“When we land in Newark, please direct me to the closest store where I can purchase tzitzit”

I was flying alone on the 1 a.m. El Al flight from Tel Aviv to Newark.

I was exhausted and not expecting any conversation as I sat quietly in my aisle seat.

Yet as so often happens, Hashem has His plans for us.

I no longer recall when I realized the flight attendant was standing next to me. He introduced himself as Ori and politely asked to speak with me.

I nodded.

At this point, the pilot announced he was dimming the lights on the plane.

The plane was now silent, and except for the luminance of a few screens, the aircraft’s interior was dark.

Ori began to share his life with me, as only two Yidden can. Like most secular Israelis, he was raised without exposure to Torah. He was drafted into the IDF at 18 and served in a combat unit.

After three years of mandatory service, he wanted to see the world, and decided that being a flight attendant for El Al was a perfect way to realize that dream.

That was 15 years ago.

He was called up immediately after the horrific attack on Simchas Torah and served seven months in Gaza. He recently returned to his life as a flight attendant.

After sharing his life with me, he asked, “You are a rabbi, correct?”

After reluctantly admitting I was, he continued.

“In Gaza, our unit was comprised of men from various backgrounds. Two of them were very dati.

“Every time we had to secure a building or search a tunnel, I was terrified. I noticed that the two fellows who wore kippot would say Tehillim before the mission, yet strikingly, they never appeared afraid.

“The two dati soldiers were always calm and at peace no matter how dangerous the building we had to secure was.

“When I asked them how they felt that way, they answered with one word: bitachon. I also noticed that they wore tzitzit and asked how I could get this special protective garment.

“Very soon after that, I was wearing military-issued army-green tzitzit.

“I wore them for my entire tour of duty in Gaza.

“They saved my life time and time again.

“When I was finally discharged from my reserve unit, I decided I would continue to wear tzitzit, and for the first month or so, I kept my promise.

“However, as time passed and I returned to flying, I began to ‘forget’ to wear my tzitzit.

“I received a notice yesterday that I am being recalled to my reserve unit next week.

“As the plane took off tonight, I noticed you took out a siddur. You reminded me of the dati soldiers of my unit.

“I realized that I, too, needed that added protection.

“Rabbi, I need my tzitzit!

“When we land in Newark, please direct me to the closest store where I can purchase tzitzit.”

I looked at Ori and felt the pain reflected on his face.

I appreciate him and his comrades and envy their zechus of protecting the Jewish People.

And I thought about how desperately he wanted tzizit.

Suddenly, the epiphany struck. My befuddled mind cleared and clarity prevailed.

I had been in Israel for less than a week, so I was only traveling with hand luggage.

I realized my wife’s reminder to pack extra pairs of tzitzis was nothing less than prescient.

“Ori, we don’t have to wait until Newark. We can do it here at an altitude of 30,000 feet.”

I pulled my bag from the overhead compartment and proudly presented Ori with a freshly laundered pair of Rabbi Eisenman’s personal tzitzis.

The joyful radiance that lit up Ori’s face seemed to illuminate the dim cabin.

As Ori disappeared to don his protective garment, I blissfully drifted into a peaceful sleep, marveling at both Hashem’s choreography of the world and my wife’s farsighted wisdom.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1029)