What are you supposed to do when you experience a miracle?
The Torah suggests a range of options. Moses, encountering the Burning Bush, stops to contemplate it. Pharaoh’s viziers, seeing the Plagues, seek to recreate them. The Jewish People, witnessing the Splitting of the Sea, break into song.
As for me? I turned my back.
Three nights ago, when I was confronted with a miracle, I turned away, ran upstairs, and shook my children awake… not to share the miracle with them, but to shield them from it.
Saturday night, Iran sent hundreds of drones, cruise missiles, and ballistic missiles against my home and against my people. We knew it was coming and we spent the hours counting down in a tense vigil. Yet – in spite of myself – I must have drifted off, because around 1:30am, I was shaken awake by violent thunder. I opened my eyes and looked out at the Old City of Jerusalem. I could see Iranian missiles coming from the north, flying over the holy citadel, and hypersonic interceptors rising up to destroy them. Bullets sent to hurt my friends, my family, and me. And bullets sent to shoot those bullets out of the sky.
When confronted with this miracle, as the air raid sirens kicked in, I turned and ran and shouted to my wife. We sprinted upstairs together. She grabbed one child, as I shook another awake, and then raced to grab the third and we hurried them all into our bomb shelter, as a chorus of explosions rattled and reverberated throughout the holy city…
***
What I saw, I only saw for a moment. But it was enough to transform me forever. The view from my window – the walls of the Old City, Mount Zion, Mount Scopus, the Mount of Olives – is forever changed. I turn three times daily towards the Old City, but all I see now are phosphene echoes of the bloody stars in the sky.
Birds taking flight remind me of the interceptors. The whine of a hybrid car or an electric vehicle is sonically similar to the sound of an air raid siren. The rumbles and booms of trucks and heavy machinery make me pirouette around looking for the source of a noise.
This is, perhaps, the price of a miracle. And make no mistake… it was a miracle. An angel of death was passing over our houses, but instead of blood on the doorposts… we had modern technology, a Jewish State, and a Jewish army. An angel of death flew above our homes, but we did not suffer him to pass.
***
And what we learned subsequently only served to underscore the miraculous nature of what we experienced that night.
We learned that of the hundreds of killer drones and missiles that our enemies sent to harm us, the vast majority never even reached our borders… Russia has been overwhelming and terrorizing Ukraine with far less sophisticated attacks. But Iran’s were thwarted and shot down… not just by the IDF, but with active assistance from the United States, the United Kingdom, France, Jordan, and … Saudi Arabia.
It's not just that we were blowing missiles up in outer space (Dayeinu). It’s not just that our enemies failed, utterly and embarrassingly, in their attempts to harm us (Dayeinu). It’s not just that Muslim nations aligned with the Jewish State (Dayeinu). It’s not just that they did so to repel an armed attack from Iran (Dayeinu). It’s not just that these same nations then publicly and proudly admitted doing so (Dayeinu). In fact, all of these things happened on a single night. Is this the beginning of a new NATO-like alliance that can transform the Middle East? Is this the foundation stone of a redeemed future?
It simply doesn’t feel real. Who could have imagined such a thing?
***
… What are you supposed to do when you experience a miracle?
Half a lifetime ago, I took some time to attend a religious seminary here in Israel. The founder of that yeshiva was an extraordinary man – a Holocaust survivor, a towering intellect, and a leader of men. One of the foundational stories he liked to share concerned the Alter Rebbe – a great Jewish scholar:
The Alter Rebbe was studying Torah one night; his grandson – himself an accomplished rabbi – was learning in the next room; his infant great-grandson was sleeping in another room down the hall. Suddenly, the baby began to cry. The child’s father, immersed in his learning, did not react to his son’s tears. But the Alter Rebbe got up, went to his great-grandson’s room, and soothed the baby. On his way back, he admonished the baby’s father that he had it all wrong: Torah study that eclipses a crying baby is not Torah study.
… And so, our teacher instructed us: Hear the baby’s cry.
And in like fashion, as tempting as it might be to lose ourselves in contemplation (or celebration) of the miraculous events of Saturday night, it would be a mistake.
There are cries all around us. To name just a few, millions were traumatized by the attack. A Bedouin child is fighting for her life in the hospital, and there are hundreds of thousands of Israelis who – like her – lack sufficient access to bomb shelters. There are dozens of innocent hostages still held by Hamas, who are being brutalized, tortured, and worse. Genocidal enemies are arrayed against us, looking for more ways to inflict pain and suffering on innocents throughout the region. And who knows where things go from here…
So yes, we have experienced a miracle. But a miracle isn’t a gift to be enjoyed passively… like Torah study, it is a call to action: It invites us to act, to lead, to try. To pay it forward. To do our best to be worthy of the unearned grace we have been given.
Sing out in praise, yes, but don’t let the song drown out the cries all around us:
מן המצר קראתי י–ה; ענני במרחב י–ה
From the narrow straits, I called unto God; God answered me with great expanse.
הודו לה׳ כי טוב; כי לעולם חסדו
Give thanks to God, for He is good – for His kindness is everlasting.
Now let's get back to work.