What Miracles Cost

Some miracles are gasp-worthy, the kind that beg to be immortalized by Hollywood. Think of a six-day defensive war fought against some of the world’s mightiest armies—an unwinnable battle that ended in a stunning, decisive victory.

Or consider the miraculous integration of Jews from every corner of the globe—kibbutz galuyot. Many arrived with deep trauma, little or no education, language barriers, and an urgent need to acquire essential life skills. Yet, somehow, they were woven into the fabric of this nation.

And let us not, conveniently, forget the few remaining Holocaust survivors – aged and fragile – who still awaken at night with screams either lodged in their throats or piercing a silent darkness. When will they finally find peace? Their agony will only end when they are laid gently in waiting graves.

This holy land, this miraculous land, is also a place where an under-employed single mother can still raise children with a rich Jewish education, enjoy world-class health care, bask in abundant sunshine, serve locally grown, farm-fresh produce, picnic in nearby parks, and move about via superb public transportation. Here, children roam freely through streets and fields without helicopter parents shadowing their every move. It’s been said again and again, “Israel was created for children.”

This is not to say that living in this near-Garden of Eden comes without a price. Whoever coined the phrase “Freedom isn’t free” (retired U.S. Air Force Colonel Walter Hitchcock or Ronald Reagan?) spoke a truth that resonates with citizens everywhere who value liberty. Especially for those who believe that all of humanity has a God-given right to live free from fear. The Book of Micah offers a glimpse of divine harmony:

“Everyone ‘neath his vine and fig tree shall live in peace and unafraid.”

Easier said than done. But if it can be done anywhere, I know the place. It’s called Israel.

For religious reasons, my daughters opted not to serve in the Israeli army. Instead, they each completed several years of Sherut Leumi – National Service. One served from home, the other from a different city. Both received a modest stipend and the many benefits that come from dedicating oneself to building the country. Today, both wives and mothers, they remain close to the friends they made during that unforgettable chapter of their lives.

My son, patriotic and proud, completed his mandatory army service more than a decade ago. But since October 7, 2023, he has spent far more time in uniform than during all his original years of active duty. From the morning that followed the violent incursion, he has served in Yehuda and Shomron, southern Lebanon, and now in Gaza. I believe with all my heart that the reservists of the IDF do not merely defend our borders; they stand as a living symbol and real-world deterrent to anti-Semites around the globe who, left unchecked, dream of a world that is Judenrein.

In early July, our granddaughter, Tchiya, graduated from the police academy. We never saw it coming; not back in her quiet teenage years, when a chipped gel manicure could ruin her day or spending hours glued to Candy Crush. But seemingly overnight, this delicate ‘babe’ became a police officer. We cheered madly as she crossed the stage with her fellow graduates – Sephardim, Ashkenazim, Arabs, Ethiopians, Russians – to receive her certificate. Ronney and I joined the proud families in singing “Hatikvah.” Neither of us wiped away our tears. We simply let the moment wash over us. Posing for photos, we were careful not to press too hard against Tchiya’s pistol or handcuffs.

Service. Passion. Zionism. Gratitude. Just another holy, blessing-filled day in the most miraculous place on Earth.

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Reprinted with permission of San Diego Jewish Journal, August 2025