October 7, 2026|כ"ו תשרי ה' אלפים תשפ"ז There is a Time for Everything
Print ArticleSometimes a story begins with one reaction and then develops into another.
When news of the flydubai incident first broke, the reaction was simple:
Baruch Hashem.
People survived.
Passengers acted with extraordinary courage. People ran toward danger to protect one another. There was relief, gratitude, and amazement at how close we had come to tragedy.
And then, naturally, the questions began.
How did this happen?
How was the attacker able to get into the cockpit?
Were there security failures?
What needs to change?
Those are legitimate questions. They should be asked.
But perhaps the deeper challenge is what happens next.
Can we demand accountability without losing our capacity for solidarity?
I don't live in Israel. But as a Jew, I care deeply about the State of Israel and about what happens there. I am not writing this as an Israeli telling Israelis how they should think or vote. I am sharing a thought that seems relevant not only to Israel, but to Jewish communal life, our families, and democratic societies more broadly.
There Is a Time for Everything
We just finished reading Kohelet on Sukkot.
Kohelet begins chapter 3:
La-kol z'man v'et l'chol-cheifetz tachat ha-shamayim.
“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.”
Then comes the famous list:
Et la-ledet v'et la-mut
Et livkot v'et lischok
Et lispod v'et lirkod
Et la-chashot v'et ledaber
Et milchamah v'et shalom
A time to be born and a time to die.
A time to weep and a time to laugh.
A time to mourn and a time to dance.
A time to be silent and a time to speak.
A time for war and a time for peace.
At first, the list sounds obvious. But perhaps Kohelet is reminding us that different moments demand different responses.
Ibn Ezra writes:
Chayav adam la'asot kol davar be'ito.
A person must do everything in its proper time.
The Torah Temimah develops this idea through the pairs in Kohelet. There is a time to plant and a time to uproot. A time for war and a time for peace. A time to speak and a time to remain silent.
The wisdom is knowing what the moment requires without allowing one legitimate response to erase another.
What Happened on That Plane
Imagine the moment that plane began to plunge.
The captain was injured. The cockpit was in chaos. The plane was falling.
At that moment, the priority was simply to save the people on board.
And people responded.
The injured Indian captain fought to open the cockpit door. Israeli passengers rushed toward danger and subdued the attacker. Two off-duty pilots took control of the aircraft and helped land it safely. A doctor treated the wounded captain.
People helped people.
An Indian captain fought to save the passengers.
Israeli passengers put themselves in danger to protect others.
Pilots who happened to be on board became part of the rescue.
And the plane ultimately landed safely in Saudi Arabia.
In a frightening moment, people came together and acted for one another.
And as Jews, we can look at the extraordinary chain of events that brought everyone safely to the ground and say:
Baruch Hashem.
What Happens After the Crisis?
Then the plane lands.
Everyone is safe.
And the questions begin.
Who failed?
What went wrong?
Who should have prevented this?
What needs to change?
Those questions matter. Accountability matters. A failure that could have cost so many lives deserves serious investigation.
But there is another challenge.
Can we hold people accountable without allowing accountability to divide us?
Can we demand answers and still recognize courage?
Can we identify failures and still express gratitude?
Can we disagree about what should have been done differently and still remember that, when the plane was falling, people risked themselves to save one another?
That is not always easy.
But perhaps this is precisely the wisdom Kohelet is describing.
There is a time to speak and a time to be silent.
A time to tear and a time to sew.
A time to uproot and a time to plant.
The challenge is knowing what the moment requires without forgetting what the other moment required.
Where Is Your Brother?
This brings us back to Bereishit.
After Kayin kills Hevel, God asks:
Ei Hevel achicha?
“Where is Hevel your brother?”
Kayin responds:
Ha-shomer achi anochi?
“Am I my brother's keeper?”
The Torah's answer is yes.
We are responsible for one another.
That responsibility means being willing to confront what is broken. It also means showing up for one another when things go wrong.
They saw a crisis and acted.
A Time to Tear and a Time to Repair
Kohelet says:
Et likroa v'et litpor.
There is a time to tear and a time to sew.
There are moments when something needs to be exposed, confronted, and repaired. There are also moments when we need to strengthen the bonds that hold us together.
A healthy society needs both. Accountability helps us confront what went wrong; solidarity gives us the strength to face what comes next.
This applies far beyond Israel: to our synagogues, our communities, our families, and our Jewish people.
When something goes wrong, we should ask:
What needs to be fixed?
And:
What do we need to strengthen so that we can face the next challenge together?
From Sukkot to Bereishit
There is something meaningful about the timing of this lesson.
On Sukkot, Kohelet reminded us of life's fragility and unpredictability. Now we have returned to Bereishit, and almost immediately the Torah asks:
Ei Hevel achicha?
Where is your brother?
Perhaps that is the connection. When life reminds us how fragile we are, the Torah reminds us that we are not alone. We are responsible for one another.
And that means holding two responsibilities at the same time: holding accountable and holding together.
Baruch Hashem.