On Unity and Joy: A Few Thoughts on Israel
Admiration and a personal hope
I’ve long watched developments in the Middle East and Israel with deep interest. My upbringing as a dispensational Baptist ensured that I held the region as a whole and the Jews in particular to be of massive importance to the Church and the future of the world.
While I’m now unconvinced by dispensationalism (though that’s an entirely separate conversation, and I am not settled on any other eschatological system either) my interest in Israel and Jews hasn’t suffered over the last few years; it’s actually grown. I speculate that this is because I stopped viewing every event in Israel through the lens of doom to come, and began to view news from Israel as something happening to individual people in a unique society that has an extraordinary history and circumstances.
Regardless of the source of my previous interest, like much of the world I’ve closely watched the horrific events unfold over the last week, in which Israel had its own “9/11” moment, a national terror in a manner that, if possible, was even more brutal and heinous than our own. I’m new to writing, but I kept an updated post that I shared several times on Instagram for friends and family who might be interested. I have followed the action (and just as depressing, the conversation surrounding it all on “X” and other social media outlets) constantly.
Even as I write this I identify such a diverse range of emotion in myself and others. There is, chiefly, sorrow. Sorrow for the mother of a young child kidnapped, the father of a dead soldier. Sorrow for men and women going to war who will come home with memories in place of friends—or won’t come home to their spouses and children at all. Sorrow for the toddlers of Gaza, dying as I type, whose parents hated the Jews more than they loved their own children.
There is also anger—the righteous indignation that cries out for the spilled blood of murderers, and the hotheaded kind that waxes eloquent online against those who say false or moronic things. There is even a hint of the deep, dark kind (also displayed by so many online) that wishes to stray far and seek the blood of every man, woman and child on the “other” side.
There is especially uselessness, a desperate feeling that I should be doing something but can't. I slept in that Saturday and woke up trying to decide if I wanted to scramble my own eggs or buy a burrito from someone else who scrambled them for me, while Jews spent a whole night of running, fighting, killing, and dying. I feel like an impotent, spoiled, detached westerner, and I am.
As useless as I am to act, I also grasp for adequate things to say, or at least say well. Can I match Ben Shapiro’s anguished monologue on behalf of his people? Can I frame the situation in terms of worldview as concisely and clearly as Albert Mohler? Can I lament as eloquently as Bethel McGrew? Can I write a serious treatise after the manner of Noah Rothman?
I cannot. I’m inadequate to speak to any of the present issues in a way that matches these above. I don’t yet posses the skill of composition, the learning or experience in geopolitical matters, or the wisdom of age. (In case you didn't get the hint—go read all of those pieces, chock full of the things I can’t say.)
But I’ve obviously got something to say, because you’re here reading it.
I can only venture to share my total awe of (indeed, envy of) the Israeli capacity for, of all things in this time, unity and joy. And it in turn has sparked a hope for the future of my community as well.
Regardless of how you view them theologically, it is plain that Israel—specifically its Jews—posses a level of national identity and cohesion that many other states do not. This is centered around common religious and ethnic identity, shared struggle of persecution, and the circumstances they are in today. Holidays like Yom Kippur, Hanukkah, Purim, and others serve to underscore the deeply religious and historical nature of Jewish society. The Holocaust, the War for Independence, The Six-Day War, the Yom Kippur War, and now this present catastrophe all mark national tragedies, which in turn become rallying points for a people again under siege. Also key is the fact that Israelis serve in the armed forces for several years after finishing school. Certain groups are allowed to opt out, and many do, but the majority of Israeli society can answer the question what did you do in the army? (This common experience of service is also notably what creates a natural bond between many American veterans, especially combat vets.)
This unity and joy has already made itself so visible in this current war. I read about and watch Israeli reservists rushing home from vacations and work across the world to don their olive drab and go to war, and I wish my society (and myself) would have a similar sense of unity. I watch ultra-orthodox soldiers of the 97th Netzah Yehuda Battalion chanting and leaping before being deployed for battle, and it impresses and compels me. Only the ignorant or snide would assume they have no grief for those lost—they undoubtedly do, but there’s a joy they share in the assurance that their nation is united behind them, their brothers are firm beside them, and their enemy is obvious and in front of them. I see this same spirit shown by a video of soldiers singing and dancing, facing the firing of the Iron Dome’s interceptors as it does God’s work knocking rockets from the sky.
