What the missiles that hit Weizman could not destroy

I remember my last visit to Rehovot like it was yesterday.

I had wandered through the tranquil science park beside the Weizmann Institute, stopping by a nearby biotech startup in one of the adjacent buildings – rubbing minds with top innovators, meeting new friends, and soaking in that unmistakable hum of brilliance. Researchers in lab coats were deep in discussion over coffee. Students laughed as they hurried to class. Ideas were bubbling – not just in beakers, but in minds lit up with wonder.

I was enjoying myself so much that my cab to Tel Aviv came and left without me. And honestly? I didn’t care. I wasn’t done yet.

So when I saw the footage on TV – the shattered labs, the mangled buildings, the glass and steel twisted into silence – it didn’t feel distant. It felt personal.

The Iranian missile that struck the Weizmann Institute didn’t just target a scientific facility. It tried to strike at something far deeper: the very heartbeat of human curiosity. It attempted to extinguish something sacred – the spirit of discovery. And yet – miraculously, defiantly – it failed.

Because what missiles can’t destroy are the people who built it.

Take Prof. Eldad Tzahor. Twenty-two years of heart biology research – samples, slides, DNA, RNA, irreplaceable data – gone in an instant. And yet, what did he do? He climbed over rubble. He opened a refrigerator full of precious samples with his son-in-law. He tried. He acted. Because sometimes, resilience is simply refusing to give up – even when it looks like everything is lost.

That’s what makes Israel different. Not the absence of tragedy, but the relentless insistence on rebuilding anyway. It’s Israel’s way of giving a double-barreled message to its enemies: resilience and defiance.

That’s what makes Weizmann more than a world-class research institute. It’s a living embodiment of renewal. Chaim Weizmann’s dream made physical– a place where science isn’t a luxury, but a lighthouse in the dark.

And that light? It didn’t go out on Sunday morning. It flickered. But then it spread.

Students scrambled to save frozen cell lines. Colleagues from around the globe flooded inboxes with offers – replacement samples, spare equipment, lab space. Scientists who had lost years – decades – of work spent their next days not in despair, but on Zoom, comforting their teams and mapping a future from the ashes of a present.

READ: From heart tissue to DNA samples, Weizmann scientists mourn work vaporized in Iran attack

This is what innovating the future of Israel looks like. Not just writing code or launching satellites, but choosing hope over helplessness. Choosing action over anger. Choosing to build again, and again, and again.

Yours truly at a biotech hub in Rehovot, standing in solidarity with Israel

And it’s not just the senior faculty. It’s young researchers like Dr. Tslil Ast, whose words lingered with me: “Our basic sense of safety was affected.” Because science isn’t just about formulas. It’s about community. It’s late nights. Laughter in corridors. Half-eaten birthday cake in breakrooms. It’s home.

When a lab is destroyed, it’s not just data that’s lost – it’s a piece of a life. But that’s also what makes every rebuilt pipette, every salvaged fly line, every reordered microscope a quiet act of courage. Even the fruit flies – those tireless teachers from Prof. Schuldiner’s lab – remind us: transformation is possible. Fast. Fragile. But real.

So to everyone at Weizmann, and everyone in Israel mourning loss yet again:

Your work matters. Your spirit matters. What you’ve built will rise again – stronger, brighter, deeper-rooted.

The world isn’t watching just because of what was destroyed. It’s watching because of what you still choose to build.

You are scientists. You are dreamers. You are architects of the possible. And now, you are also survivors – carrying forward a legacy that no missile can erase.

So keep going.

We’ll donate. We’ll amplify. We’ll cheer your grants, retweet your breakthroughs, and tell your stories until the world knows what we already do:

This is not the end.

It’s the beginning of something even more extraordinary.

Born of resilience. Sparked by renewal. And powered – always – by people who still dare to innovate the future of Israel, even when the lab lights go dark.

And to my friends in Rehovot: your city will shine again. Because its light isn’t in the buildings.

It’s in you.