Settling into my seat on Flight 1272 to Chicago, I watched the passengers file down the aisle. Among the business travelers toting lap-tops and briefcases, and the pleasure travelers wearing shorts and Walkmans, I spied several suede kippot, a shtreimel and several ankle-length skirts. Despite our shared heritage, I didn't acknowledge them. They were strangers. I live in New York, where strangers don't exchange greetings, even if they recite the same prayers. The plane rolled toward the runway and waited for takeoff. No such luck.

The pilot announced the flight was being delayed three hours due to stormy weather in Chicago. I eyed my watch nervously. I usually avoid flying Friday afternoons fearing I won't arrive in time, but I figured I was safe in the summer when Shabbat begins after 8 p.m. I figured wrong. But I calculated I could still make it if I didn't wait to claim my luggage and jumped right into a taxi. I turned to check on my co-religionists. The kippot watched their watches, the chasid was on the airphone. A half-hour before arrival, the pilot announced O'Hare Airport was shut down and we were landing in Milwaukee, until we could continue.

My stomach sank. Candlelighting was only an hour away. I'd never make it on time. Like most religious Jews who work in the secular world, I had my share of close calls. But I never knowingly violated the Sabbath. Now, I was stuck.

By now, the kippot and the long skirts were huddling in the back of the plane. They had been joined by others. Shabbat was bringing strangers together. It was time to introduce myself. "We're getting off in Milwaukee," one man told me. The chasid had called a Milwaukee Chabad rabbi, who offered to host us. "Come with us," he urged.

I nodded with relief but was crestfallen since I had planned, for months, to spend this weekend with my family. My non-Jewish seatmate, noting my despair, inquired what was wrong. When I told him, his jaw dropped. "Let me get this straight," he said. "You're getting off in a town where you've never been, with people you don't know, to stay overnight with strangers?"

When the plane landed, the pilot announced we were disembarking for religious reasons. Passengers stared at us, dumbfounded. My seatmate bid me farewell as if he didn't think I'd survive.

But I was among friends. A woman insisted on helping me carry my bags off the plane. When we crowded into cabs to the rabbi's house, the chasid insisted on paying for me. And when the cabs pulled up at the home, the rabbi and rebbetzin ran out to greet us as if we were long lost relatives.

The sun set on Milwaukee as they ushered us into their home, where a long Shabbat table was set with a white tablecloth, china and gleaming kiddush cups. When I lit the Shabbat candles a wave of peace washed over me. I was warmed by the first flicker of Shabbat light. Over a traditional Shabbat feast, the rabbi enchanted us with tales of the Baal Shem Tov and informed us that our detour was not due to the weather but to Divine Providence.

We lingered over our meal, enjoying our spiritual sanctuary after the stressful day. Singing filled the room. We shared disappointments about our unexpected stopover. Most of the group traveling to Chicago was missing a wedding party. The chasid and his wife were missing a bar mitzva. We pondered the meaning of the departure from our journey and marveled at the coincidences. I had attended camp with my "roomate," a couple had conducted business with my father, a man went to school with my cousin, the chasid used to work in my hometown of Aurora, Ill, and I had once spent Purim in Crown Heights with my host's son.

Exhausted as we were, we hesitated to leave the table to go to sleep. Next morning, the lively service was followed by a leisurely meal where we shared stories about our loves, careers and dreams. We nicknamed ourselves the Milwaukee 15 and wondered if future generations would retell the story of the flight that almost didn't make it for Shabat.

Saturday night, before journeying back into the everyday world, I called my husband. "Who did you spend Shabbat with?" he asked worriedly. I wondered how to explain the 'strangers' who had given me a lesson in Shabbat hospitality and Shabbat's ability to bring Jews together.

Then, as swift as a 747 can leave the tarmac on a clear day, I realized the truth. Miles away from my parents, husband and home, I actually accomplished what I had set out to do when booking my ticket. I did spend Shabbat with family.