Reflections on October 1, 2026 FlyDubai Flight 1073 to Tel Aviv

Wonder Beyond Explanation

Every morning of חוֹל הַמּוֹעֵד, our sanctuary fills with the joyful melodies of הַלֵּל. And each time we reach the climax of Psalm 118, we recite those unforgettable words:

מֵאֵ֣ת יְ֭הוָה הָ֣יְתָה זֹּ֑את הִ֖יא נִפְלָ֣את בְּעֵינֵֽינוּ׃ "This emanates from God; it is astounding to our eyes."

Astounding. Not just fortunate timing, not simply favorable aerodynamics, but an unmistakable touch of the divine.

That same sense of awe reverberated through our community when word arrived about the crisis in the sky.

Consider how an unfolding catastrophe turned into deliverance: A cockpit door giving way just in time. An ordinary passenger keeping his composure, drawing on calm intuition to steady the yoke. Trained pilots traveling as passengers who stepped forward without hesitation to take the helm. Even with catastrophic structural damage behind them, the vessel held firm, finding runway beneath its wheels.

One hundred and seventy-four men, women, and children. Every single soul walked away onto the tarmac under their own strength. One hundred and seventy-four lives granted a renewal.

Three Sustaining Legacies

When we enter the embrace of the sukkah, we link our present breath to our shared past. We remember forty vulnerable years in the arid expanse of the desert.

The rabbis teach that our people did not survive on their own wits alone. They were sustained by three continuous wonders, each tied directly to the spiritual character of three leaders:

First, the בְּאֵר, the freshwater well that traveled with the camp, in the merit of מִרְיָם. The sister who stood guard beside the river reeds, ensuring the spark of continuity, brought refreshing water to quench the thirst of a weary nation.

Second, the heavenly sustenance of the מָן, in the merit of מֹשֶׁה. Because just as daily bread is absorbed into our very bones, Moshe brought Torah to become part of our inner spiritual anatomy.

And third, the עַנְנֵי הַכָּבוֹד, the canopy of divine clouds, in the merit of אַהֲרֹן. Aaron, who modeled what it means to be an אוֹהֵב שָׁלוֹם וְרוֹדֵף שָׁלוֹם, a champion of harmony. His capacity for peace manifest as an encompassing shade, blunting the harsh wilderness sun and holding everyone together in mutual safety.

Three miracles. Yet consider our ritual calendar: Which of the three did God ask us to reenact?

We sit beneath the סְכָךְ, expressly to recreate the shade of those ancient clouds.

Why this one? Why didn't tradition give us a festival where we gather around jars of water for Miriam, or distribute symbolic morsels of heaven's bread?

What Endures Across Generations

The Torah itself reveals the uncomfortable truth in the text of בְּמִדְבַּר.

When the wellsprings felt distant, the people protested. When the menu grew monotonous, they rebelled and recalled the garlic and leeks of their enslavement.

Yet in all forty years of wanderings, not once did our ancestors voice grievance over the protective canopy of the עַנְנֵי הַכָּבוֹד.

That sheltering space was received with unfiltered appreciation. It was met with pure, ungrudging gratitude.

And across more than three millennia, that distinction became our spiritual blueprint: The rituals that survive are the ones born out of thanksgiving, not resentment.

What an essential reminder for those of us raising children and building a communal future: What actually takes root in the soul of the next generation?

Young eyes do not cling to our complaints. They do not inherit our grudges, our cynicism, or our petty irritations.

What endures is what we delight in. When our homes radiate warmth, when our tables are filled with song, when our pride in our heritage is genuine and vibrant, our children say: "There is sweetness here. I want to build a life like that."

Ancient Echoes in Modern Skies

Earlier this week, high in the atmosphere, that ancient promise felt remarkably near.

Where did this rescue unfold? High among the clouds, suspended between heaven and earth.

Every single day our liturgy declares that the Holy One acts בְּכָל יוֹם, fashioning redemption not as a museum exhibit of the past, but as a living current in our own hours.

Sukkot invites the holy אוּשְׁפִּיזִין into our space: אַבְרָהָם, יִצְחָק, יַעֲקֹב, מֹשֶׁה. And on the very day this airplane fell through twenty thousand feet of terror and found its way to safety, the guest standing at our threshold was אַהֲרֹן הַכֹּהֵן, the guardian of the clouds. On Aaron's day, protection once again enveloped those in peril.

Years ago, amid the devastation of the Holocaust, the Klausenberger Rebbe, Rabbi Yekusiel Yehudah Halberstam, endured a brutal forced march. Surrounded by despair, dying of dehydration, he noticed a soft dampness beneath the soil during a brief rest. He urged the men around him to dig with their bare hands. Within inches, clear, cool water surfaced, restoring their parched bodies and reviving their spirit. The Rebbe later reflected that in the valley of the shadow of death, God opened Miriam's well anew.

Miracles do not belong to antiquity. They whisper in hidden pools of water, and they echo when a battered aircraft finds stillness on the ground.

Raising Our Feet in Joy

As we prepare to transition into שִׂמְחַת תּוֹרָה, we carry our aches, our communal concerns, and the heavy prayers of our people. Yet we also bring one hundred and seventy-four souls to our dancing. One hundred and seventy-four reasons to affirm life over fear.

When the music begins and the circle widens, let us dance with complete presence. Let us sing with full lungs, so that our children witness what it looks like to choose gratitude, to celebrate divine protection, and to rejoice in the gift of every single heartbeat.

Shabbat Shalom! חַג שָׂמֵח to each and every one of you.