Sometimes the greatest leaps of faith require crossing oceans in the dark. Leaving everything familiar behind, the physical journey to Israel begins with violent turbulence, a frantic layover in Milan, and a solitary demand for a sign.
It was early Saturday morning. There were not many people in the Narita airport yet when the overnight bus finally arrived. The souvenir stores and the ticket offices were still closed. Like me, some of the other passengers who had come early were seated in different corners of the vast lobby, quietly watching the airport staff begin to fill the space.
Others were watching the muted televisions. Some were pacing around as they pulled their heavy luggage, while others were sitting perfectly still beside loaded carts, closely guarding their things. I enjoyed simply watching them for a while, as the memories of how I had arrived at this exact place, seemingly in the blink of an eye, kept rushing back to me.
I had been in airports and departure lounges many times before, but I had never been so profoundly unsure of my destination, yet simultaneously so intensely excited. I remembered to pull out the notebook I had been keeping as a semi-diary for a while now. I kept it in my linen handbag, right next to the heavy DAKE Bible and my study notes. I sat there in the quiet terminal and simply could not help crying as I chronologically wrote my thoughts down on the pages.
When I noticed my specific travel agent’s window was finally open, I approached, put out my faxed voucher, and received my physical ticket. I then proceeded to check-in, and, as was my habit, requested a window seat. I was handed two boarding passes for the journey: one from Narita to the Milan airport in Italy where I would have my transit layover, and another from Milan to the Tel Aviv airport in Israel. The staff member politely noted that I could also acquire a freshly printed boarding pass at the Milan airport if I wished.
Because Vilma’s birthday was coming the following day, October 28th, I used a payphone at Narita just before departure to greet her and finally tell her about my sudden trip to Israel. She thanked me warmly for the greeting and wished me well on the journey.
Later that same day, while still waiting in Narita, Mitch and I spoke over the phone one final time. He sighed and plainly admitted that he accepted his defeat—that my will was simply stronger than his. "Finally, you realized," I teased, and despite the heavy circumstances, we actually shared a good laugh.
Despite the overwhelming excitement of finally heading to Israel, a deep nervousness settled over me during the first few hours of the flight. The massive aircraft was subjected to frequent, violent turbulence. I knew the overall journey was going to take a very long time, and it felt incredibly dangerous to travel under such unstable conditions.
I remembered to pray, asking God to keep the flight safe. I was confident He would, because I firmly believed I wouldn't even be on this plane if He hadn't orchestrated the rapid sequence of events that put me there. It was during this prayer that I specifically asked God to show me an undeniable physical sign that it was truly Him who had made all of this happen so quickly.
I kept looking intensely outside the small window, hoping to find something—an image, a shape, or even footprints formed in the clouds below. Eventually, the turbulence faded away. With the cabin calm, I spent the remainder of the long leg reading the Bible, sleeping, and continually searching the sky for my sign. But I found nothing special by the time we finally descended into the Milan airport in Italy.
I spent my layover wandering the expansive Italian terminal. I went around observing people of vastly different skin colors, clothing styles, and languages in every corner—chatting, shopping, or eating in an array of busy restaurants. I happened to pass a currency exchange section with a long line of people waiting in front. I decided to stand behind the last person.
When my turn finally came, I leaned in and asked the teller what currency was actually used in Israel. When she answered that it was the *shekel*, I asked her what the equivalent of 10,000 Japanese yen was. She told me it was roughly 320 shekels. I pulled a single 10,000 yen bill from my wallet and handed it to her.
But as she took it, she paused and asked me if I was absolutely sure that would be enough. I hesitated, then pulled out another bill, making it 20,000 yen. She instructed me to fill out a brief form, and then handed me the stack of shekels, which I tucked safely into my wallet.
A few hours before my next flight, I migrated to another area near my assigned boarding gates. I was immediately greeted by the incredibly inviting smell of hot food being served from another line of restaurants. I tried my best not to order anything, but I was finally tempted by a delicious-looking pizza that came in a very thin, but impressively large slice.
As I ate the pizza, I remembered what the check-in staff at Narita had told me about the transit documents. I thought it would be better to get another boarding pass printed here in Milan so I could keep the original Narita one as a keepsake. I approached the airline's booth, and they easily printed a new one for me. It had the exact same seat assignment as the previous leg: 30A, a window seat on the left side of the aircraft.
We departed from the Milan airport just before midnight. We were scheduled to land in Tel Aviv at roughly 3:00 in the morning. Having just eaten that massive slice of Italian pizza in the terminal, I completely ignored the meal served by the flight attendants.
It was then that I made a silent, solemn vow. Knowing that I was now just hours away from entering Israel, I decided I was going to undergo a strict fast for twenty-one days, taking only water, exactly as the prophet Daniel had done in the Bible.
Content with my decision, I resumed my search for a sign from God, staring out into the pitch-black night from window seat 30A. We had been flying over the Mediterranean Sea for quite some time when I noticed several stars visible in the sky above the horizon.
I thought it was unusual to be able to see external stars so clearly from inside the illuminated cabin of a commercial jet, so I immediately thought this could be the sign I had asked for. As I enjoyed watching them shimmer in the dark, a specific biblical passage I had recently read echoed vividly in my mind: *"I will give you the morning star."* A reference to Revelation 2:28, the "morning star" is historically associated with divine guidance arriving at the darkest hour before dawn.
But there were several distinct stars in view to choose from. I looked at them carefully, one by one, and ultimately focused my attention on the one that looked the most intensely sparkling—it was positioned on the far right side, sitting directly in the trajectory of the plane.
Surprisingly, the very moment the captain's voice came over the intercom to announce our final descent into Tel Aviv and the main cabin lights were abruptly turned off, all the other stars in the sky completely disappeared from my view.
The only light that remained in the absolute darkness was the singular star I had chosen. As the aircraft banked downwards, it seemed to grow bigger and bigger. I was even more amazed when I looked down from the star to the dark land below. The clusters of amber city lights breaking through the night made the coastline of Israel look exactly like an overflowing treasure box viewed from above.
The moment we finally touched down, taxied to the gate, and I stepped off the plane, the very first thing I did was look up into the sky. The star was there, directly above the airport, looking even brighter and more massive in the open air than it had through the window glass.
Because I had never seen a celestial object shine with such fierce singularity before, I was entirely, undeniably convinced. It was the sign from God I had asked for over the turbulence near Japan.
I took a deep breath of the cool air, and walked purposefully toward the terminal doors.
The transition from Japan to Israel is marked by a sequence of solitary, highly symbolic actions. Weeping in the terminal, carrying the heavy Bible, exchanging currency blindly, promising a 21-day Daniel fast, and demanding a physical sign from God all highlight a profound psychological crossing. The appearance of the singular "morning star" serves as the ultimate validation of her reckless leap of faith, providing her with the absolute conviction necessary to face whatever awaits inside the borders.