A Granddaughter’s Strength: The Power to Choose

Just like music, the young woman’s voice has a way of magically reaching into the depths of my soul. Her words evoke thoughts and feelings, prompting questions about purpose. She drew inspiration from her mother’s values: “Caring for more than just yourself, having hope, and knowing that we can truly make a difference—not just feeling helpless.” But how does a philosophy translate into reality? How do convictions become actions?

“First of all, from my perspective, the world does not need fixing. It is not broken. We made it a certain way, and we have the power to choose: whether we want it to remain this way or to create something different.” Maayan’s stream of thought crystallizes. “There is a better path, a more fulfilling path—and it starts with yourself and your own community,” she says convincingly. “Happy people do not purposely do bad things to others,” she elaborates.

“You have the responsibility and the option to make a choice.” Maayan states that this choice does not simply “happen”; it can be violence, or it can be peace and love. People around the world witnessed the violence of October 7th—a massacre, including the abduction of civilians from babies to grandparents, broadcast by Hamas themselves. This was their choice. But was it really?

To say that there is always a choice can sound ideological, as if a computerized brain presented options: If you want violence, press one. If you want peace and love, press two. Simple enough. But human nature is more complex than that—it is not a philosophical walk in the park. It is easy to theorize how one would react in the face of disaster. This is not a simulation. This is the real deal.

Maayan contextualizes her thinking with a quote by Viktor E. Frankl: “What is to give light must endure burning.” This powerful statement reflects her perspective on the strength needed to endure hardship and move forward with purpose. Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and psychologist, used his own experiences of suffering to offer insights into the human ability to choose, even in the most dire circumstances. His book, Man’s Search for Meaning, has been published in twenty-one languages, with English editions surpassing three million copies. If there weren’t some truth in its message, it would hardly have had such an impact. His story serves as an anchor of hope for those who have endured or are enduring their own personal hell.

Not many things survived the burning of Maayan’s grandparents’ home. One of the few that did was a concrete handprint of a four-year-old, hanging on the porch. It withstood the fire. “It’s still there,” Maayan says, “facing a burned home and a pretty much ruined Gaza.” She shows me her hand, explaining that the print was made by her own, now fully grown. A hand capable of forming a fist for a fight, extending in a handshake for peace, or creating a “stop” sign against violence. So how did Maayan discover what is needed? What kind of choice did she make—and why?

Maayan Sapir’s hand, February 6, 2025, Tel Aviv (Photo by the author)

After the 7th of October, the young woman turned to a higher power, as many do when bad things happen to them. She didn’t say, “Please help me,” but instead followed what her mother taught her: to address the higher power, the universe, or God with a concrete question. “This is what happened to me. What do you need me to do with it?” And when you receive an answer, you have something to do. There is a purpose. You have an impact to make, which means we have a future, which means we have hope.

I notice how Maayan turned the “you” into a “we.” The mission of one can become the source of hope for many. Since the 7th of October, Maayan has also had glimpses of hopelessness; she was not exempt from such feelings. Before it seems like these are just beautiful words, she insists that her practice is practical: “I really ask! I really want to get an answer. I really want to do something with the answer.” Her tone makes it clear—this isn’t just feel-good rhetoric, but a genuine invitation.

I ask her how she deals with the excruciating “waiting”—how she keeps lightness despite heavy news. Does she have a ritual? Maayan’s practices have evolved over time—whether Yoga, journaling, or simply taking time to reflect. What matters, she says, is not the ritual itself but the mindfulness in the moment. This presence allows her to recognize the symbols life offers—like rainbows, white butterflies, and birds—that guide her.

When questioned how people around the world—Jews and non-Jews alike—can help Israel, Maayan’s answer is simple: ‘See a future.’ Envisioning a future beyond suffering is not just powerful—it is essential for real change. I ask her if she can see this for Gaza as well, and she answers in a ripple of thought:

“Of course. Why not? Take it thirty years back—my grandparents had friends there. It was like this (beyond suffering) already. Something changed. There are a lot of questions to ask—on both sides. Many in Gaza have been raised under the influence of terror groups, but that does not mean every person there supports them. Out of two million people, there must be some who long for a different future,” Maayan says.

A study by Hasler et al. (2023) titled Young Generations’ Hopelessness Perpetuates Long-Term Conflicts found something significant. When young people believe conflict is unchangeable, they are less likely to support peace efforts. Interestingly, it is often the older generations who express greater hope, having witnessed change over the years. This highlights the need for a cross-generational vision—one that combines the insight of experience with the drive of youth—to foster meaningful change in society.

This generational dynamic shows an important truth: while it’s easy to focus on what others are doing wrong, real change starts with looking inward. As Maayan puts it, “It is very, very comfortable to talk about the bad things that other people are doing, the bad things that happen in other societies. It is much harder to look inside and ask yourself, ‘What are you doing in your own home? What is happening in your own family? What happens to the girl next door? What do we allow around ourselves?’ Once this becomes our focus, and once we better ourselves, we are able to be an inspiration to others, rather than trying to change others without changing ourselves.”

The inward journey isn’t one Maayan embarks on alone. Like Viktor E. Frankl, she seeks guidance from a deeper source. Maayan reminded me of Frankl’s book, and I am grateful for that. The concept of the purpose of life, so central to his life philosophy, has been deeply explored in psychology and has shown its profound influence on mental health and overall quality of life.

It is early in the morning and I cannot sleep. I wonder if Oded Livshitz is alive, how Maayan and her family are doing. Will there be good news or bad? Maayan talked about the compassion and love that has poured out of the tragedy of the 7th of October. The symbol of two little redhead children Kfir and Ariel Bibas, the communities that connected around them. Our hearts ache for a happy ending, but whatever it will be, there will still be choices. I play Max Richter’s Mrs. Dalloway, pray for the hostages to return, and feel compelled to share Maayan’s words, knowing they could reach someone in need.

Maayan found purpose in speaking to people, and when she asked (God what she needed to do, the answer came, ‘Bring them hope, so that we will have a better world to bring them (the hostages) home to.’ I pray for Oded Lifshitz to return to his wife and family. Whatever the outcome, I am certain of one thing: Maayan’s unwavering commitment, her ability to uplift and encourage, and her dedication will leave a profound imprint on those she touches. If ever she needs a helping hand, I have no doubt many will be there to lift her up.