I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve been to Israel, but the trip I just returned from was unlike any other. The sights I saw, the people I met, the devastation and the unity—it will stay with me forever.
This visit was not a pleasure trip or a tourist opportunity. It was a mission. I went with a group and our goal was to show solidarity and provide as much assistance as possible.
We started at Kfar Aza—a town right on the Gaza border that was hit one of the hardest on October 7th. As much as I’d heard and read and seen about the brutality and devastation, it was nothing compared to being there in person, seeing it first hand, and hearing about it from those who lived through it and somehow survived.
Our guide walked us through the attacks in horrifying detail, showing us exactly where the Hamas terrorists paraglided into Israel, where the fences were breached, where the first murders happened, how everything played out. We saw, heard, and breathed every excruciating detail. It felt like we were living it all over again.
The homes in Kfar Aza have been left exactly as they were on October 7th—bloodied, burned, plundered, riddled with bullets. We could still smell the smoke.
We met hundreds of survivors. Everywhere we went, we saw pain. Everyone has a story, everyone is a survivor.
We visited the site of the Nova music festival, which has become a makeshift memorial. We listened to the stories of the soldiers who were wounded there, saving as many lives as they could under heavy fire. We cried.
We went to Sderot, which has been hit by hundreds of missiles, and saw the police station that was completely overrun by terrorists on October 7. We saw the Chabad house playground which was also struck. We heard first-hand accounts of those who witnessed the unbearable slaughter of our people.
We visited an airforce base where we witnessed a deeply emotional reunion between a soldier who was wounded in Gaza and the pilot who saved his life. It was impossible not to cry.
We hosted BBQs for soldiers stationed on the front lines and saw the critical equipment Belev Echad helped purchase. At Belev Echad headquarters and Tel Hashomer hospital we met with a devastating amount of wounded soldiers, hearing story after story of pain and heroism.
We visited the family of Raz Mizrahi, just to be there in their time of pain. We cried with her parents and cried at her grave.
We went to the Western Wall, where we prayed and cried and cried and prayed.
The pain is endless, the suffering unfathomable.
But at the same time, I met so many other Jews who had come specifically to show their solidarity and support. Group after group, all there to say, “We care. We share your pain. We’re here to help.”
The message I’m bringing back from this trip is: These are our brothers and sisters, putting their lives on the line every single day for all of us. Their pain is our pain, their suffering is our suffering. We feel it now more acutely than ever. So this is the time to turn to Hashem and say: “Look how united your children are! We are “Belev Echad” — with one heart! It’s time to bring Moshiach and the Final Redemption. We have suffered enough.”
We must demand it, and do everything we can to make it happen. Light Shabbat candles, put on tefillin, reach out to another Jew … surely we are at the tipping point where our mitzvah could truly be the one to launch us into the era of Moshiach and true peace.