As published at the Times of Israel Blog on July 17, 2024

“While we must always endeavor to think big and achieve accomplishments with global effects, never lose sight of the importance of a single individual achieving small actions. Little by little, you can make a difference.”
— Letter from the Lubavitcher Rebbe, dated 5 Tevet 5736 (1976)

“Think Globally, Act Locally”
— Popular saying from the 1970s

My friends and I wanted to spend Shabbat together in New York. However, a work matter came up the Thursday before our scheduled departure, and I could not go. I was disappointed because my friends and I cherished these Shabbat weekend trips as a time to reconnect and rejuvenate. Luckily, the work issue was resolved Friday morning, and I could go.

I booked a 2:00 p.m. flight from Dulles International Airport to New York’s Kennedy Airport. My destination was about 20 minutes from Kennedy. It was the middle of the summer, and Shabbat began around 9:00 p.m., so I had plenty of time.

My cab to the airport was on time, and I arrived at the departure gate at 12:30 p.m. Everything was perfect. Although the airport was crowded, I didn’t notice many flight delays.

Things changed quickly. At 1:00 p.m., I saw that my flight was delayed until 3:00 p.m. The weather seemed clear, making the delay perplexing. Still, there was plenty of time with a 45-minute flight and a 20-minute cab ride to my destination.

I went to get a cup of coffee, and by the time I returned to the gate, the departure time had been changed to 4:00 p.m. I was getting anxious, but I figured there was still plenty of time.

Relieved, I boarded the plane shortly after 4:00 p.m., confident I would still make it to New York with time to spare.

The plane pulled away from the gate, and we taxied toward the runway. Before reaching the runway, though, the pilot pulled over to the side and shut off the engines. That was not a good sign.

It was one of those small propeller planes, and the captain came out of the cockpit to announce something on the in-flight PA system.

“Due to storms between DC and New York, we have been instructed to hold here on the ground until things clear up. I am in touch with ground control, and as soon as we get clearance, we will be on our way.”

Uh-oh. Now, what do I do? Immediately, I started wondering about what halacha (Jewish law) would say when you are stuck on a plane during Shabbat. I boarded before Shabbat, but can I get off when it lands after Shabbat? If I do get off, would I end up stuck at an airport for all of Shabbat? Whom should I call?

As I contemplated my fate, the pilot walked down the aisle and talked with the passengers, stopping beside me.

“Are you trying to get to New York before the Sabbath?” (My yarmulka gave me away.)

“Yes.”

“Well, you aren’t going to make it. Would you like me to take the plane back to the gate so you can get off?”

“That would be great! Thank you.”

I had no idea what would happen after that, but I figured I would have an easier time making it home for Shabbat than to New York. The pilot got back on the PA system.

“I understand that some of you might be trying to make connections in New York. So, here’s what I will do. I will return to the gate and give everyone one chance to deplane. After that, whoever stays on board will be here for the duration.”

When the plane arrived at the gate, I grabbed my things, thanked the pilot, and ran off to get a cab. Now, I was fighting the clock to get home before Shabbat began.

Cabs were plentiful, and I hopped into the first one in line. After the delays and crazy trip where I went nowhere, I didn’t feel like talking much. But the driver was a talker. He was also a Muslim. Before I knew it, we were discussing our common ancestor, Abraham. He asked me about Shabbat and why I could not travel on the Sabbath. I inquired about Ramadan and how he managed the daily fasting. Our shared heritage as descendants of Abraham (which, he noted, made us cousins) provided a meaningful backdrop to our discussion.

Then, we hit traffic on the Washington, D.C. beltway. It was around 6:00 p.m., and I knew I’d still make it home for Shabbat. The driver, however, was not happy. He had been fasting all day. Given the hour and the heavy traffic, he would not make it to his Ramadan “break-fast” known as iftar.

We talked some more, which was pleasant enough, but he was unhappy. I thought of one way to cheer him up as we approached my house. I called my wife and explained that the poor driver was fasting all day for Ramadan and would not make it to his post-fast meal. We pulled up to the driveway, and my wife came out of the house with a nice kosher brisket sandwich.

In Arabic, he wished us “As-salaam alaykum”—peace be unto you—and drove off with a sandwich and a smile. My Hebrew reply was, “Shalom aleichem”—peace be unto you—my friend and erstwhile cousin.

When I arrived home that evening, I reflected more about my non-trip to New York and the unexpected delays and frustrations. In truth, I didn’t miss my destination; I had to be rerouted to reach it. The delays and frustrations of that day ultimately led to an awareness that our journeys often have hidden purposes, revealed through the simple yet profound acts of kindness and understanding we extend to others.

In times of rising antisemitism, we need to remember that every encounter is an opportunity to illuminate the world with kindness. Small acts, like a pilot seeing a yarmulka and recognizing the needs of a Jewish passenger or that same passenger recognizing the needs of a fasting Muslim driver, can bridge divides and foster positive connections. Ultimately, our actual destination is found in the heights we achieve in our character and spirit.

Let us remember to think globally and act locally. Our most minor actions can embody the timeless wisdom to “be a light unto the nations” and make a difference, one person and one encounter at a time.