The past week has been both exhilarating and dizzying. Each day brings a surge of euphoria. The IDF is dismantling threats from the rogue Iranian regime with extraordinary precision. We are living through history. The pages of the Tanach (Jewish scriptures) feel open before us, and we are writing new chapters – chapters that belong to the final story of history.
As I write these words on Sunday, June 22, I suspect they won’t survive the pace of events. By the time this is published, the landscape will almost certainly have shifted so dramatically that these reflections may already feel outdated, even obsolete.
On Friday the 13th of June, as the war with Iran began, our people endured painful losses from the initial missile attacks. Last week, I wrote about the varieties of faith summoned during moments of crisis. Though the Iranian missile threat has not fully vanished, we have since witnessed extraordinary accomplishments – military feats that once felt unimaginable.
At this stage, it is more appropriate to speak about faith in times of success. Faith is not only tested by tragedy; it is also refined by triumph. People of faith are expected to view victory through the same lens as suffering – not as random or self-generated but as part of a divine unfolding. The exhilaration we experienced this past week must be balanced with humility, gratitude, and a deeper awareness of our place within a story far greater than ourselves.
Gratitude amid complexity
Firstly, we must feel profound gratitude for the miracles we have witnessed. Our situation is still complex, but the rapid defeat of so many who sought to destroy our people is undeniably a divine miracle.
The Talmud suggests that King Hizkiyahu could have ushered in the messianic era, had he only offered proper praise to God after being saved from a suffocating Assyrian siege. One reason he may have failed to offer gratitude was that the broader national situation remained deeply complex. The northern region had been ravaged, and 10 of the 12 tribes had already been exiled by the same Assyrian forces. It was difficult for him to offer heartfelt gratitude amid such a fraught and unfinished theater of suffering.
When we witness miracles, even in incomplete form, we are called upon to express gratitude. Over the past two years, many Jews have added sections from Psalms to their daily prayers – pleas for mercy, protection, and salvation from our enemies. At this stage, consider adding one of thanksgiving, such as Chapter 100, “Mizmor L’todah” (a song for thanks) – a short and familiar chapter dedicated to expressing thanks to Hashem for His kindness and deliverance.
The Earth has shifted
This past week feels like more than just a miracle: It feels like a breakthrough moment in Jewish history. It seems as if God hasn’t merely intervened but is actively re-landscaping history and redrawing geopolitical realities.
When Moses faced the Korach insurrection, he asked God to create a beriah hadasha – a new reality – rather than simply intervening within the natural order. God responded by opening the ground and swallowing the insurgents. It feels as if we have experienced a similar earthquake – where the ground we have stood upon for decades has shifted tectonically.
This week doesn’t just feel miraculous. It has the weight and texture of a Six Day War moment – as if we’ve reached a historic breakthrough in the unfolding story of the State of Israel. Faith asks us to recognize and honor this moment.
The same side of the river
It also feels as if this stage of the battle has shifted the broader Jewish narrative. We are accustomed to standing alone – on one side of the river – with no one joining us. Sometimes we stand alone religiously, sometimes morally, and sometimes historically. At the beginning of this war, our struggle had that familiar feeling: We alone were confronting the menace that Iran poses to the entire region.
But something has changed. We have been joined by the United States, which has taken an open role in the war effort, and by countless other countries that explicitly or quietly support this obvious moral battle against a regime of terror.
The assistance and support we have received is not merely tactical – it reflects something deeper. It symbolizes that, at least in this chapter, the world recognizes the moral insanity of allowing a regime to exist, one of whose main goals is to destroy the Jewish state.
Sometimes it is difficult to shift into that second mode of Jewish history – the one in which we are popular and supported by others. It feels more binary to stand alone, more black and white, to face a world of opposition, and to invoke the “other side of the river” posture.
But at this moment, we are not alone. And we must recognize the broader symbolism: that we are not the only ones who see the morality of this fight. We have been joined in this battle, and that, too, is part of the unfolding story.
Holding joy and pain
Faith also demands that we hold conflicting emotions together in our hearts. Alongside our euphoric victories, there remains a long shadow of sadness and trauma among our people. Just last week, we were able to reclaim three bodies from the tunnels in Gaza – a painful and poignant reminder of our more than 50 hostages and of our unfinished business there. Though the plight of the hostages has taken a back seat to our efforts against Iran, we must not forget the nightmare they and their families continue to endure.
Additionally, during this war, at least 29 in Israel lost their lives, more than 3,200 have been hospitalized, and many more have been rendered homeless by the inhumane Iranian shelling of civilians. Faith demands that as we celebrate our victory, we do not overlook our continued suffering.
Optimism and caution
Faith and victory can also play tricks on our minds and raise undue, unrealistic expectations. We have achieved miraculous victories and made great strides; our situation is exponentially stronger and safer than it was just 12 days ago. However, our reality remains complex, and the Middle East has not turned into a Camelot. Talk of a “new Middle East” may be overly ambitious, or at least premature.
A poignant midrash describes the moment after Haman paraded Mordechai through the streets of Persia, signaling his impending downfall. Despite the emerging triumph, Mordechai returned to his prayers with caution. We, too, must be cautious – gratefully embrace the miracles and hope for the future, without oversimplifying the situation or imagining outcomes that have yet to unfold.
Targeting our progress
Finally, the larger symbolism of our battle against Iran was underscored by two complexes devastated by shelling. The Weizmann Institute of Science in Rehovot suffered serious damage, and a building in the Soroka Medical Center complex in Beersheba was severely hit. This shelling is part of the broader targeting of civilian sites and reveals the pure barbaric evil of our enemies, who are willing to attack innocent civilians.
These bombings also encapsulate our ongoing struggle. The Weizmann Institute building that was hit is a cancer research center aiming to discover cures for a disease that affects millions – presumably including Iranians afflicted by it. Soroka hospital is the major regional medical center in the southern region, serving people of different religions and races.
As we continue striving to advance the human condition and bring welfare and life to the world, our enemies, unable to face this reality, continue choosing to hate us. Foolishly, they pour their resources into a futile attempt to thwart our mission. They hurl hate at a world we are trying to heal. But hate crumbles where our mission endures.
The writer is a rabbi at the hesder pre-military Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, with YU ordination and an MA in English literature from CUNY. His books include the recent To Be Holy but Human: Reflections Upon My Rebbe, HaRav Yehuda Amital, available at mtaraginbooks.com