Hope in the Bomb Shelter
I find myself sitting in a bomb shelter on the outskirts of Tel Aviv. Seven people. One small room. I’m writing these words hoping the world sees what I do hoping the light, the unity, and the miracles are seen by all.
I spend my days working in people to people diplomacy between moderate Muslim voices and Jews through an organization called Sharaka, which means partnership in Arabic. Our mission is to build bridges, connect hearts, and learn from the past, especially the horrors of the Holocaust to create a better, shared future. A future that reconnects the Abrahamic faiths and reclaims our common humanity.
Since Friday, the 13th of June, as the skies above me have filled with rockets from the Iranian Regime and my ear drums hear sirens, I found myself truly scared for the first time since October 7th, 2023. What kind of world are we living in? It felt dark. Hopeless.
And yet. I am a British-born Jewish Israeli, and in these fearful hours, I’ve been overwhelmed with messages of love and support from across the Middle East. Notes of solidarity have poured in from Syria, Jordan, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bahrain, Morocco from people in our programs, people in my network. People who are risking something just to say:
“We see you. We stand with you.”
These messages have been my courage, my light, my hope, my miracle.
You see, the Jewish people are a nation of miracles. We have survived exile, pogroms, genocide, terror and still, we have never stopped dreaming, building, believing. Even now, every Jewish person I know is holding multiple emotions in one breath:
Grateful. Scared. Determined.
Grateful to be alive.
Scared for loved ones.
Determined to keep going, to help others, to protect the vulnerable, to remember that our strength lies not just in our army but also in our humanity.
The very existence of Israel, the revival of Hebrew, the survival of our culture, faith, and identity despite relentless attempts to erase us is nothing short of miraculous. And tonight, as rockets fly overhead, I feel it again: it is a miracle that I am here, typing these words. It is a miracle that we have air defense systems. My heart breaks for those we’ve lost, but it exhales with gratitude that our country can protect all its citizens Jews, Christians, and Muslims alike.
And we have never walked alone.
Through every trial, we have had allies. Sometimes they were vocal, often they were not. Sometimes their names were known, more often they stayed hidden quiet heroes who risked everything for someone else. The Righteous Among the Nations, who hid Jews during the Holocaust. The students of the White Rose Movement, who stood against the Nazis. Today, it’s the Arab friends who send us messages in secret. The Muslim peacebuilders who choose dialogue over hate.
They, too, are miracles.
Today, in a world of division , we are witnessing the reawakening of voices – a new alliance of people who refuse to be enemies.
But from this shelter, I see something else:A flicker of possibility, of light , of hope – a miracle.
To the silent allies and the vocal ones: thank you.
You are part of this miracle, too.
