I look at Israel and Israelis and side by side with my sense of awe at their lion-like power, strength and boldness, there’s also a tinge of sadness.
A ballistic missile destroyed some residential buildings, leaving countless people homeless. The place of their lives, their memories, their moments of security, their anchor in life, blown to smithereens. They are left with the hardship of sharp shards to pick up and start over with. Overwhelming destruction to contend with.
One of the places destroyed was a famous bakery. Astonishingly, amidst the broken windows and blown out café, within hours, they were serving coffee and baked goods.
Another space — a children’s playground — was destroyed, and within hours or days volunteer teens were rebuilding it so the children shouldn’t miss out on their playground space.
These stories of breathtaking Israeli resilience seem endless.
Yet, there is also something sad about needing to constantly be in “fight-or-flight” trauma response mode. Of course, we hear about the heroes, those who can overcome hardship with stunning recovery.
But what about all those people who understandably stumble and fall?
Even within the inspiring resilience, what about the emotional loss sustained when there is no space to grieve or mourn, only the sorrow or trauma people are enduring?
As though when something tragic happens, it is normal to skip immediately to recovery and rebuilding without having the time to process the loss.
When a person dies, that would seem inappropriate.
There are stages of grieving from the intense seven-day shiva, to one month, to one year.
A house, a home, a building — ultimately, they are inanimate. Yet the loss of home is consequential, displacing a sense of belonging. The gathering place of their memories and security in this world, wiped out with barely a moment’s notice or warning.
It is not comparable to bereavement, to loss of a loved one. Yet it holds a trauma all its own.
To witness such destruction is not a simple thing.
The bereavement of loved ones has wrenchingly been a tragedy that Israeli families have been contending with, and molded anew by this painful fire since Oct. 7, leaving so many forever changed, never to be the same again.
The spirit of the roaring fierce lion has been Israel personified. But so are there wounded lions. Shattered by it all.
Or not lions at all. But regular breakable human beings undergoing outsized existential events on an ongoing basis that their regular hearts and minds are exhausted from. The shrieking and waning sirens, the tolling bells of their days, as the fate of their lives hangs between these piercing sounds. Falling asleep to, and yet again awaking to them, day by day, somehow finding it within themselves, once again girding themselves, for what the day will bring.
The overall Israeli spirit truly has been one of that roaring lion, though. It’s simply astonishing.
It brings to mind the ancient sentiment popularized by a Michael Hopf:
“Hard times create strong men. Strong men create good times. Good times create weak men. Weak men create hard times.”
Setting aside the glib generality and the gender, there’s still truth in this quote.
As I straddle life between Israel and America, right now it feels like the first part of the quote is true for an overwhelming part of Israeli society — and the other part of the quote is true for much of prevailing Western society.
Again, generalizations. But the contrast is sharp.
On some level, perhaps the “hard times” part is always true for most Jews. Even if it’s buried in the subconscious, there is always that collective memory and identity of “hard times.” Can a Jew ever really be footloose and free in a “good times” kind of way that molds weakness?
Look at this young generation. Kids, really. Look at these true lions of Judah who rose up, a generation that is proving to be our mentors, our teachers. Pre-Oct. 7 the sense was they were kids, spoiled by technology, who didn’t know the first thing about coping with delayed gratification, etc.
Granted, they endured Covid, a global pandemic the likes of which had not been experienced in a century. Nonetheless, the overall sentiment was, “they are spoiled.”
I don’t mean to romanticize war. Like I say, plenty of people heartbreakingly endure this multi-front war and understandably fall through the cracks.
The physical, emotional, mental, spiritual, logistical and psychological damage is all too real, all too painful. And in many situations, the toll of this war can’t yet be known or understood.
But these heroic lions never cease to amaze. They are like the torchlight bearers walking before the camp, leading the way.
Many released hostages, instead of broken, destroyed beings, are recovering sufficiently to carry their catastrophic experiences and transform themselves into leaders.
Many of the wounded soldiers are working to recover from devastating, life-altering and potentially isolating wounds so as to re-enter the dangerous war effort to support their fellow soldiers and ultimately safeguard Israel.
Many healthy young Israelis are valiantly doing all they can to return to Israel’s war zone and be with their people, instead of remaining safely siloed, safe and apart, abroad.
These aren’t lions.
These are ordinary Israelis, transformed into the extraordinary.
These are our people.
Strong men and women, in tough times of a war no one asked for, creating inspirational times.
© IJN 2025
