What are the secrets behind Israel's resilience and survival? - opinion

Though Hollywood would have us believe that the physical characteristics of a person – size, strength, beauty, etc. – are the most important, we know that it is our invisible qualities that truly define who and what we are. Integrity, honesty, empathy, kindness, trustworthiness, compassion, etc. – these are the essential measure of a man or woman.

Among the most important of these attributes are faith and courage. Over the past year, we have been witness to stunning displays of both.

Israel’s armed forces have taken the war against our enemies with a resolve that is courageous in the extreme; we witness examples of their acts of bravery on a daily basis.

Our soldiers report to their reserve service not reluctantly but with a remarkable eagerness to join their comrades in the field.

They know full well what the stakes are and the dangers that may await them; sadly, many of them have already lost comrades. But they do not shrink from their duty, and by facing their fears they evoke in all of us an unshakable pride and belief in our future.

Not only their courage but also their faith in the virtue of our struggle – despite the hysterical claims of maniacal mobs around the world – reinforce our own belief that we are squarely on the side of right and justice, and that we will prevail.

Who exhibits faith and courage every day? 

It is not only the soldiers who embody these qualities; so many others of our “average” citizens (can any Israeli ever really be considered average?!) also exhibit faith and courage on a daily basis:

* The courage of spouses and parents who, after encouraging their loved ones to join the fight, manage to go on with life, even when the news from the battlefield is stark and somber.

* The faith of Jews from all over the world who continue to come to Israel during this war – sometimes having to take multiple, ridiculously expensive flights to get here – in order to show solidarity with us in a time of crisis.

* The courage of people who have been evacuated from their homes during this struggle and placed in temporary housing, yet refuse to desert the country, even if they have the financial wherewithal to do so.

* The faith of all the families of the hostages who steadfastly hang on to their belief that their loved ones are still alive and will someday return, despite their being held in the most inhumane conditions.

And I can very confidently declare that the majority of Israeli citizens exhibit these virtues – albeit on a much smaller scale – on a regular basis as they grapple mightily with day-to-day life in Israeli society:

* Having the faith that the letter they mail will arrive within one year of posting.

* Having the courage to challenge fellow drivers racing to arrive at the traffic circle before them; and pedestrians daring to walk down our streets as mopeds and electric bikes whiz dangerously – and illegally – by them.

* Having the faith that when their number is called at the local post office, after waiting interminably, they will be taken care of before someone else – who only seconds before came through the door – takes their place.

BUT IF and when our courage does waver and our faith starts to falter, we still have one other secret weapon in our emotional arsenal: hope.

One of my all-time favorite authors is O. Henry (William Sydney Porter, 1862-1910).

A story of hope 

Among his wonderful tales is the story about a group of bedridden invalids in a large hospital room. One of them has his bed right at the window, and each day he poetically shares what he sees outside with his roommates.

“The Spring has come!” he proclaims. “The birds are flying about, twisting and turning, dipping and climbing as they take turns at the lovely water fountain in the park across the street.

How darling to see the children throwing their bread crumbs as the birds scramble about trying to get a piece. And the rosy-red roses have come back to life!

“Summer has come, and now children of all ages are playing in the park. They’re on the see-saw, the slides, the swings. Some of them are throwing a ball around, while little girls expertly compete in jump-roping.

“Now the rain has started to come down and Fall is with us. The colors on the trees are marvelous; bright orange and green with splashes of yellow. There’s a nip in the air; the gentlemen pull their coats tight about them while the ladies hold on to their hats against the wind.”

The patients, consumed by boredom, hung on every word as “window-man” described the scenes outside.

They looked forward to his report each morning when they awoke, anxious to hear about the outside world with all its multifaceted activity. But then one day, window-man died, and the bed of another of the occupants was moved near that precious, life-giving window.

The others waited anxiously for him to report on what was happening outside, but he said nothing. Days passed, but still he remained silent.

Confused at first, now turned furious, the patients lashed out.

“What are you waiting for?!” they screamed at him. “We want to know what’s out there! Why do you refuse to tell us?”

The man at the window sat up in his bed and stared at the others.

“Fools!” he said. “Don’t you know?! There is nothing outside this window except a tall, black wall!”

Well, my friends, we, too, have a wall; a quite tall and compelling one, at that. But it is neither solitary nor silent.

Our Kotel is alive with emotion, with passion, with life. It tells the story of our people, for it has witnessed both the tragedy and the triumph of our nation for more than two millennia.

It cried when we were treated as second-class citizens in our own land; but now it sings to us as it welcomes unending throngs of visitors coming to pray, to praise God or simply to be part of the greatest moment in our glorious history.

The birds have returned to fly around it, and the children kiss its stones, while the masses share their deepest secrets with it, placing “love notes” in the crevices.

Last week, on Sukkot, I stood in front of the Western Wall and sensed its greatest power: hope.

Hope that God sees and hears us; hope that we will do whatever we need to do to win this vicious war, which has claimed the best and brightest of our children.

Hope that we will never again be banished from our land; that we have returned to Israel to stay forever.

That is “Hatikvah,” the Hope. Along with faith and courage, it is the secret of our survival.

The writer is director of the Jewish Outreach Center of Ra’anana. rabbistewart@gmail.com