A few years ago, I was standing in a very long line at airport security, waiting for my turn to have my entire body and all my belongings radiated (x-ray). The line was held up because a few people in front of us had multiple alarm-setting-off items in pockets they forgot they had. The most suspicious of them was a seventy-year-old woman who tried to smuggle a bottle of peanut butter in a secret compartment on her wheelchair.
As the rest of us stood there because we didn’t have a choice, I turned to the person next to me and said, “Do you remember when we could just walk to the gate without being searched and seized?””
“Yeah.” She said, glumly. “Seems like that was forever ago.”
Before 9/11, we could walk, run, crawl or break dance to the departure gate with any/all our relatives, friends, enemies and casual acquaintances. We could pick up a few hobos, belly dancers, and condiments on the way and no one would care. But now? Now, a bottle of our favorite sandwich spread is prohibited from accompanying us to the gate.
“Hannah’s Day of Revelations” asks the question: “How many foolish things do we do, and allow to go on, out of fear?”