A Miraculous Escape: Rabbi's Flight of Faith

Ever wondered what goes through a person’s mind when they’re sure their life is about to end? Imagine sitting on a plane plummeting towards the earth, moments from a catastrophic crash. For Rabbi Daniel Hilu, this wasn’t a hypothetical scenario. A decade ago, it turned into the defining trauma of his life.

He begins his story, "I was working as a shochet for the Magen David kashrut supervision in Mexico," he explains thoughtfully. "Perhaps it was the merit of kosher foods that shielded us from harm."

"At that time, my work involved traveling for two to three days of shechita at a remote slaughterhouse located in Chato La Marina. The journey was long: from Mexico City airport, we flew to Tampico and then traveled another two and a half hours to Chato La Marina. After a year of exhausting travel, we came up with an idea to save time: charter a private plane to fly directly to an airstrip in Chato La Marina, right across from the slaughterhouse. Little did we know where this idea would lead us."

“I Realized the Pilots Had Lost Their Way”

Rabbi Hilu’s story reads like a thriller as he continues: "The first time, everything went according to plan: we drove to Toluca, where there’s an airport for private flights. We boarded a plane chartered from a Jewish businessman, and an hour and a half later, we landed in Tampico and easily reached Chato La Marina. The convenience was significant, and we decided to do the same for the next shechita session. Indeed, two weeks later, when it was time for another shechita, we chartered a private plane from an aircraft company."

How did your interactions with the aircraft company differ?

"Unlike the plane we rented privately, dealing with the company was different," Rabbi Hilu recalls. "The flight was scheduled for Monday, 9 Tammuz 5771, at 7:00 AM. We wanted to start work as early as possible, so by 6:30 AM, the four shochtim, two kashrut supervisors, and a non-Jewish intermediary were at the airport. To our dismay, the plane hadn’t yet arrived. After three-quarters of an hour, the plane landed, and the pilot began to explain his delay with tales of an overnight flight. We were eager to board, but he insisted on running through the company’s safety checks. He opened the engines, and water flowed onto the tarmac. We were puzzled, but he claimed it was their protocol for cleaning rainwater from the engines. The plane looked old, with dual engines and spinning propellers, but we said nothing. The pilot refueled, and at 8:20, we finally took off."

"We fastened our seatbelts quickly, and the engines rumbled suspiciously. The pilot paid no mind and ascended into the clouds. Once airborne, the noise faded, and we calmed down. We checked our watches, eager to reach Tampico and start work."

How long was the flight supposed to be?

"The flight was supposed to last about an hour and a half. But internally, I wasn’t at ease. Ten minutes before the scheduled landing, I asked the pilot when we’d arrive. He replied, 'In half an hour.' I didn’t like it, but I returned to my seat. My colleagues were engrossed in their own activities, oblivious to the delay. Twenty minutes went by, and I looked out the window, expecting to see the river, city buildings, and the familiar sight of Tampico. But it was clear we weren’t in the right place."

Emergency Landing

What did the others do during those tense moments?

"They waited along with me for the pilots to find their way. I stood near the pilots and noticed Rabbi Shlomo Aini, head of our shechita team, feeling unwell. My colleagues weren’t faring any better—short of breath, sweating profusely, and dizzy. One felt nauseous, another had already vomited, the fifth was holding his head in pain, and the atmosphere deteriorated rapidly. I was sitting at the front and couldn’t understand what was happening. 'Daniel, tell the pilot to make an emergency landing ASAP,' Rabbi Shlomo cried out. 'I don’t feel well.' That’s when I realized the air conditioning wasn’t functioning, leaving us gasping for air."

I reported to the pilot: 'We’re feeling lightheaded, we need air.' The pilot nonchalantly suggested, 'There are headache pills in your seat pockets.' 'But these are no ordinary headaches,' I replied. 'We took the pills, and they didn’t help. We’re feeling awful. Please, land the plane.'

The pilots agreed to abandon the search for Chato La Marina and land at the nearest airport. For us shochtim, this was the preferred solution: anything was better than staying in this suffocating plane."

Was it supposed to be a normal landing?

