The Fire That Still Burns in Israel

It has been almost a decade since I last wrote here. Back then my focus was technology, startups, and the curious machinery that keeps this improbable country humming. I wrote about networks and systems, about the improvisation that passes for infrastructure, about the unique genius that allows Israelis to build something out of nothing and then rebuild it again the next morning.

Those years taught me that Israel’s strength has never rested in predictability. We are a nation of adapters, solving problems while arguing about how we got them. Even our faith in innovation borders on theology. Yet after October 7, the conversation shifted inside me. Technology could no longer explain who we are. The fire we walked through demanded a different language.

When I began writing Fire of Faith: What the October 7 War Taught Us About God and Israel, I turned from data to testimony. I read reports and personal accounts that carried both devastation and grace. Beneath the statistics I found the heartbeat of a people who refused to surrender their spirit. Families prayed through the night. Soldiers risked everything to preserve life. Their courage spoke of something older than strategy, the quiet conviction that existence itself is sacred.

In those stories I discovered a truth that feels both ancient and urgent. Faith is not a mood. It is a decision renewed each morning, sometimes with tears, sometimes with silence.

Israel has always lived within the tension between contradiction and covenant. We invent tomorrow’s technology while wrestling with yesterday’s promises. We argue over every line of law, yet we move as one when the siren sounds. We doubt, we stumble, we rebuild. And through it all, something greater than ourselves keeps breathing life into our resilience.

I return to writing not because I hold the answers, but because I cannot look away from the questions. Where is God within this fire? And how do we carry His presence into the rubble and the rebuilding alike?

This space will not chase headlines. It will search for meaning hidden beneath them, for the fingerprints of divine providence within the patterns of our survival, for the fire that refines rather than destroys.

If your heart has wrestled in these months, if you have felt both faith and fear in equal measure, you will recognize yourself here. The fire that did not consume us still burns, steady and alive. And in its light, the story of Israel continues to unfold.

Come walk with me on this journey. Let us look together for the traces of heaven upon the dust of our days, and learn once more to see the sacred in the struggle. For even now, faith is rising from the ashes, and its flame still calls us home.