The Airline Held The Flight So Rabbi Eli Schlanger’s Close Friend Could Attend His Funeral 

by Shaina Glick for CrownHeights.info

This is the kind of story that shouldn’t be possible—not for influence, not for money. Yet an extraordinary chain of quiet decisions, compassion, advocacy, and divine intervention allowed one grieving friend to make it to Sydney just in time to say goodbye.

Chanukah is the Festival of Light, a time when Jews across the globe light the Menorah in windows, doorways, and in public spaces. For Chabad Houses around the world, it is seen as an opportunity to gather their communities and light up the darkness in large displays of Jewish pride. This year, as thousands of Chabad Houses and Jewish homes lit their menorahs, spreading warmth, hope, and light across cities and continents, two hateful terrorists sought to extinguish that light.

On Sunday night, December 14, 2025, during a Chanukah menorah lighting hosted by Chabad of Bondi in Sydney, Australia, a terror attack claimed the lives of 15 innocent civilians, including beloved Chabad Rabbi Eli Schlanger HY’D. Many more were injured. The attack sent shockwaves through Australia and far beyond, leaving Rabbi Schlanger’s family, community, and friends across the globe in shock and grief.

Among those shattered by the news was a close friend of Rabbi Schlanger’s. Despite living in South Florida, the distance never dulled the closeness of their relationship. The two spoke frequently. When the news broke, through the shock and horror, he knew, without question, that he had to be there for the funeral.

But getting to Australia seemed almost impossible.

In the immediate aftermath of the attack, details were scarce. There was no funeral date, and word spread that the Levaya (funeral) could be scheduled with only hours’ notice.

Friends debated whether it made sense to fly in at all. The attack had happened on Sunday—surely the funeral would already be over by the time anyone from the U.S. could arrive.

Two mutual friends, Levi and Mendel, decided that despite the risks, they were going to fly from Los Angeles to Sydney on Monday night. Rabbi Schlanger’s close friend agonized over the decision to go with them. It was Chanukah. Leaving his family would disrupt their Chanuka entirely. Unsure, he turned to his wife, telling her simply: “You have the final say.”

Her response was resolute: “It’s the right thing to do.”

At 3:20 PM, a last-minute American Airlines flight was booked from Miami to Los Angeles, departing at 5:35 PM, followed by a connecting United flight from LAX to Sydney at 10:40 PM. If everything ran smoothly, he would make it.

Nothing did.

At the gate in Miami, boarding was abruptly halted. A “service issue.” A gate change. Delays mounted. By the time the plane finally pushed back, more than two hours late, it became clear that he would likely miss his international connection.

As the plane taxied and then took off, a message came through: the Levaya was scheduled for Wednesday at 11:00 AM in Sydney.

He might make it, but if he missed the connection, it was obvious that he would miss the Levaya.

At that point, he resigned himself to whatever outcome awaited. “Whatever happens, happens,” he thought. If it turned out that he would arrive only to return home having missed the Levaya, it was Hashem’s plan.  

Unbeknownst to him, however, something extraordinary was unfolding behind the scenes.

Friends on the ground realized that he would miss his connecting flight. Phones rang. Messages were sent. Somewhere along the line, people with influence took notice. Quietly. Efficiently. Without his awareness at all.

Two-thirds of the way through the flight to LAX, a flight attendant approached him at his seat.

“Is this seat 36A?” she asked.

When he answered yes, she handed him a note from the captain.

United would not hold the Sydney flight.

But American Airlines would.

There was another flight to Sydney, and it would wait for him. He breathed a giant sigh of relief. 

From that moment on, nothing about the flight, or the landing was ordinary.

First, he was moved from the last row of the plane to seat 9C, near the front, just before descent. The aircraft, originally scheduled to land far from the American Airlines gate, was reassigned from a domestic gate to an international gate just two numbers away from the Sydney-bound plane.

As the plane docked, an American Airlines manager boarded immediately, bypassing all protocol.

“I’m here specifically for the Sydney passenger,” he said. “Is that Mr…?””

He was escorted off the plane before anyone else. While walking briskly through the terminal, the manager explained that American Airlines had decided to do something special.

They had held the international flight. They had comped his seat. “And,” the manager added, “on behalf of American Airlines, we are so sorry for your loss.”

They paused to take a photo together, American staff standing with him, holding the plane for one grieving friend. In disbelief, he asked them to take a photo on his phone as well. “I needed proof,” he later said. “Or one day I might think it was all a dream.”

The care did not end there.

Upon landing in Sydney at 8:40 AM, he was once again escorted off the plane first. An airline representative waited at the end of the jetway, guiding him swiftly through the airport. At immigration, an officer greeted him with a quiet “Shalom.”

Within minutes, he was outside.

Levi and Mendel, who had also been rushed through, were waiting.

Together, they arrived at the shul just minutes before the Levaya began. The Niftar, Rabbi Eli Schlanger HY’D, was already there.

For Rabbi Schlanger’s friend, it was clear that unseen hands had made this happen, human and divine.

“No doubt,” he reflected, “Eli was pulling strings. He wanted his friends there.”

In the face of this terror attack, Chabad’s mission to bring light into the world was not deterred. The very next day, a menorah was lit again in the exact spot where the massacre had occurred—defiant, steady, and radiant. Across the globe, thousands of public menorah lightings continued as planned. There were added security measures, heavier hearts, and tears behind the smiles, but the flames burned just the same. The message of Chanukah rang clear and unwavering: light does not retreat in the face of darkness; it multiplies.

And in a world increasingly marked by hatred and disconnection, his story served as a powerful reminder of that truth. Small acts of goodness, compassion, and moral courage ripple outward in powerful ways. Hashem has many shluchim, sometimes in Chabad houses around the world, and other times in unexpected places. On this night, they wore airline uniforms, made impossible events possible, and helped ensure that one grieving friend could stand beside his friends’ community, bear witness, and say goodbye.