Act like you’ve been there before

Six weeks ago, my daughter returned from Israel together with the girls of our Yeshiva high school. What should have been a routine flight turned into something far more memorable.

Midair, the pilot announced that there were engine issues and that the plane would need to make an emergency landing at London Heathrow Airport.

As you can imagine, there was a moment of fear. My daughter later shared that her first instinct was to panic. She began saying Tehillim (Psalms), like so many of us would. In that moment, her sense of vulnerability was very real.

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And then she had a second thought.

She asked herself a simple question: “Who was I relying on five minutes ago, before the pilot made that announcement?”

The answer, of course, was the same as it always is.

Not the plane. Not the pilot. Not technology.

Hashem.

And if that was true before the problem, it was no less true now.

With that realization, she said, a certain calm set in. The situation hadn’t yet changed, but her perspective had. The fear didn’t disappear entirely, but it was held within something deeper: trust.

There’s a famous line often attributed to Vince Lombardi: “Act like you’ve been there before.”

In sports, it means that when you reach the big moment, you don’t lose yourself in it. You carry yourself with composure, humility and professionalism during success, treating achievements as expected rather than surprising.

For the Jewish people, this idea runs much deeper.

We have, literally, been here before.

We have faced uncertainty, fear and upheaval. We have lived through moments when the future felt unclear. And yet, across generations, there has been a quiet, enduring response: We steady ourselves, we turn to Hashem and we move forward together.

Not because we are unaware of the danger, but because we know something even more fundamental: The One who carried us until now is still carrying us.

This idea resonates deeply with the month of Nissan.

Nissan is the month of redemption — not only the redemption from Egypt, but the mindset of redemption. The Jewish people left Egypt not just physically free, but with a new internal orientation: a relationship of trust in Hashem that would define us forever.

That trust was not born in a moment of calm. It was forged in uncertainty. At the edge of the sea, with the Egyptian army behind them, the people could have given in to panic. Instead, they moved forward.

In a sense, they too were “acting like they had been there before,” trusting in a reality deeper than what they could immediately see.

This idea also sheds light on a subtle theme in Parshas Tazria–Metzorah.

These Torah portions deal with states of impurity and the process of restoration. At first glance, they seem distant from our daily lives. But at their core, they describe something very human: moments when a person feels unsettled, disconnected, or vulnerable and the path back to stability and wholeness.

The Torah does not deny those experiences. It gives them structure. It reminds us that even in moments of disruption, there is a process, there is meaning, and there is a way forward.

You are not lost. You are in a stage.

Perhaps that is the deeper message.

Fear may come. Uncertainty may come. That is part of the human experience.

But beneath it all, there is something steady.

The same Hashem we relied on before the “announcement” is the One we rely on after. The circumstances may shift, but the foundation does not.

And when we remember that — when we “act like we’ve been there before”— we access a strength that is not loud or dramatic, but deeply rooted.

A calm that allows us not only to endure, but to move forward with confidence, faith, and connection to one another.

Ultimately, Parshiot Tazria reminds us that Hashem is attentive to every person, and, when needed, guides a person to recognize their shortcomings while offering a path toward correction and spiritual improvement.
In a truly similar way, the missiles falling in Israel have caused destruction and, sadly, the loss of life. But they serve as a wake-up call to strengthen our Jewish commitment. At the same time, they make us aware of Hashem’s Divine Providence and protection.

Over 3,000 missiles have been fired at Israel. Yet time and again, 40-foot “fragments” have struck empty buildings and open fields; 400-kilogram warheads hit the ground but did not explode. Suicide drones exploded in mid-air thanks to Israeli ingenuity.

The point is, Hashem is watching. Hashem is in charge. And Hashem is good. PJC

Rabbi Yossi Rosenblum is CEO of Yeshiva Schools of Pittsburgh and rabbi of Congregation Kesser Torah. This column is a service of the Vaad Harabonim of Greater Pittsburgh.