Total mayhem descended upon New York this week, in the form of one of the city’s largest ever snowstorms. Streets were buried, school was cancelled, and a public emergency was declared.
Thank G-d, my teenage son happened to be home from yeshiva for the weekend. I don’t know what I would have done without him!
Our car was parked outside. Somehow, of all times, I had found a spot right in front of our house. So on Monday, after the snow let up, my son went out and shoveled out the car.
“Great,” I thought, “we’re all set,” glad to have gotten through this blizzard relatively unscathed. I was sure that by Tuesday we’d be driving around like normal.
Alas, how very, very wrong I was.
Overnight, the plows came by, and when I walked outside on Tuesday morning, all the snow from the roadway was pushed directly onto our side of the street, burying our car behind a massive wall of hard, compacted snow.
What had been manageable the day before was now an overwhelming proposition.
So there we were again—well, really my son was there again—shovel in hand, digging the car out for the second (and much harder!) time.
Then, the blizzard struck again, interfering with a long-planned Belev Echad trip. We had a group of wounded Israeli soldiers scheduled to arrive in New York on Tuesday.
Everything was arranged. We’d been planning for months. The schedule was set, calendars coordinated, hosts lined up … every detail accounted for.
And then, the snowstorm hit.
At first, we weren’t worried. “By Tuesday it’ll be clear,” everyone said. “The flight is landing on Tuesday.”
But the airlines weren’t as sure, and each update contradicted the last.
Canceled.
Not canceled.
Back on.
Canceled again.
Actually, it’s on.
No, it’s off again.
And while it was stressful for us because everyone had been planned and coordinated down to the minute, there was an even bigger issue at hand: These weren’t just regular passengers. These are wounded soldiers, many of whom are living with PTSD, who find sudden change not just inconvenient, but emotionally destabilizing. We needed to accommodate that, too.
Ultimately, everything worked out. My son was able to free our car from the mountain of snow and ice, and our Belev Echad heroes arrived, albeit a day later than planned.
As I dealt with both these incidents, I realized that while I couldn’t control either, what I can control is my perspective.
I can see the snow as a mess, a headache, something that is ruining my schedule and my plans. Or, I can see the joy and beauty in the fluffy, white, perfect-for-making-snowmen-
Same snow, different perspective.
The reality is, snow will fall whether we like it or not. And plans will change, be delayed and even cancelled, whether or not we approve.
Sometimes Hashem doesn’t clear the road right away. He waits to see if we’ll trust Him while the snow is still on the ground. And maybe that’s the real decision we’re being asked to make.
We can look at the snow and see inconvenience, or we can recognize His blessing.
We can look at uncertainty and see chaos, or we can appreciate the Divine orchestration unfolding in real time.
It’s hard, but rewarding. And when we stretch those muscles and refine those skills, that is what will bring us closer to the Ultimate Redemption, when blizzards will self-resolve and flights won’t be cancelled because of a bit of snow. May it happen imminently!