taxiway because of severe weather. Sitting half asleep, I suddenly felt a strong jolt; the left wing of our plane had hit another jet’s right rear stabilizer.

Our plane came to a lurching stop, engines were immediately cut off, and we were quickly surrounded by ambulances, fire trucks, and police cars. Because of what the airline called”the incident”_ I call it a careless accident _ for the next two hours I was forced to face my own mortality as well as observing the behavior of the passengers and crew in crisis.

It was a sobering experience.

During the first minutes following the collision, I thought the plane’s fuel tank may have been pierced, and the terrifying possibility of fires and explosions crossed my mind.

I quickly noted the nearest exit in case we needed to make an emergency evacuation on inflated rubber slides. Would women and children be first? Or, more likely, would chaos ensue with everybody looking out for themselves? Shades of the Titanic.

The flight attendant in charge _ or the coordinator (how I love airline euphemisms!) _ admitted candidly over the PA system that she didn’t know what was happening _ poor woman _ and a nervous laughter emerged from the passengers.

In an effort to keep the passengers mentally sedated, an inane comedy was shown on the movie screens, and my own anxiety ebbed by listening to a glorious violin concerto through earphones.

The reaction of the passengers to the accident was a microcosm of human behavior under stress.

A pilot who was a passenger muttered”ridiculous,”and continued working a crossword puzzle. A business executive repeatedly banged his fist into his palm yelling,”Damn!” One man took photographs of the accident with a telephoto lens, hoping to sell them to a news service. Incredibly, in an act of both addiction and nervousness, one passenger tried to light a cigarette. And, sadly, a few grew short of breath or complained about back and neck injuries sustained in the collision.

As the tense minutes ticked by, a voice from the cockpit calmly told us that no fuel was leaking from the damaged wing, meaning no fire, no explosion.

I wondered if the soothing voice belonged to the pilot who had only minutes earlier dangerously banged the multimillion dollar, fuel-laden aircraft filled with 250 people into another equally vulnerable plane. If so, he was amazingly composed.

I eagerly awaited the coordinator’s next update, as a patient in intensive care hangs on every word of the doctors (pilots) and nurses (flight attendants). Suddenly, the plane began to sway and enormous bolts of lightning filled the sky. Torrential rain and thunder followed.

The agitated coordinator informed us that neither plane could be moved until an accident investigation took place. But once the storm subsided, she promised we would be bussed back to the terminal. As the high winds shook the plane, everyone was keenly aware that we were sitting atop thousands of gallons of fuel on an exposed taxiway in a severe lightning storm.

It occurred to me how comforting it was to know that I had prepared a will and that my affairs were in order should I die in this airplane. Following an initial wave of fear, I became angered at the ridiculousness of possibly dying because of someone else’s foolish error.

The thunderstorm passed and we returned to the terminal, and I said a traditional Jewish prayer of thanksgiving. Warm and fuzzy airline personnel offered us snacks, ginger ale, coffee, psychological counseling, and, of course, flight re-bookings.

Unfortunately, because of the”incident,”the severe weather and scheduling difficulties, I was unable to get to Georgia in time for the church rededication. I called the pastor to explain the situation.

The Rev. Harry Baldwin offered me some needed consolation:”My brother, thank God no one was hurt.”And he invited me to preach in his new church some Sunday morning, an event I eagerly anticipate. But maybe I’ll take the bus or train to get there.

MJP END RUDIN