The Blogs: The Unexpected Gifts of Trusting the Process

I’m writing this on June 4, two days after a day that felt too meaningful to simply rush past.

June 2 marked nine months and twelve days since I arrived in Israel.

Nine months.

The amount of time it takes for new life to develop.

Looking back, I realize that Aliyah has been its own kind of birth process.

When I boarded my flight on August 21, 2025, I knew what I was leaving behind. I was leaving a career of more than thirty years, family, friends, routines, and a life I had spent decades building.

What I didn’t know was what I was stepping into.

People often ask me what I’ve learned during these first nine months.

The answer is surprisingly simple:

Do your hishtadlut. Trust Hashem. Let go of the rest.

That doesn’t mean sitting back and doing nothing.

Quite the opposite.

Over the past nine months, I applied to hundreds of positions, attended interviews, followed up on leads, networked relentlessly, and remained open to opportunities I never would have imagined before making Aliyah.

There were many moments when, from my limited perspective, it appeared that nothing was happening.

Yet I never doubted that something eventually would.

I didn’t know when.

I didn’t know how.

I simply trusted that if Hashem brought me to Israel, He would help me build a life here.

And perhaps that uncertainty was a gift.

If I had found a job immediately, I would have missed so much.

I would have missed the opportunity to truly experience Israel.

To wander the streets of Jerusalem.

To volunteer.

To attend shiurim.

To build friendships.

To create a women’s group.

To accept Shabbat invitations from people who were strangers only weeks earlier.

To discover that life could be measured by more than meetings, deadlines, and performance reviews.

For the first time in decades, I had space.

Space to breathe.

Space to grow.

Space to become.

I also learned to remain open to possibilities I never would have considered before.

Twice, people suggested I become a dental assistant and offered to train me on the job. Had someone suggested that to me in Canada, I would have laughed. Yet Aliyah taught me to remain open to possibilities I never would have considered before.

Sometimes Hashem opens doors simply to remind us that there is more than one path forward.

Shortly after arriving in Israel, I placed a copy of Mizmor L’Todah by the entrance to my apartment.

Every morning as I left and every evening when I returned home, I would see it waiting for me.

It became one of the quiet anchors of my Aliyah journey.

A reminder to focus on gratitude rather than fear.

A reminder to thank Hashem not only for what I had already received, but also for what I had not yet seen.

Then came June 2, the day when so many threads suddenly seemed to come together.

One of the opportunities that day had actually begun months earlier.

Back in February, I met someone at a Shabbat table. We spoke about my background, and he thought there might be opportunities that would be a good fit.

Then life happened.

Schedules didn’t align.

Partners were out of the country.

Meetings were postponed.

Weeks turned into months.

We even had a war in between.

What began as a conversation at a Shabbat table eventually became a meeting scheduled for June 2.

The second opportunity came together almost overnight.

Late on the evening of June 1, I saw a job posting shared by a woman from one of my groups. The position looked interesting, so I immediately sent my resume.

Fifteen minutes later, I received a message asking if I was available to meet the next day.

By the following morning, I had two meetings scheduled.

The first meeting was encouraging. We discussed several possible roles and directions that might fit my experience. The person I met was one of the kindest people I have encountered since making Aliyah—a true mensch.

Afterward, I walked home for my second meeting.

Within ten minutes, I was hired.

Ten minutes.

If someone had told me on June 1 that within twenty-four hours I would have two promising opportunities in front of me, I never would have believed them.

But the day wasn’t over.

Later that afternoon, I received another message from the first organization.

After months of conversations, delays, and follow-ups, they told me they would love to have me join their team and invited me to attend their meeting that very evening.

Two completely different opportunities.

Two completely separate paths.

Both arriving on the same day.

And not just any day.

A Tuesday.

In Jewish tradition, Tuesday carries special significance because in the story of Creation, Hashem says “כי טוב” — “that it was good” — twice on the third day.

A double portion of goodness.

As I reflected on the events of that day, I couldn’t help but smile.

Two opportunities.

Two encouraging conversations.

Two doors opening.

A double helping of כי טוב.

And then there were the butterflies.

Before entering the café for my first meeting, a butterfly crossed my path.

Later, as I approached my building, another butterfly crossed my path.

For anyone else, those moments might seem insignificant.

For me, they were not.

Butterflies have become deeply personal reminders that Hashem is present even when I cannot see the full picture.

Then there was the taxi ride.

When I ordered a taxi that morning, I expected what I always expect: a complete stranger behind the wheel.

Yet when the car arrived, I smiled.

It was my favorite driver – Avraham.

In the nine months since making Aliyah, I can count on one hand the number of times I have been matched with the same driver twice.

Yet that morning, I was seeing this particular driver for the fourth time.

Over the months, we had developed a friendly rapport, and I later learned that he lives only a block away from me.

By itself, it was a small thing.

Together with everything else that happened that day, it felt like one more gentle smile from Heaven.

Perhaps the greatest gift of that day was not the opportunities themselves.

It was the reminder to pay attention.

Two people can experience the very same events and walk away with entirely different conclusions.

One person might see coincidences.

Another might see Hashgacha Pratit.

One might see a delayed meeting, a job offer, a butterfly, and a familiar taxi driver.

I saw reminders.

Reminders that Hashem is constantly present in our lives, often in ways that are easy to miss if we are moving too quickly to notice.

I don’t believe every butterfly carries a message, and I don’t think every taxi ride is a sign from Heaven.

But sometimes a collection of moments comes together in such a meaningful way that it causes us to stop, reflect, and recognize the possibility that something greater is unfolding before us.

June 2 was one of those days for me.

Each detail by itself was small.

Together, they felt like Hashem pulling back the curtain just enough for me to see that He had been arranging things all along.

That evening, overwhelmed with gratitude, I stood by my doorway, looked at my Mizmor L’Todah, and thanked Hashem.

Not because every question had been answered.

Not because I suddenly knew exactly what the future would look like.

But because for one brief moment, I was allowed to see a glimpse of what had been happening behind the scenes.

We often hear the expression:

“כי ישועת ה’ כהרף עין”

“For Hashem’s salvation comes in the blink of an eye.”

What I have come to understand is that while the salvation may arrive in the blink of an eye, the preparation for it may take months.

Looking back, I realize I wasn’t waiting for a job.