We are not all right

As someone whose roots trace back to a Holocaust survivor, my heart is heavy as I see the storms brewing in Israel. The tales of terror coming from that land hit close to home, reminding me of the dark chapters from the past. It feels like a chilling movie replaying, only this time in the real world, touching real lives. The pain etched in the tales emerging from the heart of Israel sends shivers down the spine of humanity, a chilling reminder of the sinister shadows looming over the cradle of civilization.

When I heard Mayor Eric Adams say, “We are not all right,” it shook me. It was like he was voicing the silent cries of many hearts. His words, “Your fight is our fight,” felt like a warm embrace in this cold reality. It was a promise that we were in this together, a soothing balm on a painful wound.

His fervent proclamation, “Your fight is our fight,” unfurled as a solemn pledge, a bond woven with threads of shared sorrows and hopes. Mayor Adams’ pledge, stating, “I’m not here because I’m your mayor… I’m your brother,” underscored a collective responsibility to support Israel, denounce hatred, and strive for a peaceful coexistence.

It was a promise that we were in this together, a soothing balm on a painful wound. We are all in this together.

The stories of bravery from Israel are like small lights in this dark tunnel. I heard about Itai and Antar, a brave couple who saved their twin babies from the clutches of terror. The cold-blooded massacre of a family in Kibbutz Kfar Gaza a chilling testimony to the sinister face of hatred.

Among these tales, the story of Inbal Rabin Lieberman, a 25-year-old Rabshatz of Kibbutz Nir, emerges as a symbol of unyielding bravery. Inbal Rabin Lieberman, a young lady from Kibbutz Nir, who, with her quick thinking and brave heart, stopped a terror attack from turning her home into a graveyard.

Her adept orchestration of defense, which thwarted the menace of saving her kibbutz from a bloodbath, paints a portrait of hope amidst a landscape smeared with blood and tears. Their courage gives us a glimmer of hope.

The silence in the lively streets of Tel Aviv now tells a story of its own. A friend described it, and it was like I could feel the eerie quietness, too. Though I’ve never called Israel my home, the bond I feel is strong. It’s like a distant relative going through a tough time - you feel the pain.

Though miles apart, the land of Israel cradles the hearts of those I hold dear. The tales of horror and heroism intertwined with the ancient soil resonate with the beat of my heart, a painful yet profound bond forged in the furnace of shared history and hopes.

Recently, my friend whom I met last year in the Cayman Islands - Howard Lindzon, Howard Lindzon shared a piece titled ‘a Time for Moral over Metrics ’, which got me thinking. It’s about looking beyond numbers and feeling the human pulse in situations like this. It’s a reminder to step into the shoes of others, to learn from these rough times, and to keep the spirit of humanity alive.

As we face these challenging times, sticking together, understanding each other, and standing with Israel is more important than ever. This is not just a phase; it’s a lesson in humanity, a chance to show empathy and come together as one big global family.

The pain we share, the voice we raise against violence, and the love we spread is what will see us through. Our support for Israel is more than a hashtag; it’s a promise of hope, a step towards healing.

Let’s keep the conversations going, extend our support to Israel, and make a stand against hatred. Our small actions our words of support, can mean the world in times like these.

Let’s let our voices resonate with the cries of the innocent, let our words echo the narrative of truth, and let our actions reflect the spirit of unity as we stand unwaveringly with Israel, nurturing the seeds of peace in a land yearning for the dawn of serenity.

#StandWithIsrael #MoralOverMetrics #HumanityFirst #UnitedWeStand