17 Mar NEVER ‘STUCK’ IN ISRAEL: TURNING DISRUPTED PLANS INTO PURPOSE

In the past few days
and weeks, many
people have spent
countless hours
online and on hold
with airlines,
desperately trying to
arrange travel out of Israel. People are
scrambling for seats on so-called “rescue
flights,” constantly refreshing airline
websites, messaging travel agents, and
waiting on endless hold lines. Others
have begun complicated journeys through
multiple countries, routing themselves
through places they never imagined they
would pass through, all in an effort to find
a way home.
Amid all this, many have described
themselves as “stuck” in Israel. Flights
are canceled or delayed, plans are
disrupted, and the uncertainty of war
makes it difficult to know when one will
be able to travel.
It is understandable that people feel
anxious and unsettled. It is reasonable to
be frustrated and disappointed. Being far
from where one intended to be, separated
from family, or unsure of travel plans is
stressful. Some were scheduled to travel
to where they are living. Others were
meant to travel for simchas. But words
matter. Describing the situation as being
“stuck” is not only inaccurate
hashkafically but can also be insensitive
to the millions of Israelis for whom this is
not a temporary inconvenience but their
daily reality.
Visitors may feel frustrated that they
cannot leave when they planned. Israelis,
however, live in Israel. They raise
families there, go to work, send their
children to school, and run to shelters
when sirens sound. This is not a place
they, or we, are ever “stuck.” It is their
home, and the courage with which they
continue living their lives under fire is
extraordinary.
Language shapes perspective. When we
say we are “stuck,” it implies helplessness
and resentment. It suggests we are
someplace we aren’t meant to be. But the
truth is that even when we intend to be
elsewhere, once we exhaust all initiative
and effort to get there, wherever we find
ourselves is where we are meant to be.
I have shared this insight many times
before, almost weekly in our Living with
Emunah class, but it constantly bears
repeating, particularly in times like these.
It is illustrated well by a story that
occurred almost sixty years ago. In 1967,

Mrs. Miriam Swerdlov attended a
Chabad-sponsored convention for women
and girls in Detroit. After the inspiring
event, while waiting to board the plane
home, Miriam and about twenty other
women learned that the flight was
canceled due to a snowstorm. The women
were somewhat panicked: they felt their
families needed them, they had been
away long enough, and they urgently
wanted to return home.
The group rushed to a payphone and
called the Chabad headquarters in New
York to ask the Rebbe what to do. Mrs.
Swerdlov recalled how the leader of the
group, Mrs. Miriam Popack, spoke with
Rabbi Binyomin Klein, the Rebbe’s
secretary, and told him that they were
stuck in Detroit. He put them on hold and
a minute later returned.
“The Rebbe doesn’t understand the word
‘stuck,’” he said.
Mrs. Popack proceeded to explain what
“stuck” meant, to which Rabbi Klein
replied, “The Rebbe knows what ‘stuck’
means. The Rebbe says that a Jew is
never stuck.”
Caught off guard by the Rebbe’s response,
the women immediately got the message
and rose to the occasion. They spread
throughout the airport and began handing
out Shabbat candles to the Jewish women
they met. The result: “There are women
and families today all over the United
States lighting Shabbat candles because
we got ‘stuck’ in Detroit.” (As told by
Mrs. Miryam Swerdlov, Here’s My Story
(JEM) No. 121)
Recently, at Boca Raton Synagogue, we
had the privilege of hearing from Sapir
Cohen, who was abducted from Nir Oz
on October 7 and held by Hamas for 55
days, together with her fiancé Shasha,
who was held separately. She described
being dragged out from her hiding spot
under a bed, placed on a motorcycle
between two terrorists, and driven back
into Gaza, where she was abused by
civilians. She spoke about her harrowing
time being held first aboveground and
then in a tunnel.
During her first few days in captivity,
Sapir said she kept replaying what had
happened, second-guessing her decisions.
Why had she and her boyfriend gone to
his family for the Chag? Why had she
hidden under that bed instead of in a
different spot?
After several days of feeling tortured not
only by her captors but also by her own

thoughts, Sapir experienced a major
shift in perspective. She said to
herself: If this is where I am and I
have no choice but to be here, this is
where G-d wants me to be. Now the
question is why. What is my
mission?
Sapir described being held with a
teenage girl who was struggling
terribly with their situation. From
the moment she stopped thinking of
herself as stuck and began believing
she was there for a reason, she
became determined to help this girl
survive. She took the girl under her
wing, encouraged her, and even took
risks to make sure she had enough
food.
When they were told they were
being taken into the tunnels, the girl
panicked. Sapir tried to lighten the
moment, saying, “We are in Gaza,
and what is Gaza’s biggest
attraction? The tunnels. We can’t be
here and not see them for ourselves.”
With humor and positivity, she shifted the
girl’s mindset from helplessness to hope,
and from dread to determination. After 55
days in captivity, Sapir and the young girl
were released in the final swap on
November 30.
Last week, we concluded the second book
of the Torah with the pasuk:
ִּּכ֩י֩ ֲעֲַ֨נ�֨ ן ה‘- ַֽע� ֽל־ַהִַּמְּׁשׁ ָּּכ֙ן֙ יֹוָ֔מ ֔ ם- ְוְֵ֕א�֕ ׁש ִּתּ ְְה�ֶ֥י֥ה �ַ֖֖ל ֑ ְיְָלָה- ּ֑בֹו
֥י כל־ֵּֽ-ב� ֽית־ִיִ ְׂׂשָרָ �ֵ֖֖אל ְּבּכל-־ַמְַסְֵעֵיֶֽה� ֽם׃
ְְל �ֵעֵיֵ֥נ
For over the Tabernacle a cloud of
Hashem rested by day, while fire would
appear in that cloud by night—in the
view of all the house of Israel throughout
their journeys.
Rashi asks: If the cloud was also on top of
them when they encamped, why does it
specifically say the cloud rested on their
journeys? He answers that each
encampment is also a journey. Where we
find ourselves is where we are meant to
be. It is part of our adventure and journey
of life.
The same is true of our journey through
life. Pauses, interruptions, and setbacks
are an inevitable part of a person’s sojourn
on earth. But when everything a person
does is directed toward the goal of
sanctifying the world, these pauses
themselves become journeys. Ultimately,
these unplanned stops become catalysts
that propel us forward toward the
realization of our mission and purpose.
Especially in moments of uncertainty,

words matter. Instead of saying we are
stuck, perhaps we should ask a different
question: Why am I here right now? What
opportunity is in front of me? Who can I
help? What can I do with the time and
place G-d has given me? What is my
mission in this moment?
Whether at a red light, a delayed or
canceled flight, on the side of the road
with a flat tire, in bed with the flu, or
anywhere else in life, a Jew is never
stuck.
A Jew is always where they are meant to
be. Exhaust all the initiative that is
appropriate to take. Make every effort to
achieve your travel goals. But if you hit a
wall, take a moment to feel frustrated,
disappointed, anxious, or upset. And then
work to let those emotions go, to move
past them, and instead ask yourself: What
is my mission in this moment? What am I
meant to accomplish where I am instead
of focusing on where I wanted to be?
How can I make this unintended stop a
meaningful part of my journey?
Instead of calling being in Israel “stuck,”
we can learn from the example of our
brothers and sisters who live there. They
do not see themselves as trapped. They
embrace the truth that they are exactly
where they are meant to be, on the front
lines of our destiny, witnessing miracles
firsthand, and heroically fulfilling their
mission in the moment.
May the skies over Israel return to being
safe, open, and free, allowing everyone to
travel, come, and go safely and securely.