I Don’t Need the Numbers to See the Miracle

Yesterday, 174 people boarded Flydubai Flight FZ1073 from Dubai to Tel Aviv.

By now, most of us have heard the extraordinary story of what happened next. According to Israeli officials and passenger accounts, the co-pilot attacked and seriously wounded Captain Smit Machchhar and apparently attempted to crash the plane. Despite his injuries, Machchhar managed to release the cockpit door, allowing passengers and crew to intervene. The plane plunged thousands of feet before a reserve Flydubai crew that happened to be on board ultimately took control and landed safely in Tabuk, Saudi Arabia.

But those bare facts don’t really capture the extraordinary confluence of events that took place on that plane.

Zvika Manes’s wife happened to be near the cockpit with their daughter when she heard the confrontation and alerted others to what was happening. Passengers rushed forward and subdued the attacker.

One of those passengers was Yaniv Hayun, a plumber. After helping overpower the attacker, Hayun found himself in the cockpit as the plane was plunging. He pulled back on the controls. When asked later how a plumber knew what to do with the controls of a Boeing 737, his explanation was almost absurdly perfect: he watches Air Crash Investigation.

And then there were actual pilots on board who could take over: 

There was also Shota Musaev, a dentist, who had initially run forward to help subdue the attacker. Once the attacker was restrained, Musaev turned his attention to the badly wounded captain and worked to stop his bleeding.

And we may never know how many lives were saved. There were 174 people on that plane. But as the crisis unfolded, Israel was reportedly preparing for an even more horrifying possibility: that the aircraft could be used as a weapon in a 9/11-style attack. Israeli fighter jets were scrambled, and officials prepared for the possibility that they might have to shoot down the plane to prevent mass casualties on the ground. One Israeli official later told Ynet that they believed the pilot intended to crash in Israel and was looking for a symbolic target.

But we don’t actually know what he intended. Perhaps the 174 people on board were the only lives at stake. Perhaps hundreds, thousands, or even more were saved. We simply don’t know. What we do know is that a catastrophe was averted.

I believe that was a miracle.

In the hours since, I’ve seen all kinds of numerical connections being shared to demonstrate just how miraculous it was.

The flight number itself has been connected to October 7. I’ve seen the number 174 used for different gematriot. One points out that 174 is the gematria of Yosef chai, particularly meaningful because Yosef was the ushpizin of the day. I’ve seen calculations involving the names of the passengers who helped save the plane.

And some of them are very nice.

But I keep coming back to the same question: Why do we need them?

I’m a religious Jew. I believe in Yad Hashem. I believe in hashgachah. And I absolutely believe that what happened on that flight was a miracle.

I just don’t think the numbers are what make it one.

I’m skeptical of looking for numerical connections after an event and then using them as evidence of its significance. If we’re looking for connections, chances are we’re going to find some. There are simply too many numbers available to us: the flight number, the number of passengers, the Gregorian date, the Hebrew date, the time of the flight, the gematria of the names of the people involved. We can calculate first names, last names, phrases and psukim. With enough numbers and enough possible combinations, eventually something meaningful is likely to emerge.

There’s a name for at least part of that: confirmation bias. Once we’re looking for evidence of something we already believe, we’re particularly good at noticing the information that confirms it. I already believe this was a miracle.

I don’t need a gematria to convince me.

For me, Yad Hashem is right there in the extraordinary confluence of events themselves.

A mother happened to be near the cockpit when something went terribly wrong.

A desperately injured pilot managed to release the door.

Passengers realized they needed to act, and they acted.

A plumber who had spent who knows how many hours watching airplane-disaster documentaries suddenly found that completely random knowledge useful at precisely the moment an airplane was falling out of the sky.

People with actual aviation expertise happened to be among the passengers and could take over.

A medical professional was there to help keep the wounded captain alive.

Every one of those things can be explained through entirely natural means. Nobody was magically transported onto that plane. Nobody suddenly acquired knowledge he didn’t possess. The laws of physics didn’t stop working.

That’s not a problem for my belief in the miracle.

That’s the miracle.

That’s what hashgacha looks like to me. Ordinary people, with the particular knowledge and abilities they already possessed, somehow in exactly the right places at exactly the right time. A series of individually possible events coming together in an extraordinary way.

I don’t need to make the story more supernatural in order to make room for God.

There is certainly room within Judaism for gematria and for finding connections among words, numbers and ideas. And if someone finds one of these connections meaningful or inspiring, wonderful.

But I worry that sometimes, in our eagerness to find the hidden sign, we can miss the miracle sitting right in front of us.

I don’t need the numbers to add up before I can say Yad Hashem.

I can see Yad Hashem in the flight itself.

And that’s enough for me.