The news that emerged from Sydney on Sunday night, December 14, 2025, was devastating. A Chanukah menorah lighting organized by Chabad of Bondi turned into a scene of terror when an attack claimed the lives of 15 innocent people. Among those murdered was the widely loved Chabad shaliach, Rabbi Eli Schlanger HY’D. Scores of others were wounded. The shock reverberated throughout Australia and across Jewish communities worldwide, leaving Rabbi Schlanger’s family, kehillah, and friends stunned and brokenhearted.
Thousands of miles away in South Florida, one of Rabbi Schlanger’s closest friends struggled to absorb the loss. Geography had never weakened their bond; they spoke often, shared life, and leaned on one another. The moment the reality set in, he knew with certainty that he had to attend the Levaya—no matter how daunting the journey.
At the time, nothing was clear. The aftermath of the attack was chaotic, and there was no confirmed funeral date. Rumors spread that the Levaya might be arranged on only a few hours’ notice. Many friends questioned whether flying at all made sense. The attack had occurred on Sunday night; perhaps the funeral would be over before anyone from the United States could even land.
Two mutual friends, Levi and Mendel, made a bold decision. They booked flights from Los Angeles to Sydney for Monday night, accepting the risk that they might not arrive in time. The Florida-based friend wrestled with the same choice. It was Chanukah, and leaving would upend his family’s Yom Tov entirely. Torn, he turned to his wife and told her plainly, “You have the final say.”
She did not hesitate. “It’s the right thing to do.”
What followed was a race against time. At 3:20 PM, he secured a last-minute American Airlines ticket from Miami to Los Angeles, departing at 5:35 PM, with a connection on United Airlines from LAX to Sydney at 10:40 PM. On paper, the plan worked. In reality, almost nothing did.
In Miami, boarding suddenly stopped. A vague “service issue.” A gate change. Minutes stretched into hours. By the time the plane finally left the gate—more than two hours late—it was obvious that his international connection was hanging by a thread.
While the plane was taxiing and then climbing into the air, a message arrived with the first concrete detail: the Levaya was set for Wednesday at 11:00 AM in Sydney. There was still a chance—but only if everything else went perfectly.
He prepared himself for disappointment. If he missed the connection and arrived too late, then so be it. “Whatever happens, happens,” he thought. If he would travel halfway around the world only to turn around again, that too was part of Hashem’s plan.
What he did not know was that, behind the scenes, others were already moving. Friends realized he was unlikely to make the Sydney flight. Calls were made. Messages sent. Somewhere along the way, people with the authority to act became aware of the situation—and chose to act quietly, decisively, and without telling him a word.
Roughly two-thirds of the way to Los Angeles, a flight attendant stopped at his seat.
“Is this seat 36A?” she asked.
When he nodded, she handed him a handwritten note from the captain.
United, the note explained, would not hold the Sydney-bound flight.
American Airlines would.
There was another plane headed to Sydney—and it would wait. Relief washed over him as the weight of the moment finally lifted.
From then on, nothing unfolded in a normal way. Shortly before landing, he was moved from the very back of the aircraft to seat 9C near the front. The plane itself, originally assigned to a distant domestic gate, was rerouted to an international gate just two gates away from the Sydney flight.
As soon as the aircraft stopped, an American Airlines manager boarded, cutting past every standard procedure.
“I’m here specifically for the Sydney passenger,” he announced. “Is that Mr…?”
He was taken off the plane before any other passenger. As they hurried through the terminal, the manager explained that American Airlines had made a decision. The international flight had been held. His seat had been comped. And then, quietly and sincerely, the manager added, “And, on behalf of American Airlines, we are so sorry for your loss.”
They stopped for a photo—airline staff standing together with one grieving traveler while an entire plane waited. Still stunned, he asked them to take a picture on his own phone as well. “I needed proof,” he later said. “Or one day I might think it was all a dream.”
The extraordinary care continued on the other side of the world. When the plane touched down in Sydney at 8:40 AM, he was again escorted off first. An airline representative met him at the jetway and sped him through the airport. At immigration, an officer looked up, offered a soft “Shalom,” and waved him through.
Minutes later, he was outside. Levi and Mendel—also rushed through—were waiting. Together, they headed straight to the shul, arriving just moments before the Levaya began. The Niftar, Rabbi Eli Schlanger HY’D, was already there.
For his friend, the message was unmistakable. So much had aligned, against every reasonable expectation, that it could not be coincidence alone. Human kindness had played its part—but something more was at work as well.
“No doubt,” he later reflected, “Eli was pulling strings. He wanted his friends there.”
Based on a report by Shaina Glick for CrownHeights.info.
{Matzav.com}
