Sometimes, moments in our life which seem to hold no potential carry more than we would have expected. Let me tell you about one such time.
Zahava, my daughter, was on her way to Eretz Yisrael. You know how it is when you’re about to board a long flight—eight, nine, maybe ten hours—and you find yourself hoping that the person seated next to you is at least friendly, maybe even open to conversation.
As it turned out, Zahava ended up next to a woman who was clearly Israeli and looked to be in her late middle age. But she also clearly looked hardened and worn, her face set in a permanent scowl. She didn’t greet Zahava or even acknowledge her presence. It was evident that she had no interest in chatting with an 18-year-old seminary girl. So Zahava kept to herself.
At some point mid-flight, something unexpected happened. A child a few rows ahead did something genuinely funny. And for the first time, the woman broke into a small, reluctant smile. Zahava smiled too. She saw an opening and gently took it. Turning to her, she commented, “That was pretty funny, huh?” Then, impulsively, she added, “You know, you’re actually very beautiful.”
The woman looked at her, startled. “No,” she said, flatly. “I’m not beautiful.” Tough response. But Zahava didn’t let go.
“What’s your name?” Zahava asked. “Rina,” the woman replied. “Well,” Zahava smiled, “I think I’ll call you Rina HaYafah (Rina, the beautiful).” The woman looked at her, almost amused. “Rina HaYafah?” she repeated. Something inside her had softened. The cracks in her armor began to show.
They spoke for a few minutes. And then, almost suddenly, the woman’s expression shifted. The smile faded... and she broke.
“I know I look angry and I know I seem harsh. But why shouldn’t I be?” she said. “I had one son, and he was murdered on October 7th. I have no one left, except an elderly mother I care for... and a dog. That’s it. I’m furious with G-d. I don’t believe anymore. How could G-d take my only child from me?” Zahava sat in silence. You never know who you’re sitting next to. You never know the story behind someone’s scowl.
Zahava reached out and gently took Rina’s hand. And as she did, tears dropped from her eyes, falling upon her cheeks. And when Zahava cried, Rina cried too. The two of them, strangers just hours before, were now weeping side by side in airplane seats, bound together in pain.
“What was your son’s name?” Zahava finally asked. “Rami,” Rina got out, her voice cracking between her words. “I’m so sorry...” Zahava whispered. “I’m so sorry...Your loss is our loss. I want to do something in Rami’s memory.” “He doesn’t need anyone to do anything for him,” Rina said, regaining some of her voice. “He’s where he should be. I’m not worried about Rami.” “I’m not doing it for him,” said Zahava. “I want to do something for myself, so I can feel connected to him.”
After a long pause, Rina spoke up. “When you go to the Kotel, pray for him. Have him in mind.” “I’ll do that,” Zahava promised, “but only if you come with me.”
And to Zahava’s surprise, Rina complied. “Okay. I’ll come with you.”
This same woman, who just minutes earlier said she no longer believed in G-d, now agreed to accompany a seminary girl to the Kotel. She started calling Zahava, “Zahava HaNesicha,” Zahava the Princess, as Zahava continued calling her Rina HaYafah.
They kept in touch over the phone in the days that followed. And just before Rosh Hashanah, the two of them went together to the Kotel and prayed for Rami.
Life is filled with infinite opportunities to bring Kavod Shamayim, honor to Heaven. In every moment, in every encounter, there’s a possibility to lift the world a little higher.
This year, more than ever, I’ve heard people say, “I’m not feeling it.” And truth be told, I’ve felt that way too. There’s a heaviness in the air, a kind of emotional numbness. The world is overwhelming, and our minds are scattered.
The Gemara (Eruvin 65a) rules that a person who has just traveled is exempt from davening for three days. When one travels, it leaves the mind confused, or fatumult as they say in Yiddish. Since prayer requires kavana, concentration, when your thoughts are all over the place, you can’t connect. Of course, we still daven because these days we rarely have the full scope of kavana anyway. But the Gemara is pointing to something deeper, and that is that our ability to stand before G-d is tied to our ability to be mentally present. And if just travel can disorient the soul, how much more so the chaos of our world today?
But we don’t want these days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur to pass us by. We don’t want to look back on the Yamim Noraim and realize we waited too long for inspiration that never came. The gates are open this time of year, and many of us may still be waiting to feel something.
But perhaps there is another way to look at it. Perhaps now, right now, is the moment. Perhaps right now is the moment when we look at our life and say, “It is beautiful and I am the princess. Hashem wants me to return, no matter what.”
Maybe today is the day and tonight is the night. Even if you’re not feeling it, even if you don’t have answers, even if everything around you is uncertain and unknown. This moment is beautiful and the opportunity is awaiting.
So grab hold, with whatever breath you have left in you, and reach forward. Reach forward, however slightly you are able.
Rina HaYafah would tell you so.
