I

 hated every minute of my younger sister’s wedding. My father-in-law had passed away just four months earlier, and my husband, Avrumi, who had taken the loss very hard, was still in aveilus, and had to sit outside the wedding hall the entire time. We had flown from Eretz Yisrael to Manchester for the wedding, but Avrumi was in no mood for a simchah, and his inability to enjoy the celebration made the whole trip miserable for me.

That’s why, a year and a half later, when my next sister, Shani, was getting married, I relished the opportunity to once again fly to England for a wedding. This time, I hoped to enjoy the simchah more, because Avrumi was no longer in aveilus, and because we’d be leaving my three older children behind. I had just given birth to my fourth child, and with four kids under the age of five, I badly needed a break. Spending a week with my family and attending my sister’s wedding and sheva brachos would not be particularly restful, I knew, but it would be a welcome change of pace.

This trip would be the first time since my father-in-law’s passing that Avrumi and I would be going away as a couple, albeit with a six-week-old baby. It would be a chance to reconnect, a healing getaway that would enable us to finally escape the pall that my father-in-law’s passing had cast over our lives. Two years had passed since the petirah, and Avrumi still hadn’t gotten back to his easygoing self. He was always sad, stressed, and on edge. This trip, I imagined, would usher in a new, brighter season of our life.

We booked airline tickets, flying to Manchester with an overnight stopover in Zurich, since at the time direct flights from Tel Aviv to Manchester were infrequent and expensive. Not wanting to leave our kids for too long, we booked the initial leg of the flight for Monday, the day before the wedding, and the connecting flight from Zurich for early the following morning. With each passing day, my anticipation mounted.

I had every detail worked out in my mind. We’d arrive at the airport early, with plenty of time before the flight, so that Avrumi and I could stroll around the shopping area and spend some relaxed time together. On the flight, we’d sit and schmooze — just the two of us, for a change. We’d get to my mother-in-law’s house in Zurich early in the evening, with plenty of time for us to get a good night’s sleep so that we’d be rested before the wedding.

Our departure did not go as smoothly as planned, however. I had arranged for my older children to stay with my sister-in-law in Eretz Yisrael, but my youngest, who was not yet two, did not take well to our departure, and he clung to me fearfully. His wailing was still echoing in my ears when we pulled up at the airport.

We arrived at the airport with time to spare, but the check-in lines that day were unusually long, and we had to wait an hour and a half to check our bags. By then, shopping was out of the question; we had to rush through the airport just to get to the gate in time for boarding. I had been so busy packing up the kids before I left that I hadn’t had time to prepare food for Avrumi and me. I figured we’d buy something to eat in Ben-Gurion Airport, but after waiting so long to check in, we didn’t even have time to buy a bag of pretzels before rushing to border control and security.

While waiting to clear security, we met my uncle, who was traveling to the wedding on a different flight. “There’s a hurricane heading toward England,” he informed us. “Lots of flights to Heathrow are being canceled.”

It’s a good thing we’re flying to Zurich, not directly to England, I thought. By the time we take off for Manchester tomorrow, the hurricane will be over.

Our flight did not escape the hurricane’s path, however. An hour before landing, the seatbelt sign flashed on, and through the window I saw huge black clouds swarming around us. Soon, the plane started to jump, throwing all the passengers violently as the wind sucked the power from its engines. People began coughing, vomiting, and crying — myself included. Avrumi sat frozen, his face ghostly white. Panicky, I kept telling myself that I was in Hashem’s hands, just as my little baby was cradled in mine and blissfully oblivious to the turbulence.