Songs of a Nation at War: Reflecting Israel’s Spirit

When words fail, music has a way of filling the void, speaking to the soul in ways that nothing else can. In the weeks following October 7, I have witnessed a powerful outpouring of new songs and poignant reinterpretations of older ones that capture the collective sorrow, resilience, and hope of our people.

As someone who has been singing in a choir for over 25 years, music has always been an integral part of my life, a source of joy and expression. However, during this time of grief and uncertainty, its role has taken on an even deeper meaning.

These songs are more than just music; they are a testament to the resilience of the people of Israel. They remind me that even in our darkest hours, we are not alone. We have each other, and we have our songs to ease us through the pain.

The melodies that have emerged since October 7 are like a lifeline, connecting us to one another and to our collective strength. In every chorus, I feel the spirit of our people—strong, unyielding, and full of hope, even when hope seems hard to find.

“I Have No Other Country“

“I have no other country,
Even if my land is burning.
Only a word in Hebrew
Penetrates my veins, into my soul,
With a painful body, with a hungry heart,
Here is my home.”

“Ein Li Eretz Acheret” (“I Have No Other Country”) is not just a song; it’s the heartbeat of a nation. Written by Ehud Manor in 1982, this powerful anthem was born from the depths of personal tragedy. Manor penned it after the loss of his brother during the War of Attrition (1967-1970). Composed by Corinne Allal and first performed by Gali Atari, it quickly became one of Israel’s most cherished and emotional songs, a symbol of unwavering love and loyalty to our homeland.

As Israel commemorated Yom HaZikaron in May 2024, the song’s lyrics took on an even deeper significance for me. I found myself watching a video of Gali Atari performing “Ein Li Eretz Acheret” and as the music filled the room, the weight of our collective grief seemed almost palpable. The images on the screen showed the backdrop of devastating memories, still so raw and painful. Families from across the nation, each bearing the scars of loss, gathered at the Gaza border to stand in solidarity with those newly bereaved and the families of hostages. It was a scene of profound unity, where the shared pain and enduring love for our country intertwined in a way that was both heartbreaking and deeply moving.

As Gali Atari’s voice carried the iconic lyrics into the evening air, those gathered joined in, their voices mingling with hers. The words, so simple, yet so powerful—resonated like never before. “I have no other country”, they sang, and the truth of that statement seemed to echo from every heart present. Together with the Mash’i Choir (Bereaved Families Creating Together)                  and these incredibly brave families, Gali Atari created a moment that transcended the ordinary. It wasn’t just a performance; it was a declaration of resilience, a testament to the unbreakable bond between the people of Israel and the land we hold so dear.

From my home in the center of Israel, far from the gathering at the Gaza border, I felt the music reach out and wrap around me like a comforting embrace. With tears in my eyes, I joined in the singing, feeling connected to every voice in that distant chorus. In that moment, as our voices united in a single, defiant cry, I felt the spirit of Israel—alive, strong, and unyielding, even in the face of unimaginable loss.

“Ein Li Eretz Acheret” is more than a song, it is the soul of our people, reminding us that no matter what we endure, this is our home, and we will always stand together to protect it.

“Maybe You will Hear”

Michal Greenglick, a gifted singer with a voice that carries the weight of her soul, suffered an terrible loss when her brother Shauli z”l was killed on December 26, 2023, while fighting in Gaza. The pain of losing him is something I can feel deeply when I listen to her song, “Maybe You Will Hear” with lyrics by Doron Danai and composed by Alnatan Shalom. This song is not just a melody; it’s a raw, emotional outpouring of Michal’s grief that has taken root in her very being.

When Michal sings, “Hey, I asked to talk to you, maybe you will hear? The chaos, the despair, wage war within me, playing with my soul”, I can almost hear the plea in her voice, the desperation of someone reaching out into the void, hoping that somehow, her words will be heard, that her pain will be acknowledged. The chaos and despair she describes aren’t just abstract emotions—they are the relentless forces that have invaded her life, making her feel as though she’s in a constant battle with herself.

The lyrics, “Every word tears apart my heart and the paper, struggling to forcibly recreate what has passed” resonate within me on a deeply emotional level. It is as if Michal is trying to piece together the fragments of her shattered world, but every attempt only deepens the wound. She is trying to hold onto what once was, to bring back the moments that have slipped away, but the pain is a reminder that those days are gone, and no number of words can truly bring them back.

When Michal sings, “As long as the pain remains, it is not over” I can feel the haunting truth of those words. The pain of losing her brother is not something that will simply fade with time, it’s a constant presence, a lingering ache that keeps the wound fresh.

I know this all too well because I lost my beloved brother in November 2023. He wasn’t taken by the war in Gaza, he fought his own personal battle, a war against his deteriorating health, and tragically, he lost. The pain of losing him is just as deep, just as unbearable.

Michal’s song is a powerful expression of her personal agony, a way of keeping her brother’s memory alive even as she struggles to move forward. This a reminder that grief does not have a timeline, and as long as the pain remains, the story of her loss continues to unfold. Through her music, she gives voice to the pain that so many carry, offering a glimpse into the depths of her sorrow and the enduring love she has for her brother.

“Another Day in Gaza”

“Another Day in Gaza” hits me deeply, as Noam Tsuriely manages to capture the overwhelming emotions I have been grappling with since October 7. His journey, from being called up to reserve duty on October 7, reflects the complexities of living under the constant cloud of uncertainty and fear – an experience that feels so close to my own heart. The way Tsuriely pours his exhaustion, both physical and emotional, into the lines “So I’m getting used to the uncertainty of whether we’ll return. Another day in Gaza”, feels like his endless cycles of doubt and the desperate need to summon resilience each day.

The music, composed with Yakir Ben Tov, amplifies this emotional weight. The haunting melody, wrapped in Tsuriely’s gritty and soulful performance, makes me feel as though I am not just listening, but living through the story. It brings me back to the faces of my boys who were in reserve duty, the exhaustion in their eyes, and the unspoken questions we all carry. The prayer for divine help, “I pray that the Lord will help”, is a cry I have found myself uttering countless times. In those moments, it is as if Tsuriely’s voice becomes mine, pleading for solace, for strength, for something greater to intervene.

One of the most powerful parts of the song for me is when he sings, “One thing is certain, the darkness is afraid of the light”. In the darkest moments of despair, when everything feels lost, this line feels like a lifeline. It reminds me that even in the thick of conflict, hope still flickers, that the light can push back against the overwhelming darkness. It is a reminder of the resilience we carry, even when we feel broken.

“Another Day in Gaza” is not just a song for me. It’s a reflection of the emotional battle we’re all fighting. It forces me to confront every decision, every moment, as if I am right there on the frontlines with him.

Noam Tsuriely’s voice becomes the voice of all of us living through this turmoil, and in that raw, courageous narrative, I find both comfort and catharsis.

The songs that have emerged in the aftermath of the Swords of Iron War are more than expressions of emotion, they are a form of collective healing.

Each note, each lyric, carries the weight of our shared experiences together with our shared hope for a better future.