Rebuilding our Ancient Homeland

I know it looks bad.

All the news coming out of London, NYC, and all the parts of the world where Jews aren't welcomed to be Jewish.

Where we can’t look Jewish, act Jewish, or even carry an Israeli passport.

Where we’re told to hide our stars, silence our songs, and stay small so we don’t “provoke.”

Where our visible presence can cause a r*ot - and somehow we are the problem.

I know it feels scary.

I know it feels too familiar - like an echo our ancestors left in our bones.

Our DNA remembers. It tightens, it trembles, it warns.

We know these stories.

We’ve seen where they lead.

But I need to tell you something from here - from the place they call the problem.

The last two years in Israel have been really hard.

I won’t sugarcoat it.

But I have never been prouder to be an Israeli.

Because when I look around me, I see life.

I see people who wake up every morning and choose hope.

I see the young soldiers who stand guard so others can sleep.

The mothers who carry the weight of the world and still smile for their kids.

The volunteers who show up again and again, even when they’re exhausted.

The neighbors who cook for strangers because someone has to.

The doctors who haven’t slept in days but still whisper comfort as they stitch wounds.

The teachers who face classrooms of children who have seen too much -and still believe in tomorrow.

The farmers who plant seeds in uncertain soil.

The musicians who bring songs to bases and hospitals.

The journalists who risk their lives to tell the truth.

The leaders, poets, and artists who remind us that the soul of this nation is still burning bright.

The bus drivers who hand soldiers water bottles and blessings.

The teenagers who trade nights out for packing care boxes.

The shopkeepers who refuse to raise prices when times are tough.

The reservists who kiss their babies goodbye -again - and go.

This past week, yet again we have seen hostages come home with hope still in their hearts.

Families and friends reunited.

Open skies and the potential of tomorrows that didn't exist before.

When I look at the people of Israel, I see courage in motion.

I see heartbreak turned into action.

I see faith that refuses to dim - even under fire.

So yes, I see the headlines. I see the protests. I see the h*tred boiling over in cities far from here.

And it's not over here.

We're still waiting for the rest to come home.

We're still sending our people into danger to bring them back and keep the living safe.

But I also see how we are moving forward.

That we keep singing, praying, rebuilding, defending, teaching, and dreaming.

That we refuse to disappear.

To fade quietly into the annals of history.

This time, instead of escaping into a new world, we are rebuilding our ancient homeland.

Where we belong.

And that blessing is what keeps us all going.

Am Yisrael Chai