I suspect this post is going to take rather longer for me to write than normal, because of the circumstances in which I am writing it. You see, I’m going to have to stop writing every couple of minutes, in order to pinch myself. At 11:10 this (Sunday) morning, Bernice and I drove away from home in Maale Adumim. Less than six and a half hours later, we were seated on a Boeing 737 as it lifted off from Ben Gurion airport, and we are currently cruising above the Mediterranean, winging our way to Madrid.

At no point in those six and a half hours did I actually believe that we would take off: the media have been full of stories of El Al flight cancellations to various European destinations, and friends have been kind enough to share with us horror stories of flights being cancelled, in one case after the passengers had been sitting on the plane for over an hour.

While that last scenario probably represents something fairly close to the innermost circle, the particular hell that air travel currently seems to aspire to become also includes several outer circles, less dire, but still a long way from looking like any sane person’s ideal Sunday afternoon. So, we were fully expecting to experience a slow death by queuing today, having heard horror stories of three- and four-hour queues, stretching out of the airport terminal entrance.

If any of you are Britons who have never visited Israel, then you may well be thinking to yourselves: ‘Well, I can think of many worse ways to while away a few afternoon hours than standing quietly in a queue making new friends, discussing Wimbledon and trading a cheese sandwich for a scotch egg.’ If that’s what you’re thinking, then let me disabuse you.

A queue in Israel is nothing less than a field of play on which a deadly serious contest is fought. Points are awarded for queue-jumping, ideally without being detected by those whose place you usurp. However, if you are detected, you can gain extra points by bluffing – ‘I just want to ask one quick question’; ‘I was actually in the queue here, but I just went to help an elderly gentlemen who was having breathing difficulties’– or, if that fails, by imposing your greater force of personality on the (usually native-English-speaking) wimp whose place you have taken: ‘No! You’re wrong! I definitely joined the queue ahead of you’.

If the competition seems to be lacking sufficient liveliness, then the referees (those ‘managing’ the queue – cashiers, receptionists, stewards and suchlike) are expected to stir things up, either by shouting at the competitors indiscriminately, or by siding with the most blatant queue-jumpers.

Bearing all that in mind, Bernice and I had very low expectations of today. Advised by the travel authorities to arrive at the airport four hours before our flight departure time, we arrived, as planned, and as per Bernice’s insistence, five hours before. Our first experience was slightly ominous. There is a vehicle checkpoint at the entrance to the airport, which is often busy. However, today there were longer queues than I have ever seen. Of course, we are at the peak of the Israeli summer holiday season, so this was not completely unexpected. At least the traffic was flowing fairly smoothly through the checkpoint, and we soon arrived at the terminal, where we were pleased to see that the queue did, at least, not start outside the building.

When we first arrived, our flight was, unsurprisingly, not yet displayed on the departures board. However, after only ten minutes, it did appear (which, of course, totally vindicated Bernice’s insistence on our arrival time). As a result, we were about tenth in the queue for check-in, and the process, from security questioning to checking in luggage and receiving boarding cards, took only 15 minutes.

The queue for screening hand luggage was very, very long, and that leg of the process took 40 minutes. However, everyone in the queue was very well behaved, probably because most were in a holiday mood. In addition, the queue was excellently stewarded, and all of the staff did all they could to make the process as efficient and calm as possible,

This stage of the queuing included a priority queue for the infirm; when Bernice shuffled over to ask whether, as a couple in their 70s, we qualified, she was politely told that the minimum age for qualification was 80. I wanted to ask the steward whether, if we were still queuing when I turned 80, we would then be allowed to upgrade to the priority queue, but Bernice advised against it.

The hand luggage check itself was the most efficient I have ever seen at any airport. My two titanium hips of course set off the metal detector, as they always do. However, since I had previously removed my watch, belt, wedding ring, keys, change purse, phone, glasses and kipa clips, we were able to complete the personal frisk swiftly. Passport control (biometric, with no human involvement) was almost instantaneous, and then there we were in the departure lounge.

We needed to select some kosher wine to last us the five shabbatot of our trip, and the queue for the duty free checkout was the least ruly of the whole day, with many passengers playing the supermarket trick of one traveller holding a place in the queue with a trolley containing one bottle of whisky, and the other traveller foraging for perfume, cigarettes, toys and chocolate, and scurrying back to the trolley every few minutes with another treasure.

However, by this stage, we knew that we would have plenty of time to kill, so we were no longer stressed. Indeed, we had time for a leisurely lunch at Aroma before sauntering to our gate for a final wait in Israel. The flight was called almost on time, and, apart from a couple of ugly arguments with passengers whose carry-on cases were clearly too large for the luggage bins, and who were required to hand over the bags to be stored in the hold, boarding passed without incident, and, as I say, we were soon airborne, and winging our way to Madrid.

‘And why Madrid?’ you ask. I’m glad you asked. Since we last flew, TAP has stopped flying from Israel, and now offers only a code-share on an El Al flight. El Al is the only carrier that still flies direct to Lisbon, and I suspect they would like to drop the flight, and concentrate on their more profitable North American routes and flights to more popular European destinations such as London. It will of course be easier for them to justify axing the route if they can demonstrate that it is not popular, and they have come up with a smart way to create a lack of demand. For a return flight to Lisbon, they now charge over $1200, which is as much as or a little more than they charge for some transatlantic destinations.

El Al flights to Madrid, however, are less than half that price, which is why we are flying to Madrid. The drive to the kids is almost an hour longer than from Lisbon, but it is, by all accounts, a very attractive drive. We decided to take advantage of this change of plan, and have a week in Madrid before crossing the border. This also means that I ought to feel more rested before the drive.

All of which means that next week I might have something to say about Spain’s treatment of the Jews – as a change from Portugal’s. We will, by then, have reached Portugal as well, so I can bring you up to date on Tslil and Micha’el and Tao. Who knows, I may even have some extra family news to share with you. But for now, I’m going to stop here and start worrying about whether our luggage is currently flying to Madrid as well.

Quick update on Monday evening. We, and our luggage, moved fairly swiftly and uneventfully through Madrid airport and arrived at our hotel in good time. Nothing more to report at time of writing, so the usual two photos this week: Tao enjoying a good story, and Raphael just enjoying.