March 17, 2026|כ"ח אדר ה' אלפים תשפ"ו Never ‘Stuck’ in Israel: Turning Disrupted Plans into Purpose
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In the past few days and weeks, many people have spent countless hours online and on hold with airlines, desperately trying to arrange travel out of Israel. People are scrambling for seats on so-called “rescue flights,” constantly refreshing airline websites, messaging travel agents, and waiting on endless hold lines. Others have begun complicated journeys through multiple countries, routing themselves through places they never imagined they would pass through, all in an effort to find a way home.
Amid all this, many have described themselves as “stuck” in Israel. Flights are canceled or delayed, plans are disrupted, and the uncertainty of war makes it difficult to know when one will be able to travel.
It is understandable that people feel anxious and unsettled. It is reasonable to be frustrated and disappointed. Being far from where one intended to be, separated from family, or unsure of travel plans is stressful. Some were scheduled to travel to where they are living. Others were meant to travel for simchas. But words matter. Describing the situation as being “stuck” is not only inaccurate hashkafically but can also be insensitive to the millions of Israelis for whom this is not a temporary inconvenience but their daily reality.
Visitors may feel frustrated that they cannot leave when they planned. Israelis, however, live in Israel. They raise families there, go to work, send their children to school, and run to shelters when sirens sound. This is not a place they, or we, are ever “stuck.” It is their home, and the courage with which they continue living their lives under fire is extraordinary.
Language shapes perspective. When we say we are “stuck,” it implies helplessness and resentment. It suggests we are someplace we aren’t meant to be. But the truth is that even when we intend to be elsewhere, once we exhaust all initiative and effort to get there, wherever we find ourselves is where we are meant to be.
I have shared this insight many times before, almost weekly in our Living with Emunah class, but it constantly bears repeating, particularly in times like these. It is illustrated well by a story that occurred almost sixty years ago. In 1967, Mrs. Miriam Swerdlov attended a Chabad-sponsored convention for women and girls in Detroit. After the inspiring event, while waiting to board the plane home, Miriam and about twenty other women learned that the flight was canceled due to a snowstorm. The women were somewhat panicked: they felt their families needed them, they had been away long enough, and they urgently wanted to return home.
The group rushed to a payphone and called the Chabad headquarters in New York to ask the Rebbe what to do. Mrs. Swerdlov recalled how the leader of the group, Mrs. Miriam Popack, spoke with Rabbi Binyomin Klein, the Rebbe’s secretary, and told him that they were stuck in Detroit. He put them on hold and a minute later returned.
“The Rebbe doesn’t understand the word ‘stuck,’” he said.
Mrs. Popack proceeded to explain what “stuck” meant, to which Rabbi Klein replied, “The Rebbe knows what ‘stuck’ means. The Rebbe says that a Jew is never stuck.”
Caught off guard by the Rebbe’s response, the women immediately got the message and rose to the occasion. They spread throughout the airport and began handing out Shabbat candles to the Jewish women they met. The result: “There are women and families today all over the United States lighting Shabbat candles because we got ‘stuck’ in Detroit.” (As told by Mrs. Miryam Swerdlov, Here’s My Story (JEM) No. 121)
Recently, at Boca Raton Synagogue, we had the privilege of hearing from Sapir Cohen, who was abducted from Nir Oz on October 7 and held by Hamas for 55 days, together with her fiancé Shasha, who was held separately. She described being dragged out from her hiding spot under a bed, placed on a motorcycle between two terrorists, and driven back into Gaza, where she was abused by civilians. She spoke about her harrowing time being held first aboveground and then in a tunnel.
During her first few days in captivity, Sapir said she kept replaying what had happened, second-guessing her decisions. Why had she and her boyfriend gone to his family for the Chag? Why had she hidden under that bed instead of in a different spot?
After several days of feeling tortured not only by her captors but also by her own thoughts, Sapir experienced a major shift in perspective. She said to herself: If this is where I am and I have no choice but to be here, this is where God wants me to be. Now the question is why. What is my mission?
Sapir described being held with a teenage girl who was struggling terribly with their situation. From the moment she stopped thinking of herself as stuck and began believing she was there for a reason, she became determined to help this girl survive. She took the girl under her wing, encouraged her, and even took risks to make sure she had enough food.
When they were told they were being taken into the tunnels, the girl panicked. Sapir tried to lighten the moment, saying, “We are in Gaza, and what is Gaza’s biggest attraction? The tunnels. We can’t be here and not see them for ourselves.”
With humor and positivity, she shifted the girl’s mindset from helplessness to hope, and from dread to determination. After 55 days in captivity, Sapir and the young girl were released in the final swap on November 30.
Last week, we concluded the second book of the Torah with the pasuk:
כִּי֩ עֲנַ֨ן ה' עַֽל־הַמִּשְׁכָּן֙ יוֹמָ֔ם וְאֵ֕שׁ תִּהְיֶ֥ה לַ֖יְלָה בּ֑וֹ לְעֵינֵ֥י כל־בֵּֽית־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל בְּכל־מַסְעֵיהֶֽם׃
For over the Tabernacle a cloud of Hashem rested by day, while fire would appear in that cloud by night—in the view of all the house of Israel throughout their journeys.
Rashi asks: If the cloud was also on top of them when they encamped, why does it specifically say the cloud rested on their journeys? He answers that each encampment is also a journey. Where we find ourselves is where we are meant to be. It is part of our adventure and journey of life.
The same is true of our journey through life. Pauses, interruptions, and setbacks are an inevitable part of a person’s sojourn on earth. But when everything a person does is directed toward the goal of sanctifying the world, these pauses themselves become journeys. Ultimately, these unplanned stops become catalysts that propel us forward toward the realization of our mission and purpose.
Especially in moments of uncertainty, words matter. Instead of saying we are stuck, perhaps we should ask a different question: Why am I here right now? What opportunity is in front of me? Who can I help? What can I do with the time and place God has given me? What is my mission in this moment?
Whether at a red light, a delayed or canceled flight, on the side of the road with a flat tire, in bed with the flu, or anywhere else in life, a Jew is never stuck.
A Jew is always where they are meant to be. Exhaust all the initiative that is appropriate to take. Make every effort to achieve your travel goals. But if you hit a wall, take a moment to feel frustrated, disappointed, anxious, or upset. And then work to let those emotions go, to move past them, and instead ask yourself: What is my mission in this moment? What am I meant to accomplish where I am instead of focusing on where I wanted to be? How can I make this unintended stop a meaningful part of my journey?
Instead of calling being in Israel “stuck,” we can learn from the example of our brothers and sisters who live there. They do not see themselves as trapped. They embrace the truth that they are exactly where they are meant to be, on the front lines of our destiny, witnessing miracles firsthand, and heroically fulfilling their mission in the moment.
May the skies over Israel return to being safe, open, and free, allowing everyone to travel, come, and go safely and securely.