Oblivious to the Obvious

Aircraft maintenance has Yehuda and me delayed for a few hours at Jakarta’s Soekarno Hatta International Airport, as we await departure for Bali. Grounded passengers look gloomy as they lounge on oversized surfboards and grumble. They have been forced to replace adrenaline-rushed calls for “surf’s up” with anxious anticipation for “gear’s up.”

We both would rather not be inconvenienced by spending half a day in an under-construction terminal in the capital of the world’s most populous Islamic nation. That said, our experience over these past few weeks has taught us to consider a bump in the road as more of a hill to be climbed for a scenic view. Judaism teaches that everything happens for a reason. All that G-d does, He does for a purpose. When faced with a challenge or disruption, the Jew declares that “this too is for the good.”

Our visit to Indonesia, a republic which does not officially recognize Judaism, is in recognition of the inestimable value of every Jew. For decades, Lubavitch has dispatched hundreds of young Rabbis each summer to visit isolated and under-served Jewish communities. From Manila to Milan, the sight of a pair of Chabad Rabbis has become an expected norm during the summer season. From affixing a Mezuzah on a doorpost in Angeles City, Philippines, to knocking on doors in search of our brethren around Los Angeles county, California, the Rabbinical Visitation Program has been the only exposure some have had to their latent Jewishness. It is a refreshing boost for their prized identity.

It is this awareness of every Jew’s untold worth, and his or her indispensability, that enhanced our past Shabbos. Ever the fantasists, Yehuda and I were planning for the service and festive meal to be held at our hotel in a central area of the bustling metropolis. It would be convenient and simple. We were to gather the Jews and hire a function room at our comfortable lodgings to host our guests for what would be an unforgettable Shabbos.

Man devises and G-d compromises. To include a Jewess who would otherwise not have been able to attend, we scrambled to find a new venue that was closer to her home. Thankfully everything was moving along smoothly, aside from our efforts to find appropriate accommodations where we could stay agreeably and safely for the weekend. Left with no practical alternatives, we booked a room at a proper establishment about thirty minutes from where the Shabbos dinner would be hosted.

The function was inspirational. Graced by a multinational group, the table was filled with delicious food, and pounded by palms beating to the tunes of traditional Jewish melodies. Despite maneuvering through unfriendly terrain and faces on the half-hour trudge back to our hotel, the change of location proved worthwhile. Every single Jew is worth it.

For the rest of Shabbos, the two of us studied, joked, and carped over the lack of an alternative hotel. We theorized on what truly motivated us to move the party across town to accommodate one Jew. As the close of Shabbos came, so did a lesson into the Almighty’s mysterious ways.

As we had scheduled, I headed down to meet a friend in the lobby an hour after Shabbos. However, Yehuda was running unfashionably late. As my colleague got off the elevator and approached us, our friend accidentally referred to Yehuda as “Rabbi,” despite our efforts to keep a low profile in the Islamic nation. However, it was not accidental as much as providential. Immediately, two men turned to us and happily broke protocol by identifying themselves as our fellow brethren. It turned out that our Shabbos plans were altered so that we would connect with three more Jews.

The purpose for the unpleasant holdup in our trip may not yet be apparent to us, or it may never be. Perhaps it is just for me to have the time to share a simple story of the magnificence of divine providence.