To be honest, I don’t know who spoke in tongues – Floyd or the Israeli driver, but it doesn’t matter.
After overcoming a couple of hairy obstacles – finding someone to stay with our three children for two weeks and getting the Greeks to let me board the airplane and leave the country – we were finally on our way to Israel. We caught a military hop, which cost us a mere ten dollars per ticket, and flew into Tel Aviv on a commercial jetliner contracted for military use only. The plane would have flown to Israel almost empty, so the military made it available for a nominal fee for any US service personnel needing a ride. It’s kind of like hitchhiking.
When we arrived at Tel Aviv, there was a man waiting for us to transport the passengers and luggage to the customs gate at the airport. He’d brought a van and discovered that he needed a bus. There were 17 American passengers, all with luggage. He had to make two trips, and because the customs line would be long and slow, he thought it best to take all the passengers on the first trip so that they could get in line for customs while waiting for their luggage.
Now in Israel, you never leave luggage unattended. The airport officials will assume it’s explosives and they’ll blow it up. So the Israeli made a bee-line for a single guy and started talking to him. The American shook his head and said, “I don’t understand you.” So the Israeli tried again. But this time, the American shook his head and walked away. He said, “I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re saying.”
Not knowing what to do, the Israeli gentleman looked around for anyone who might understand what he was trying to say. Floyd stepped over to him and said, “I understand you. I’d be glad to stay behind with the luggage while you run the others to the customs gate.” Then Floyd turned to me and said, “You go with them. I’ll meet you over there.” I was okay with that, but the driver told Floyd that I should stay with him, and he would come back and get us both.
After everyone left, Floyd turned to me and said, “I don’t know what that guy’s problem was; that man spoke in perfect English.” I said, “He did? I didn’t understand a word he said. It may have been broken English, but it wasn’t perfect English.” Regardless, Floyd had absolutely no trouble understanding him, so he was surprised when I told him that I didn’t understand anything he said.
When the man returned for us, Floyd helped him load all the luggage and he drove us to where he’d dropped off the others. Because we were the last to arrive, we were at the very back of the customs line. There were at least 15 people in front of us. After unloading the luggage, the driver grabbed us and took us to the front of the line. He spoke in Hebrew to the customs agent who took our passports and promptly stamped us through without asking any questions.
Then the driver handed Floyd a piece of paper with his phone number on it and told him that when we were ready to go home to call him and he would make sure that we were on the plane. I listened very carefully to what he said. I still didn’t understand him. After he left, I asked Floyd what he said, so he told me. I said, “You really had no trouble understanding him?” I was astounded that Floyd understood him so plainly while Floyd was amazed that I couldn’t understand him at all.
Two weeks later at Tel Aviv International Airport, Floyd called him. He remembered us. There were a lot of people on the waiting list ahead of us, waiting to catch that flight to Greece. I thought there might be more passengers than seats, but it didn’t matter for us. We got on that plane, and since Tel Aviv wasn’t equipped to take American dollars for a military hop, our return flight was free. You see, it pays to have friends in High Places. Isn’t God exceedingly good?