There are times when I sit alone with my thoughts, trying to understand — not just with my mind, but with my soul — what truly matters in this fleeting life of ours. It’s easy to answer with the familiar trio: health, freedom, family. But life, real life, demands a deeper answer — an answer that only emerges when those treasures are ripped away.
I am about to embark on a mission to Israel, a journey into the heart of a people who have lost so much — their health, their security, their loved ones — and yet refuse to surrender. I wonder: What fuels their spirit when their world has been shattered? What keeps them standing when others would crumble?
We live in a generation that is quick to call someone a “hero,” but words have grown cheap. In Israel, the word “hero” still means something sacred, something fierce. It speaks of sacrifice beyond what we can imagine and a loyalty that defies human logic.
I think of one man — a rabbi and a lieutenant colonel in the IDF. A man who buried not one, but two sons, slaughtered while defending our precious land. How can a father breathe after such agony? How can he open his eyes, lace up his boots, and return to the battlefield? And yet, that is exactly what he does. His heart is broken, but his spirit burns brighter than ever. He fights not because he feels no pain, but because the pain demands that he fight — for a future that his sons believed in enough to die for.
We will visit soldiers who carry scars — some visible, many hidden. We will meet reservists who traded their business suits for uniforms and now wrestle with financial devastation. We will sit with families who live with the gaping hole of a missing loved one. And yet — and yet! — they refuse to give in. They rebuild. They believe. They dare to dream again.
For them, heroism isn’t about medals or parades. It’s about dragging yourself out of bed when hope seems like a cruel joke. It’s about choosing to love again when your heart has been shattered. It’s about whispering a prayer when you don’t know if anyone is listening.
This, my friends, is the deepest truth: Life will break us. But if we are brave enough to keep walking, even with broken bones and broken hearts, we will find that life can also heal us.
May we, too, find the courage to live with open hearts. May we never take for granted the blessings we so easily overlook. And may we honor the heroes of Israel — not only with our words, but with lives of meaning, lives of gratitude, and lives committed to the sacred, eternal work of building and rebuilding Am Yisrael and the people of Israel. Rabbi Jack Engel
