On the Monday before leaving for Israel, the Covering Religion class at Columbia Journalism School got some advice from professor Ari Goldman about being journalists in the Holy Land -- and surviving airport security.

"Don't be intimidated by it," said Goldman. "Tell the truth and everything should be okay."

And so, after turning in 15 master's projects, the sleep-deprived religion journalists made their pilgrimage by car and bus to Newark Airport on March 10th. It was the first step of a ten-day journey to explore and report the religions of Israel.

They had spent six weeks among the New York communities of 16 faiths. Together they visited a mosque in Harlem, a Jewish Shabbat service and a Catholic mass in Morningside Heights. They heard reports and lectures about the ancient and secretive Druze, the Bahai's vision of religious unity, and the many facets of Christianity, Judaism and Islam.

The students were giddy at the prospect of the trip despite Goldman's warning that they would get "a pretty public workover" at the airport. While other passengers breezed through the gates of Alitalia and SAS, the journalists were stopped short at the El Al gate with a barrage of questions. What is your purpose in travelling to Israel? Do you own the bags you are carrying? Do you have a Hebrew surname? What is the last holiday you celebrated? Do you know your classmates? How long have you known them? Security, in the person of a young woman named Aia, suggested firmly that the group wait for their rabbi, co-professor Michael Paley.

Danielle Haas, a teaching assistant for the class and a former Jerusalem correspondent for Reuters, broke the deadlock with her Hebrew and familiarity with El Al protocol. "You learn how to make your life easier by knowing the right answers," she said. Despite rigorous security, Haas said that passengers were seldom denied boarding altogether. "In the rare instance you might be late for your flight."

The group made its way to the gate, and the delays continued. The arriving plane was late. Later El Al staff said the plane had experienced serious maintenance problems that had to be resolved before it could take off. Some students passed out on their luggage while others headed to the bar, where a favorite topic of conversation was their master's project -- the culmination of five months of work -- which they had turned in that morning.

Armen Terjimanian wrote his about the future of the American Armenian Church, which he also reported on for Covering Religion. "They really haven't shut down a church in America," he said. "If a church is struggling they'll really try to revive it." He is proud of his work, though he wonders if being an Armenian helped him or hurt him. "I was a little too close to the story," he said.

Victoria Schlessinger was worried about the opposite problem. She wrote about an evangelical Christian movement in favor of ecological responsibility. "I was surprised at how readily people would talk to me about being evangelical," she said. "I mean, I'm liberal, I'm from the Bay area."

Not every project was religious. Esha Bhandari spent months with the Columbia Water Polo team. "I have mixed feelings about the whole process," said Bhandari. "The last hour has gone a long way in helping me to let go."

Some students had a more sanguine view. "It's done, that's the important part," said Nate Herpich, who wrote about hair braiders in Harlem. "It worked out, it's in, I'm off to Israel."

As the hours wore on, Rabbi Paley took the opportunity to give a lecture to the group, in the unlikely classroom of an airport waiting area crowded with tourists and children and men in black gabardine. Paley said he had intentionally saved his last words of advice about their trip to Jerusalem. "This is the cacaphony of imagination that makes up that place," he said, gesturing to the chaos around him.

"I think we should think of ourselves as tourists, as witnesses and as pilgrims," said Paley, "It will make our journey richer." He described each kind of traveller to the Holy Land and invited the students to decide for themselves which they would be. He finished his talk by giving out dollar bills, explaining that the students were to give the money to the needy when they arrived. "If you give tzedaka, charity, it protects you on your journey."

As the sun began to set over the tarmac, three hours after the plane's original departure time, Jewish men lined up at the glass window to rock their bodies back and forth in evening prayer. It was a peaceful counterpoint to the screaming that had broken out at the gate, as a lone El Al employee tried to hold back a press of travellers, all anxious to arrive before the Shabbat on Friday night made travel difficult or impossible.

Finally the plane boarded, and the students left the ground at 7:38 p.m., four hours late. They tried to get some sleep, but awoke at around 2 a.m. New York time to the sound of morning prayers rolling through the airplane. In every open square foot of the plane men donned prayer shawls and tefillin -- the ritual boxes and straps with which traditional Jews bind Torah passages to their arms and foreheads -- and rocked in prayer.

Student Joshua Olesker had described donning tefillin with the Hasidim in Brooklyn. On the plane, he asked one of the young men near his seat to guide him through the binding ceremony again. The man obliged, binding the tefillin to Olesker's arm and forehead and guiding him phonetically through the prayer, which he read from his Palm Pilot. What was the prayer? "To be honest I'm not even sure," said Olesker. "You're thanking God for this way to tie yourself to Him."

At 37,000 feet, it seemed like a perfectly appropriate way to begin a tour, a story, a pilgrimage.