Reflections on War and Gratitude

“Through compliments from children and toddlers, you have built a stronghold against your enemies, to silence the enemy and the avenger.” (Psalm 8:2)

It’s strange, right? Gratitude doesn’t seem like the first response after two years of war, sirens, and terror. But as I reflect back to October 7, 2023, I find that’s exactly what has quietly taken root in my heart—like a small sprout peeking through charred soil.

That grim morning started with sirens blaring at 6:30 a.m. My husband and I quickly gathered our children and rushed to the bomb shelter. I’d heard sirens before, but this was different—louder, creepier. Hours later, Hamas and Islamic Jihad executed the deadliest attack against Jews since the Holocaust. Over 1,200 Israelis—Jews, Muslims, Christians—lost their lives, and 255 were taken hostage, simply for being Israeli or living in Israel. In just one day, our country’s landscape morphed.

Since that day, every family in Israel has felt the war’s impact. Now, every outing is measured by how quickly we can get to a shelter. As I tuck my children in at night, I find myself praying for the hostages whose faces I’ve held in my heart for two long years. When the 20 surviving hostages were finally freed on October 13, 2025, it felt as if our whole nation breathed a collective sigh. There was dancing, tears, disbelief, and above all, gratitude. We still pray for those missing to return, so their families can finally lay them to rest in the Land of Israel.

“Remember, Mom, whenever we fear, we trust in God.”

In the midst of this turmoil, my own life has shifted. I’m a wife and mother, working full time, and I volunteer as a certified search and rescue worker. During the war, I was called up many times. It was challenging to leave my kids behind while sirens wailed outside. My daughter, then just four, became my little theologian. Every time I left, she’d whisper, “Remember, Mom, whenever we fear, we trust in God.”

One day in January 2024, terrorists attacked my hometown with vehicles and knives. My child’s kindergarten went into lockdown, sealing the children in a bomb shelter while the danger lingered outside. I found myself on my knees in our living room, crying out to God, feeling so helpless.

After it was safe, we rushed to the kindergarten. The teacher told me my daughter had started singing, teaching the other children:

“The keeper of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. Where will my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, Creator of heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121)

In that moment of fear, my daughter worshiped. In a dark valley, voices of praise rose up from the shelter. From then on, my understanding of gratitude shifted completely.

Not long ago, my six-year-old asked me a tough question while we were in a shelter, listening to the sirens wail at midnight. “Mom, did the bomb come from Hamas? Or Hezbollah? Or maybe Iran?”

I replied, “No, this time it’s the Houthis from Yemen.”

She paused and inquired, “Why do so many people hate us and want us dead?”

Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure how to answer, especially since it was early morning and I hadn’t had my coffee yet. But then she reassured me, “It’s okay, Mom, God loves us.”

This year, as Thanksgiving approached, my thoughts drifted to a different kind of table. Instead of one laden with abundance, I’m seated at a table surrounded by enemies. Life isn’t without risk, but it’s safeguarded by a faithful God. I hold on to Corrie ten Boom’s words: “There is no hole so deep that God’s love does not grow deeper.”

After two years of conflict, we remain thankful because God’s steadfast love for Israel hasn’t wavered. Challenges from Hamas, Hezbollah, Iran, and the Houthis are likely to persist. Ceasefires might come and go. But the keeper of Israel neither slumbers nor sleeps. God’s promises endure; His presence remains unyielding, and love resonates even in the darkest moments.

I hope these words find you during this season of gratitude. I pray that the message of Isaiah Chapter 61 will be fulfilled for my people and all those who are suffering.

“…to comfort all those who mourn, to comfort those who mourn in Zion, to give beauty for ashes, oil of joy for sorrow, and a garment of praise for a spirit of heaviness; that they may be called the oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.”

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