The Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 34:8) quotes Rabi Yitzchak, “The Torah teaches us that when one does a mitzvah, he should do it with a happy heart. If Reuven had known that Hashem would write about him, ‘He saved him [Yosef] from their [the shevatim’s] hands,’ he would’ve picked Yosef up and carried him to his father. Similarly, had Boaz known that Hashem would write about him that ‘he handed her [Rus] parched grain,’ he would have fed Rus fattened cows.” (Rav Shimshon Pincus, Tiferes Shimshon)

Sitting in a sardine can — also known as the bowels of an airplane — means you have two choices. You either become best friends with your fellow sardines, or you’re in for a long, uncomfortable battle of wiggles.

I settled into my seat gingerly, checking out my seatmate. Platinum blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, manicured nails, and a designer handbag. I tried to stow my ancient knapsack unobtrusively and pulled myself into the corner of my seat. Surprising me, my neighbor stretched out her hand and said, “Hi! I’m Lisa. This is my first trip to Israel.”

I returned her greeting, watched one perfect eyebrow rise at my Yiddish name. But then as the engine roared to life, we began chatting, discovering two kindred spirits. “I only have two kids, nothing like your family, but I find myself chauffeuring all day long.”

Lisa eyed my kosher meal but didn’t comment. Instead the conversation jumped comfortably from bedtime to nutrition, and on to safety. The hours flew as Lisa and I chatted like longtime friends.

When a person does a mitzvah, who records it? Eliyahu Hanavi and Mashiach record it, and Hashem signs their words. As it says in Malachi: (3:16) “Then the G-d-fearing men spoke to one another, and Hashem hearkened and heard it. And a book of remembrance was written before Him for those who feared Hashem…”

Reuven and Boaz did not properly value their actions. Reuven thought he was just saving his brother, but in reality he was saving Klal Yisrael, as we can only exist with all 12 shevatim. Had he understood that, and consequently put more effort into his actions, he could’ve prevented the entire exile of Mitzrayim. So too with Boaz. If he had realized that he was contributing to the birth of Mashiach, he would have put more effort into his actions.

Lisa was a proud Reform Jew. She said this almost defiantly, waiting for me to jump on the kiruv bandwagon and confront her. Yet I pulled back, leaving religion completely out of our discussions, sensing that any overtures in that area would be quickly challenged. Instead I kept the conversation on safe topics, stressing our similarities instead of our differences.

But when the time came to deplane, I felt a keen sense of disappointment. Lisa and I exchanged phone numbers, but already we were heading in our separate directions. Wasn’t there supposed to be a happily-ever-after ending here? Weren’t we supposed to embrace and promise to learn together, grow together, and Lisa and her family would become bona fide baalei teshuvah, all due to one chance encounter in a sardine can?

As we said our farewells, I knew I’d probably never hear from her again. Had I been wrong in not pushing Yiddishkeit? Wrong in not challenging her positions?

Every action of each Jew is being recorded in Shamayim and building the future for Mashiach’s arrival.

As it says in Pirkei Avos (2:1): “Be as careful with an easy mitzvah as with a more difficult one, since we don’t know the value of a mitzvah.” We have no idea what one small mitzvah can accomplish, but in Heaven its true value is recorded.

I walked down the Jetway, confusion and doubt wreaking havoc with my jet-lagged mind. I’d thought I had done the right thing, trying to make a kiddush Hashem as a nice normal woman who was also Orthodox. What did her future hold? If I would’ve known what her future held, would I have done more?

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 619)