By Karen Kruger

We are two years past October 7, 2023. During these years, we, as a nation, have endured the unendurable and the unfathomable. We have lost entire families, many are wounded, and others are suffering the aftereffects of trauma and grief. We are reeling, as a society. Many are in a sort of daze, functioning, but just barely. War has taken its toll on us all. 

The joy and relief we experienced after receiving back our hostages, emaciated and barely alive, was tempered by the knowledge that, despite the rhetoric from Washington, D.C., this ceasefire is just that. It is not, by any means, “peace in the Middle East”. Though we yearn for this to be, it is simply, at this point, a temporary cessation of the war. 

There is an old joke that if there are two Jewish people, there are three opinions. I would like to say that this is true! We are diverse people with many opinions at the top of our lungs all the time. If there is one lesson we learned from the horrific massacre of October 7, it is that the Israeli people are resilient and strong, loving and creative, faithful and kind. Though we do disagree about everything, when the chips are down and we are in danger, we rise to the occasion. We have done four things that will go down in history and have gone down in history for thousands of years, that have kept us, as a people and a nation. They are to pray, pivot, persevere, and prevail. 

We didn’t begin to fathom the depth and depravity of the October 7 massacre at first. We were naïve. The people in the area surrounding Gaza were peaceful and idealistic. The kids dancing at the Nova festival were celebrating peace. This is our heart’s cry. And, as soon as we began to understand what had occurred, we prayed. I don’t know anyone, secular or religious, who didn’t offer up a prayer that this would not be as bad as we feared and that it would soon be over. Neither prayer was answered the way in which we had hoped it would be. Nevertheless, we prayed. And we continued to pray. We prayed for our hostages. Our hostages prayed, and some even found God in the tunnels. We prayed. 

Then, we pivoted. Citizens loaded their guns and went out to fight. Soldiers from abroad returned home. There was little hesitancy. My son, who was doing an internship for his master’s degree, got on a plane the same day and arrived in Israel a day later. No one hesitated; no one ignored their responsibility. People organized food, and hotels opened their doors to accept those driven from their homes. Teenagers babysat for mothers whose husbands were in the reserves. Everyone did something. Everyone was, to one degree or another, enlisted in the effort to help those who needed to be helped. We knew we were involved in an existential struggle for our very lives, and we all rose to the challenge, to whatever degree we could. 

And we persisted. For two long and soul-searing years, we persisted. We went to the streets to demand the release of our hostages. We cooked food for soldiers and those whose homes had been destroyed. We picked fruit for farmers, and we planted for those same farmers with faith and determination that the crops we planted would be harvested. We gathered to see who could do what for whom. And we persisted, and we persisted, and we persisted. Nobody expected the war to last as long as it did. Every day, our souls and minds were assaulted by the deaths of more soldiers. Along with the physical war, there was the war in the media, blaming Israel for the horror in Gaza. Others quickly swallowed the lies that Israel was committing unimaginable and horrific atrocities. The battle for our souls and credibility was relentless. And we persisted. 

Ultimately, we prevailed. Israel still stands. Hezbollah has been weakened, Iran has been weakened, Hamas has been weakened, and our living hostages are home. Though there continue to be skirmishes and casualties on our border, we have prevailed. 

This is not a surprise to people of faith, but it is a relief. Believing in the ultimate destiny of Israel while living through wars and enduring the loss of loved ones is incredibly difficult. The assaults on our hearts and minds demand resilience and fortitude that surprise even ourselves. None of us is born with this kind of stamina. Yet, our faith and our commitment and our love for each other and our divine purpose keep us from giving up. We have no other country. We have no other place. We have no other destiny, and we have no other home. This has been proven to us by how quickly the world has turned its back on Israel. What little empathy and help we have had during these long and hard years! 

Yet, as we pray every Shabbat, in Psalm 121, “I will lift up my eyes to the hills, from whence comes my help. My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved; He that keepeth Israel will not slumber nor sleep.” 

The people of Israel live and will continue. This is a promise of God, who has kept and will keep His promises to us all. Through prayer, pivoting when necessary, and persistence, we will continue, with His help, to prevail.