This week I Whatsapped my cousins living in Israel, “Whats up? How is the situation in Israel?” and they all said, “We are scared. We do not venture out unless we absolutely must. We are afraid. We look at every Arab with suspicion. We try to avoid public transportation and crowded places.” This is the situation in Israel in 2015.
Many Israeli citizens are living in fear. During the past wars we knew where the enemy was. We knew who the enemy was. Today we have no idea where the next knife attack will come from. The terrorist who drove his car into a bus stop last week was an Arab Israeli citizen living in Israel and working at an Israeli firm. Today we don’t know if it’s a male terrorist, a female or even a child. The terror attacks are happening everywhere, and unfortunately, incitement continues on social media unabated. No one knows when and where the next terrorist will strike.
We are living in dangerous times.
It reminds me of growing up in South Africa in the ‘80s and ‘90s.
My mother was attacked and violently beaten in our home. My brother was car jacked. Many of my friends were mugged. Every day there was another mugging, another carjacking. Our house (like all houses in South Africa) was surrounded by a tall fence, barbed wires and electronic gates. Every gate and window is covered with security bars. I grew up with two German shepherds and an English mastiff—three massive dogs for our protection. And our house was alarmed with strategically placed panic buttons, which send an alert to a private security company that dispatches armed responders.
I lived in fear and suspicion. Always looking around to see who else was on the street. Carrying a stick and pepper spray. Always trying to determine which passerby might have a weapon. I avoided walking home at night, and I drove up to my home cautiously in case there was someone waiting there to harm me. This is how I spent many years of my early life.
When the apartheid regime fell, people were afraid the situation would snowball. Local newspapers predicted bloodshed and violent civil war. Many people left South Africa. But there was one person who promised that South Africa would be good to the Jews until the coming of Moshiach, and that was the Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Rebbe promised South African Jewry that everything would be ok, and so despite the fear, we had confidence in the future.
I believe the Rebbe’s promise swayed the opinion of many South African Jews. Rabbis told their congregants not to worry, and today South African Jewry continues to thrive, the situation is relatively peaceful and life is good. In fact, just recently two of my sisters moved back to South Africa where my parents and two other siblings still live.
When it comes to Israel, the Rebbe often quoted the Biblical verse which states that Israel is the land upon which “the eyes of G-d are there, from the beginning of the year until the end.” The Rebbe consistently said that Israel is the safest place, where G-d protects us.
When there’s so much murder and bloodshed, it’s hard to see this. But we know that through it all, G-d will protect us, we will defeat our enemies, and our spirit will not be broken.
Last summer, tens of thousands of mourners attended the funeral of Eyal, Gilad and Naftali—the three boys murdered by Palestinian terrorists. The day was swelteringly hot, and the crowd stretched for miles down the road. Along the way, somebody planted a huge hand-painted banner, which read: “Am ha-netzach lo mifached mei-haderech arucha” – “The eternal nation is not afraid of the long journey.”
That said it all.
Despite the trials and tribulation we have suffered throughout the long and arduous journey of our history, we are not broken, nor crushed, we are not disheartened nor dispirited. We will triumph.