A pair of stories from Greece. Which, if not exactly around the corner from the Holy Land, is at least in the neighborhood. Actually, the first story takes place in Chania, at an airport on the west end of the island of Crete. On the particular day in question, an Olympia Airlines 727 is deplaning a group of 100 angry passengers into a crowded terminal. Pandemonium follows. Voices are raised, followed by fists. Women and children are wailing. Someone threatens to leap over the counter to punch the agent. Police appear, billy clubs at the ready.

What has happened is this. The passengers were all destined for Heraklion at the other end of the island. Indeed, their luggage has already gone there on another plane. For reasons unclear, this Olympia Airlines 727 has landed at the wrong city and is now scheduled to fly elsewhere. What is left for the hundred passengers is a hard ride by bus, 150 miles to their destination. The passengers want blood. The hot-headed ones talk about commandeering a plane. Others make threats against the management of Olympia Airlines, complete with comments about management's ancestry on their mother's side.

Suddenly, a well-dressed German tourist who, heretofore, has been pacing in small circles on the rim of the chaos, begins to shout at no one in particular:  

Why am I here?
Where am I going?
What must I do?
What will become of me?
God in heaven, help me!

His cry is sufficiently frenzied so as to quiet all other chaos, as fellow travelers back cautiously away from him as if he were a mad dog in their midst. 

Suddenly a representative of Olympia Airlines steps forward to address him. "Excuse me, sir," he says, "but you have asked some very old questions. We Greeks have been working on those questions for over two thousand years. They are not easy to answer, then or now. In the meantime, I do not know what help God in heaven may be. But we of Olympia Airlines will see to it that you get to Heraklion. So if you please, sir, get on the bus."

Moral of story: To everything there is a season, a time to fly, a time to cry, a time to shout, and a time to ask philosophical questions. But there is also a time to get on the bus. 

Story #2

Story number two takes place in a sidewalk café in the Greek seacoast where two young Americans are arguing about whether human beings are basically bad or basically good. The animation of the conversation becomes even more understandable when I tell you that the two Americans are law students. First year law students. Having lived with one of those, I know that young lawyers cut their academic teeth on argumentation. They will debate anything, with anybody, at any time. And should they convince you that their position is right and yours is wrong, they will then switch sides and argue yours, just for the fun of it.   

In the middle of the argument, one of the students points to his glass of wine and suggests (sagely) that pondering whether human beings are basically bad or basically good is like trying to solve the riddle as to whether a wine glass is half empty or half full, in other words, a matter of perception.

His companion disagrees. "Not so," he says. "We can precisely calculate the amount of wine in a given glass at a given time, provided that proper definitions of ‘empty' and ‘full' can be agreed upon in advance." So they motion for the waiter and inquire as to whether the café as any instruments with which to measure and calculate.  

The waiter, an old Greek wise in the ways of first year law students, asks the purpose of such a request, and is told that such measuring devices are needed to solve the question as to whether this particular wine glass is half empty or half full. The waiter looks at the two young men. Then he looks at the wine. Following which he smiles, picks up the glass, swirls the contents, sniffs the aroma, and (with nary a word to anyone) drinks it down with great relish and walks away.   

Moral of story: Among the seasons listed earlier, there is a time to debate, and a time to drink the wine.