I returned from the pristine snow of the winter wonderland that was Central Park West. Consumed with re-booking my cancelled El Al flight — cancelled due to the storm in the East — I had missed the emotional clips of the return of Ran Gvili’s body, found whole and still in his police uniform.
I had read about the platoon that broke into singing of “Ani Ma’amin, I believe with complete faith in the coming of the Messiah . . . ”
So wondrous was the miracle of Ran’s body being found and returned to his family, to his homeland, for proper Jewish burial. It was akin to awaiting for Mashiach, and then somehow the elusive Mashiach being found.
His platoon, hushed, for the duration of the search. Utter silence reigning between comrades, focused on the task at hand.
But then upon arrival in Israel, I saw the actual footage of the soldiers singing of “Ani Ma’amin.” Then I saw a another moving clip of the soldiers accompanying Ran’s body back to Israel, this time singing Arik Einshtein’s “To Weep For You,” with its famous and poignant refrain, “lanetsach achi, forever my brother.”
I watched the clip of Ran’s father’s noble carriage and words.
My return to Israel had its practical side, too. I prepared for a celebratory Shabbat of post-wedding sheva brachot. I received a video from the hostess, showcasing the lovely, newly remodeled apartment we would all be staying in. It was remodeled in artistic Moroccan flair, replete with intricate details of exotically designed floor tiles, geometric patterns in the furniture, to an ambient colorful glow of lanterns. It was as though we were stepping into Casablanca or Rabat.
“And here is the safe room,” the hostess continued, as the camera panned to a gorgeous Moroccan style safe room, “in the event of an attack from Iran . . . ”
At the conclusion of a beautiful Shabbat, which thankfully was peaceful, in post-Havdalah small talk, I asked one of the guests from overseas about his departure. “Sunday . . . if there’s no war with Iran.”
“Why is everyone waiting for the war like this?” someone piped up. “No one has any clue.” “Maybe there will be a war tonight.” “And maybe Mashiach will come tonight.” “That’s about the same level of certainty anyone has about either event!”
In other words, none. So we might as well preoccupy ourselves in preparing and yearning for Mashiach suddenly to arrive.
The next day I was making plans to meet a friend’s mother. Her response: “Assuming there’s no war with Iran, Wednesday should work.”
That Sunday evening it was Tu b’Shevat. Prior to attending a Tu b’Shevat event, I popped into a grocery store. The line was out the door. Water, bread, milk, batteries, canned goods — shelf-stable items overflowing out of shoppers arms and grocery shopping baskets. I didn’t need anyone to tell me . . . in case there is a war with Iran.
Two hours later at a uniquely Israeli Tu b’Shevat event; an evening that touched on processing a lot of the pain that Israelis have been carrying, an evening that wove Torah texts about trees, with a poetry reading of sorts, and heartfelt sing-along with a strumming guitarist — when one of the authors on the panel said: “And here we are living in a place where we live with a constant fear of war maybe breaking out — no, where we know for certain there is a next war on our hands, be it in five minutes or in two weeks, but we know . . . ”
After the event I passed a cafe with a generous amount of out-door seating, contiguous with a natural outdoor landscape of huge, wide, carved stone steps, so large they are more like benches, and the cafe guests or perhaps also random Jerusalemites, were spilling out over these seat-like steps carved up from the ground up.
The cafe was hopping. It was after 10 p.m. but might as well have been 10 a.m. Israelis, as usual, living life to its fullest . . . in case a war with Iran breaks out?
When I returned home, I checked the news to see what was new before going to bed (and without having prepared anything for a war yet). On the screen before someone in my Facebook feed whose voice is often very valuable and insightful, basically wrote something along the lines of: Basically, you have to be prepared as though it can happen any minute. You need to logistically prepare like it can happen any minute.
He was of course referring to the war.
But I wondered to myself, for the war with Iran? Or for Mashiach?
© IJN 2026
