While I was waiting in the aisle, I looked to my right and saw him in a middle seat. Even without the white woven cap on his shaved head, the unpretentious reading glasses, the long, grey, scraggly beard, and the white robes hemmed with ornate gold lace, I could have still told you that he was holy, by the way he had his arms crossed and folded up under his armpits, his eyes closed, his head nodding slightly forward. He was not sleeping. He couldn’t have held that posture if he was. While everyone else watched their screens, tapped on them, listened to their headphones, he sat there in silence and prayed for us all.