The Short Vort by Rabbi Eisenman

I was flying solo on the 1 AM El Al flight to Newark.

I had just completed an overwhelming and exhausting six days in Israel to attend my grandson's Bar Mitzvah.

I left the day after Tisha Bav-Wednesday, August 14, and was returning on Wednesday morning, August 21.

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

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

I no longer recall when I realized the flight attendant was standing by me.

He introduced himself as Ori and politely asked to speak with me.

I nodded.

I figured he wanted to know if I liked the food or if I knew his cousin from Brooklyn.

Obviously, I would be proven wrong once again.

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 asked if I was a rabbi.

It was then I knew that sleep was not on the immediate agenda.

Ori began to share his life with me, as only two Yidden can.

(Or at least as what seems to happen to me more than other people)

Like most secular Israelis, he was raised without exposure to Torah.

He was drafted into the IDF at eighteen 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 facilitated that dream.

That was fifteen years ago.

He was called up immediately after the horrific attack on October 7 and served seven months in Gaza.

He recently returned to his life as a flight attendant.

"In Gaza, our unit was comprised of men from various backgrounds. Two of them were very Dati (frum).

Every time we had to secure a building or search a tunnel, I was terrified, yet I noticed that the two fellows who wore kippot would say Tehillim before the mission, yet, more 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 a 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 will be 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 on his face.

I appreciated him and his comrades and envied their Zechus of protecting the Jewish people.

And I thought about how desperately he wanted Tzizit.

I also realized there are few places to secure Tzitzis in Newark, and certainly not at 5 AM when the plane was scheduled to land.

Suddenly, the epiphany struck, and my befuddled mind cleared as clarity took hold.

I was in Israel for less than a week and only traveled with hand luggage.

I realized my wife's reminder to pack extra pairs of Tzitzit was nothing less than visionary.

"Ori, we don't have to wait until Newark. We can do it here at an altitude of 30,000 feet over the Atlantic Ocean.

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

The radiance from Simcha on Ori's face illuminated the entire cabin.

I blissfully drifted into a peaceful sleep as Ori disappeared to don his protective garment.

As sleep overtook me, I was simultaneously amazed at Hashem's choreography of the world and my wife's farsighted wisdom.