"That’s what the pilots hoped. But landing requires an airport or at least a proper airstrip. The pilots tried to locate the closest airport on their maps but were clueless about our location, unable to determine a safe path. They debated nervously and then decided on a probable direction toward the city of Victoria. Just as the pilot was about to steer, emergency lights flashed on the dashboard, followed by an eerie silence. The persistent hum of the engines ceased abruptly. I looked at the shocked pilots, realizing our engines had stopped."

A Dance of Thanks in the Savannah

Rabbi Hilu counts the miracles that accompanied them: "The area where the plane landed was cushioned with soft grass, absorbing the impact and softening the fall. Since the wheels didn’t deploy, the plane didn’t get caught in the grass stalks. Had we landed on a rocky, hard surface, the plane would certainly have crashed to pieces, Heaven forbid."

"Not far from us were thick, tall stalks, and imagining what could have happened if we’d landed there made me shudder. The wild savannah would have entangled the plane’s wings and wheels, preventing a safe landing. The plane itself was cracked along its body, in addition to the broken wing and engines that had failed earlier, but the full fuel tanks remained intact and didn’t ignite. So many miracles combined to save us, and it moved us deeply. In the heart of the wilderness, we held hands and danced enthusiastically, singing 'It is good to thank Hashem.' Even the intermediary and the non-Jewish pilots joined our dance of gratitude."

But if we thought that was the primary miracle for the shochtim team, Rabbi Hilu surprises us by continuing: "After calming down, we started figuring out how to leave. Where did we land? Are there people nearby? We tried using our phones, but there was no signal. In the distance, we thought we saw trucks and hoped they were on a road. My friend Moshe Mohana and I volunteered to walk towards the road and seek help. The path through the tall plants was a nightmare itself, and who knows what wild animals lurked within the vegetation. After some effort, we reached it and were relieved to find a road. By the roadside stood a local villager, wide-eyed and amazed. He had watched the plane from afar and was sure no one survived. He went with my friend to get water bottles, and I waited for vehicles on the road."

"I didn’t wait long. Two military jeeps drove by. I signaled for help, and they immediately acknowledged me and turned towards the landing site. I was surprised they understood my gestures and trudged back to my colleagues. When I rejoined them, I was taken aback: the soldiers were conducting an intense interrogation with the entire group. They questioned my friends about the trip’s purpose, verified the pilot's story, insisted on extracting our bags from the plane and examining them thoroughly. Our shechita knives frightened them greatly, and they treated us all as dangerous criminals."

What did they want from you?

"We didn’t understand either. Only after a meticulous investigation did they calm down and explain their suspicions: Apparently, when the pilot was navigating blindly, we entered a restricted military zone. The pilot had lowered altitude to identify the terrain and locate the landing area. The military camp concluded we posed a threat and decided to shoot us down immediately with anti-aircraft fire."

Shoot you down without question or investigation?

"Yes. Mexico or not, their hands are quick to act. Anti-aircraft missiles were already aimed at our small plane with us inside, oblivious to our navigational errors and unaware of the danger we faced. But suddenly, our engines failed, and the plane began to lose altitude. The commander saw the plane’s descent and decided the issue was solving itself. 'No need to waste missiles or risk inquiries; these criminals will crash on landing.' They set out to recover the wreck but found us alive and well. Hence, the intense questioning."

So it was a double rescue?

"This revelation astonished us. The engines stopped inexplicably, actually saving us from certain death. What we perceived as a disaster turned out to be our salvation, sparing us a worse calamity. We renewed our thanks to Hashem with doubled excitement and emotion."

And how did you get out of there?

"The soldiers assisted us kindly. They offered us drinks and provided vehicles to take us to Chato La Marina. The village was a hundred kilometers from our landing site, and we never understood how the pilot got so lost. Thank God, we arrived at work safely and even started as if nothing happened. Since then, we avoided private flights, and over the years, some shochtim left the team. But the double miracle left a lasting mark on our hearts. Every year on Shabbat, 9 Tammuz, Parshat Chukat, we meet with our former teammates to celebrate the tenth anniversary of our new lives, an opportunity to live granted once more by Hashem."