For the past 15 years, Chabad of West Hampstead has been taking members of the community far beyond the familiar. Together we have trekked to Machu Picchu, Everest Base Camp, Mount Meru, the Himalayas of India, the Great Wall of China and many other extraordinary destinations.
People often ask why. The answer has never really been about the mountains. When you spend days together away from everyday life, often with little or no phone signal or wi-fi, something remarkable happens. Conversations become deeper. Friendships become stronger. Relationships that last a lifetime are forged.
Standing in Hashem’s magnificent world, surrounded by creation at its most awe-inspiring, reminds us how small we are and how great our Creator is. The physical challenges reveal strengths within us that we never knew existed.
This year we decided to do something different. Rather than another expedition focused purely on trekking, we chose a destination that would combine hiking with fishing, glacier cruises, bush planes and ATV adventures. Alaska seemed the perfect choice.
One of the group with his catch (Photo: courtesy)[Missing Credit]
Because this was a community journey of growing, learning and sharing together, we made one commitment before we even boarded the plane: every experience, every challenge and every encounter would become an opportunity to learn a lesson for life. Little did we know that those lessons would begin long before we reached Alaska.
One of the greatest challenges in planning the expedition was kosher food. Although Alaska has two Chabad Houses and even a kosher tour operator, providing food for a large group travelling into remote wilderness – while maintaining the standards of kashrut and quality our community expects – was far from straightforward.
After exploring numerous possibilities, we settled on an ambitious plan. We would fly via Los Angeles, purchase everything there and transport it north to Alaska. But even that was easier said than done.
Our trek was due to begin on Sunday morning, which meant arriving in Los Angeles before Shabbat. Since the kosher supermarkets would already be closed by Saturday night, everything had to be bought on Friday and somehow stored frozen throughout Shabbat. We weren’t talking about a few shopping bags. This had to be enough food to feed us for an entire expedition over many days.
There was just one problem. Our flight landed late on Friday afternoon, after the shops had already closed. With no obvious solution, I picked up the phone and called a kosher grocery store almost at random. After chatting with the person who answered for a few minutes, something about his voice sounded familiar.
“Is this Mendel?” I asked.
There was a brief silence.
“Is this Dovid?”
We both laughed.
It turned out we had known each other over 20 years earlier when he had lived in London. Without hesitation he said, “Don’t worry. Send me your shopping list. I’ll prepare everything before Shabbat, freeze it exactly as you need it, and I’ll come specially on Saturday night to open the shop just for you.”
Trekking up snow and ice (Photo: courtesy)[Missing Credit]
What had seemed an impossible logistical challenge disappeared in a matter of minutes. Looking back, it felt like Hashem was quietly reminding us that when we’re travelling to strengthen Jewish life together, He prepares the road before we even begin walking it. It was our first taste of Hashgachah Pratit – Divine Providence – and it would certainly not be our last.
The next lesson arrived before we had even reached Alaska. Standing in the immigration queue after landing in America, a gentleman greeted us in Hebrew. Naturally we struck up a conversation and soon discovered, to our amazement, that he actually lived in our own neighbourhood in West Hampstead and regularly attended another local synagogue.
As we chatted, I casually asked him whether he had ever put on tefillin. “No,” he replied. I was genuinely surprised. Here was someone who had been part of the local Jewish community for years, regularly attending synagogue, yet somehow had never had the opportunity to wrap tefillin.
So there, in the middle of the airport terminal, he put on tefillin for the very first time. We took a selfie together to mark the occasion. As I walked away, I couldn’t help wondering how something like that could happen. How could someone spend years in a Jewish community and never once be offered the chance to perform such an important mitzvah?
Only a few minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was a selfie from the Chabad Rabbi in Istanbul. Standing beside him was one of the members of our own Chabad house. The accompanying message simply read: “First time putting on tefillin!”
I smiled. Moments earlier, I had been quietly questioning someone else’s journey, only to discover that one of the people in our very own community had also never put on tefillin until that very day.
Hashem’s message couldn’t have been clearer. Never judge another Jew. We never know another person’s story, the opportunities they have had – or haven’t had – or the journey they are still travelling. Sometimes the lesson we think belongs to someone else is really meant for us.
Before travelling, we had made a list of everything we hoped to experience, despite knowing that much of it depended on chance.
One by one, every wish became a reality. We watched as majestic moose grazed peacefully among lush vegetation as grizzly bears wandered through their natural habitat. Bald eagles soared overhead while their young waited in enormous cliff-top nests. Thousands of sea birds scattered into the sky as eagles swooped down to hunt, a breathtaking reminder of the delicate balance Hashem built into creation.
We explored glaciers – towering blue walls of ancient ice that cracked and thundered into the sea with astonishing force.
Getting ready to go fishing (Photo: courtesy)[Missing Credit]
Then came an unforgettable surprise. As our boat returned across the glacial waters, we spotted a plume of spray rising from the sea. A whale. Not just any whale, it was a sperm whale. Our guide, who had worked these waters for ten years, told us he had never seen one of this size at that time of year. We watched in amazement as it surfaced repeatedly before making one final majestic dive, its enormous tail lifting gracefully above the water before disappearing beneath the surface. It was one of those moments that no photograph can truly capture.
We also experienced Alaska from the air, boarding a small seaplane that flew us to an even more remote area, inaccessible by road. There, we learnt the art of salmon fishing. Our group caught 11 magnificent salmon. Some were grilled immediately on the boat, the freshest fish any of us had ever tasted. The rest returned with us back to our accommodation and became the centrepiece of our Shabbat meal.
