“Escalations in the north, all out war with Hezbollah imminent within hours.” I can’t say I was too surprised to see this notification flash on my screen, but this time, it was from the other side of the world, and actually had immediate consequences. Just a few weeks ago, I was visiting America with my fiancée Meira to celebrate our engagement. On Motzei Shabbat, reports emerged that Hezbollah was on the verge of launching a major attack on Israel—resulting in the closure of Ben Gurion Airport, schools and businesses. We found ourselves sitting in the car thousands of miles from home, anxiously checking updates and wondering if our flight, scheduled for just 30 hours later, would still depart. The thought of being stranded, unable to return during a critical moment and be with everyone else, consumed our thoughts. Thankfully, the IDF’s swift action soon resolved the crisis, and what could have been a major event quickly faded from the headlines.
While I was grateful that Hashem prevented the attack and allowed life in Israel to return to normal, I couldn’t shake a sense of dissatisfaction.The question that oftentimes goes through my head when imminent threats rise up, is why, if Hashem wants us to inherit the land, He makes it so challenging and filled with trials. Paradoxically, however, I found myself not relieved that I avoided this threat, but unsettled by the fact that I wasn’t part of it. That night, something was missing in how I perceived and experienced Hashem’s protection of the Jewish people as I have perceived it from the start of the war until now.
When the Torah discusses the Manna (מָן), it says that Hashem fed it to Bnei Yisrael “in order to afflict you and in order to test you, to benefit you in your end.” (Devarim 8:16) The Gemara in Yoma (74b) questions why Manna, which was Divine food, is described as an affliction. The Gemara explains that “there is no comparison between one who has bread in his basket and one who doesn’t.” The affliction came from the fact that Manna had to be collected every single day; it couldn’t be stored for the week or even for the next day. Imagine living with an empty refrigerator and pantry at the end of each day, uncertain if there would be food the next morning. Bnei Yisrael had to live with that uncertainty, relying on Hashem and praying for their sustenance and survival each and every day.
However, the pasuk concludes with “…to benefit you in the end.” What exactly is this benefit? What value is there in the daily worry and need to pray for survival? The answer lies in the experience itself. Bnei Yisrael had the opportunity to rely on Hashem every single day, witnessing His constant provision and care. This daily dependence created a profound and unbreakable connection, actualizing? the pasuk “the Lord, your God, has carried you as a man carries his son” (Devarim 1:31).
This, I felt in the moment that Israel was saved yet again from Hezbollah, is the benefit and even the reward, for the hardships: You get to completely rely on Hashem every. single. day. To protect you and to show you how much He cares about you. Rashi (Devarim 11:12) explains that Hashem grants Israel a unique, vigilant care, shaping its conditions in a way that manifests a direct and profound connection to Him. This special attention extends from Israel to the rest of the world, revealing a deeper, more immediate relationship with Hashem in Israel. The feeling of that direct care, reliance and minute-to-minute trust was what I was missing that night when Hashem saved us yet again.
What we must consider is that the lifestyle and standard of living in Israel is significantly different than that in America. In His wisdom, Hashem decided that in Israel, the income would not mirror those of larger, wealthier nations, where average families might afford big houses and fancy cars. He decided that the political and social systems would remain unstable, to say the least. And most relevant now, that our day-to-day safety is not something to take for granted, as well as the sheer number of enemies around us ready to wipe us out. Just like the Manna in the desert, it may seem like the day-to-day struggle is meant to afflict us. But at the end of the day, this daily dependence encourages us to turn to Him with heartfelt Tefillot and gratitude. Every day, despite the distinct nature of our lives, we have the precious opportunity to feel and appreciate Hashem’s care in a deeply personal and meaningful way.
The most famous acronym for Elul, אני לדודי ודודי לי—“I am to my Beloved and my Beloved is to me”—beautifully expresses the deep and unbreakable bond we share with Hashem. We are not striving against Him, but rather working alongside Him. In Elul, we awaken ourselves to this connection, renewing and strengthening it by looking inward and around us for ways to grow closer to Hashem. The Rambam, in Hilchot Teshuva (9:1), teaches that when we serve Hashem properly, He removes the obstacles in our path and grants us all the goodness needed to support and enhance our fulfillment of the Torah. This is especially true in Israel, a land uniquely designed for fostering a deep connection with Hashem. As Israel grows, it offers even more opportunities to build this relationship—through the proliferation of minyanim, kosher food, affordable Jewish schools, thriving Jewish businesses and increased access to religious services, just to name a few. Yet, alongside these modern advancements, Israel remains rooted in its eternal essence. The inherent kedusha of the land, the holiness of its sites and cities, the chagim, and above all, Hashem’s special involvement and care, creates an unparalleled environment where our relationship with Him can thrive. In Israel, both the old and the new come together, offering us countless ways to experience and deepen our connection to Hashem, making it the most effective place to feel His closeness and love.
However, this profound sense of Divine involvement can only be truly felt and understood when you plant yourself in Israel for good—when your income, safety and purpose become intertwined with the land itself. Although Hashem’s wonders may seem small and hidden right now, they are destined to grow. As the Zohar teaches, “When Hashem brings the Jewish people up from exile, He will first reveal a very small glimmer of light, then a slightly larger opening, until He opens the heavenly gates, accessible from all four corners of the world. It can be compared to a man who has always lived in darkness… At first, they open just a crack of light, like the eye of a needle, then a little bigger and bigger, until he can finally see clearly.”
Right now, we are like that man emerging from the darkness—our eyes adjusting to the light of Hashem’s presence. We can’t yet handle all of Hashem’s brilliance at once, so He lovingly allows us to experience it gradually, one step at a time. Each moment we spend in the land, each small miracle we witness, is a part of this unfolding process of being able to truly see and feel Hashem’s light in its fullness, culminating in the coming of Mashiach and building of the Beit Hamikdash b’karov b’yameinu (speedily in our days).
It’s no secret that the standard of living in Israel—both materially and emotionally—contributes to the hesitancy of many to make the move. Yet, when Hashem’s vision for Israel doesn’t align with our own expectations, it’s not Israel that needs to change—it’s us. We are the ones who must adapt, embracing the land and its unique challenges through the lens of the Torah and Hashem’s plan. Every significant event here, whether joyous or sorrowful, inspires a deep, immediate urge to improve ourselves and our surroundings. Anyone can live a completely fulfilled life outside of Israel, unaware of the alternative, like that same man in the dark who has only seen a glimmer of light at best. But living here, experiencing the miracles and challenges firsthand, offers a fulfillment that’s profoundly richer and a deeper connection. As the Maharal says in “Netzach Yisrael,”: “Although the redemption seems far away, it is actually within reach if we decide to do Teshuva.” This Elul, let us focus on returning physically to Hashem in His land, and in doing so, rediscover the emotional and spiritual return, the way it is meant to be.
Brian Racer is originally from Teaneck. He served as a lone soldier in the Nachal Brigade and is currently a madrich at Yeshivat Lev HaTorah in Ramat Beit Shemesh. He can be reached at [email protected].