Another of my favorites is a video of an Israeli reservist, Tomer Rimon, who survived the horrific attack on the music festival. He arrives with his kit for war in a car with shot out windows.
As he gets out of his car and dons his plate carrier, glass shards still on the seat of his car, he’s beaming.
The most heartwarming, by far, is the story of Omer Padan and Itay Schwartzstein, who were scheduled to be married on Friday. But war came knocking (as it does for young couples in every generation) and, upon the suggestion of Itay’s fellow-soldier Arriel, they made a snap decision to get married at his reserve unit gathering area. Omer recounts below—
“I shouted 'yes' to him! It was clear to me that this is what we should do in such challenging moments. I arrived at the gathering area where Itay serves, wearing the wedding gown that my mother wore on her parents' wedding day. I decided to save my own wedding dress for a celebration once things calm down. Our best man was the one who initially came up with the idea."
At the wedding, I spoke with close friends who served valiantly in the military, and they told me that the wedding we spontaneously arranged at the gathering area today became a shining beacon for them. My younger brother is a soldier in Golani, serving in Gaza, and my father is a pilot for El Al, flying home reservists who join the fight.”
Israel, even now, has high morale, is united, is joyful even as they rush to battle. And that’s amazing, and admirable.
But what of my own country? What hope can I have for my own divided nation to match that as I view this?
I spoke with my father about it all during the week. He joined the National Guard just before 9/11 and was deployed as an infantryman to Iraq in the Invasion of ‘03. He has spent two decades all over the world in service of the United States, and currently serves on staff at the National Guard Bureau in Washington D.C.
I shared my shock at seeing how Israelis across the world responded to this event, and I griped that my own culture did not seem to be capable of such a unified response, especially in the aftermath of Covid and the last election.
My Dad then recounted that after 9/11, there were lines out the door at recruiting offices, flags all over the place, Americans coming together like never before. He lamented that it has since dissipated—but it was there. Even more recently, we saw things such as the so-called “Cajun Navy” during recent hurricanes, along with the initially very united response to Covid in supporting healthcare staff and first responders.
He also pointed out that Israel was in the middle of its own societal tensions just before this, surrounding a plan to change the law surrounding the Supreme Court. IDF reservists were even threatening to stop serving, but those same reservists are not thinking or speaking of this now; they were able to drop whatever strife they had and come together for a common goal.
Maybe there isn’t as big of a difference as I thought. Maybe I don’t have to be envious. Sure, as a melting pot we don’t have a shared ethnicity and we certainly don’t have the Holocaust to look back on, but America has had its wars, national tragedies, even holidays and a broad shared (though diminished) religious background.
Perhaps we posses a good deal more of what Israel has than we think. Perhaps the same spirit of unity and joy lies dormant beneath the cold soil of the American heart. Perhaps its merely waiting for a horrible crisis, whether local or national, to rise up out of ashes like a phoenix and display its glory again.
So I will continue to cheer on and admire the Israelis, but I will choose to also maintain hope that my own nation—and if not that, at least my own local community (or someday, comrades-in-arms)—would react the same way when thrust into this kind of trial; with mourning, yes, but also with courage, and with unity, and with joy.
America doesn’t have a particularly rosy track record in its last few conflicts, and American society right now is more deeply divided that perhaps since the Civil War itself. No doubt some would say my hope is naive, or unworthy. This is understandable, and they may even be right, but I’m too young to let go of hope (especially specific hope) so early into adulthood, and I one day want to experience that joyful sense of unity in times that may be very dark.
Because the dark times always come. They’re here now, for a nation and its present generation. They’ll arrive for mine. And I hope we’ll rise to the occasion.
Yet again I find my words inadequate to even this task, for no one can say it better than Omer, the bride at the top of this article—
“My message is that life simply triumphs - even in moments like these.”
I am a college student, an EMT, and Northern California native intent on improving my writing skills. I’ll gladly consider all feedback, which you can direct to my email. You can also find me on Instagram @tduncanr and Twitter/X @tduncanr327