Before this trip, we were genuinely afraid to travel.
My husband’s pain was unpredictable and severe. People warned us not to go—what if an episode hit mid-flight? The fear was real.
But we refused to let fear make the final decision.
We prayed. A lot.
The journey was long: LAX to New York, then New York to Israel. And on top of that, we sat on the plane for two extra hours before takeoff.
Hours of sitting. No movement. No stretching.
Exactly the kind of situation that usually triggered pain.
But this time… it didn’t.
My husband didn’t just survive the flight—he had a good one. No pain. None at all.
His body stayed calm the entire way, as if we were being carried.
Logic said this should’ve been a nightmare.
Instead, it felt like a quiet miracle.
Sometimes faith doesn’t remove the journey—
it carries you through it.