As we enjoyed fish that we ourselves had caught only the day before, many around the table recalled the famous story of Yosef Mokir Shabbat, which means “Yosef who treasures Shabbat,” because, however little earned, he would spend on something special for Shabbat.
Even after feeding our own group, we still had several salmon remaining, which we happily donated to the Chabad House in Anchorage.
Our trekking centred around Denali, North America’s tallest mountain. Although we were hiking in the foothills rather than climbing the peak itself, Denali dominated the skyline every day. Remarkably, Denali’s summit is visible for only around 60 days each year, as usually it is hidden behind clouds in the Alaskan sky. Yet, throughout our stay, the skies remained brilliantly blue.
Every single day, we saw the mountain in all its splendour. Looking up at Denali was a constant reminder of the greatness of Hashem’s world and the challenge we all face – to keep climbing spiritually, always striving to become greater than we were yesterday.
Perhaps the most fascinating lesson came from the humble salmon. Salmon spend years travelling thousands of miles across the Pacific Ocean before somehow finding their exact birthplace and swimming upstream against powerful currents to return home.
Alaskans have cleverly built sustainable fisheries around this remarkable instinct. Young salmon are born in protected hatcheries before being released into the wild. Years later, almost instinctively, they return to exactly where they began, making it easy for the fishermen to get thousands of fish entering their fisheries with no effort to catch them.
Watching this process, we couldn’t help but reflect on our own lives. No matter how far we travel or where life takes us, every Jew has roots. Like the salmon, we should always know how to return home – not only to our families or communities, but to our spiritual roots, our Torah and our relationship with Hashem. Unlike the salmon however, we should not wait until the very end of our life to reconnect.
West Hampstead Chabad group trekking the foothills of mount Denali (Photo: courtesy)[Missing Credit]
One participant joined the expedition during the year of mourning for his father, making a daily minyan essential. We carefully ensured that more than ten men travelled, even allowing an extra participant as a safety margin. Then reality intervened. One member became unwell and returned home. We were down to ten. A few days later another participant faced an emergency and also had to leave. Now we were only nine. Many people told us it would be impossible to solve this problem.
But within minutes, messages started spreading through Jewish WhatsApp groups around the world. Somehow, they reached a wonderful young man in New York. “I’m coming,” he simply replied. A ticket was booked. Within a day, he arrived in Alaska, became an integral part of the group and ensured that Kaddish could continue every single day. Once again, what looked impossible became possible.
Summer in Alaska creates fascinating halachic questions. Although the sun dips below the horizon, darkness barely arrives. Determining the correct times for Shema, Ma’ariv and the beginning and end of Shabbat required careful preparation before we even travelled. Many evenings, we waited until almost 11.30 pm simply to recite Shema.
Friday was even stranger. After returning from an excursion, shopping at Costco and unpacking supplies, our chef only began preparing Shabbat dinner around 9pm. Cooking continued until almost 11pm. Candle lighting followed at around 11.30pm. Preparing for Shabbat close to midnight felt surreal yet beautifully demonstrated how Jewish life accompanies us wherever we find ourselves on earth.
Our Airbnb happened to be next door to a Jewish family. We invited them for Friday night dinner, assuming they would politely decline given the late hour. Instead, they arrived shortly before candle lighting with their daughter. I asked whether they would like to light Shabbat candles. They agreed.
As mother and daughter lit the candles together, tears rolled down the mother’s face.
She later told us she had not lit Shabbat candles for many years. I explained an idea that touched her deeply. Jewish women across the globe light candles as Shabbat moves westward around the world. Australia begins, followed by Asia, the Middle East, Europe and then North America. Alaska is among the very last places on earth where Shabbat candles are lit.“By lighting here,” I said, “you complete the circle. You are not just lighting candles for Alaska. You are completing the chain of Jewish light around the entire world.”
The West Hampstead Chabad group in front of one of Alaska's lakes (Photo: courtesy)[Missing Credit]
Before we left, we presented them with a calendar containing the candle-lighting times in Alaska for the coming year. They promised they would continue lighting every single week.
During our stay, we visited both Chabad Houses in Anchorage and Mat-Su. Seeing the dedication of the shluchim serving Jewish communities in such remote corners of the world was deeply inspiring. While visiting Mat-Su we discovered they still lacked a Sefer Torah. The conversation stayed with us. Only a week later, while visiting the Rebbe’s Ohel (tomb) in New York, one member of our group unexpectedly met an old acquaintance.
“I’m rushing,” the man said. “I’m flying to Alaska.”
“Where in Alaska?”
“Mat-Su. They’re dedicating the new mikveh.” Another seemingly random encounter. Another reminder of Hashgachah Pratit – Divine Providence.
Our group has since resolved to help provide a Sefer Torah for Chabad of Mat-Su – a lasting reminder of a journey that gave us so much.
Looking back, Alaska was far more than magnificent scenery, thrilling ATV rides, unforgettable hikes and spectacular wildlife.
It became a journey of friendship, growth and countless reminders that Hashem accompanies us wherever we travel. Every glacier, every mountain, every salmon and every unexpected meeting carried a lesson.
Fifteen years of travelling together has taught us that while the destinations are unforgettable, it is the people we meet, the friendships we build and the moments of spiritual growth that remain with us long after we return home.
And if reading this has given you a taste for adventure…the next Chabad West Hampstead expedition is already on the horizon. New Zealand, summer 2028 – our winter.
If you’d like to join us for an unforgettable journey of adventure, friendship and inspiration, we’d love to have you along.
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