As I wrote last year, Pesach is very different here in Israel. The war brought us many challenges, and I will try and give you my perspective from the ground. During the early days of the war, no one was allowed outside due to the constant flow of missiles from Iran. In conjunction with the Chief Rabbinate of Israel, there were no minyanim allowed due to pikuach nefesh. Shuls were shuttered, and any other sort of gatherings were not allowed. After about seven to ten days, Home Front command allowed gatherings of 50 people, so neighborhoods such as ours had a minyan in an underground parking garage, in our case because of its proximity to a shelter. 

Originally, my wife and I were planning on visiting my mother in Baltimore in early March on the way to our grandson’s bar-mitzva in New Jersey a couple weeks later. We were hoping to spend time with our children in the States as well as with my siblings and friends, whom we miss very much. But Hashem had other plans. Our flight to America was cancelled on numerous occasions, and by the time we got a flight to leave 10 days later, our travel became extremely problematic. One of the personal casualties of this war was both of us having to watch our grandson’s bar mitzva siyum via Zoom.

Once shuls were allowed to re-open for the chag, we were limited to 50 people davening in the shul’s shelter. Friday, April 10^th, was the first day since late February that we were able to have a minyan with full participation in shul. During the restricted days, minyanim were done on a first-come-first-served basis sign-up sheet. My wife, feeling she did not have an obligation to daven with a minyan – even though she does so every week – felt that signing up was not appropriate if it took away space from someone who was obligated to daven. She settled for Yizkor at home. 

Having not been in America since June 2025, I don’t know what the prevailing thoughts are regarding Israel and the war. I’ve been told that most American Jews believe the long two-year war is over. Here in Israel, however, no one shares that sentiment. Moreover, everyone in this country believes the continuation of the war is not a matter of if, but when. That being said, the last 27 months here have changed not only this country and its people forever but indeed the course of history of the Middle East and the world. On October 6, 2023, Israel was surrounded by and under constant threat from Hamas, Hezbollah, Syria, and the Houthis in Yemen. As of January 1, 2026, Iran is crumbling under the weight of its own repressive, incompetent, fundamentalist Jew-hating, paper-tiger regime; Hezbollah has been decimated, its leadership eviscerated; Assad’s Syria is no more; the Houthis are in shambles; and Hamas is nowhere near the menace it once was.

Sadly, we have lost too many of our own in Gaza and Lebanon. Argue if you’d like about how the county has conducted the war, but to comprehend the magnitude of what has transpired over the last couple of years, you have to trace it back more than a decade to understand just how monumental and – dare I say – biblical this victory is. I have written before about the daily wonders and miracles we get to witness in this land, but the ones below garnered from various sources might help give you some perspective of just how beyond this world, real things are happening here.

As we all know, there has certainly been an uptick in antisemitism all over the world. I’d like to share my perspective on this phenomenon. I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I am not sure I have any. All I can do is give my view from the outside looking in and from being on the actual inside of the storm.

Israel is not a place to escape to. It is not a second choice. It is the home of the Jewish people. Escape, if you want, to Florida or Paris – well, hold-off on Paris since they no longer allow El Al pilots security clearance! If you are a Jew in France, the clock is frighteningly close to midnight. I can’t comment on the situation outside of Israel except to say, who is a wise man? He who sees the future. I am not a historian, and if that is your interest I suggest Rabbi Katz’s podcasts and Saturday night classes. I do think that whenever Jew hatred is released into the public sphere, it rarely ever slips back inside the quiet margins and just passes.

Before I continue, let me share with you specific aspects of daily life as I experience it that you may not have considered. I am not talking about the war that continues to disrupt life here for those who have husbands, wives, siblings, and parents still doing tours in Gaza and Lebanon. Just daily life.

Around 12 years ago our youngest son, Dani, was assigned a project at school where he was required to interview a Holocaust survivor. He asked if I thought my father, Rabbi Joseph Katz, z”l, would be a good person to talk to. Born in Guxhagan Germany in 1932, my Dad rarely spoke about his experiences growing up, but from what I knew, I told him that, if my father agreed, it would be a worthwhile pursuit. Little did I know. What I thought I knew was nothing compared to what I was about to find out.

Watching the video of Dani’s interview, I realized that, while I had heard much of what my father had told me, including my dad and his parents getting out in May of 1941, it wasn’t until my father said something like, “Yeah, I have my passport in my sock drawer,” that he got my attention. I told my dad it might be helpful for the project if Dani could add a picture of the passport to his report. My father returned from his bedroom and placed the three passports – his and his parents – on the table in front of us.

There are moments in a person’s life that are so jarring that they become seared in your memory forever. Looking at the front cover of his passport with its big swastika, I could not wrap my head around the fact that I never knew these existed. “Dad, did you ever think, at some point over the past 50 years, you could have found a minute to say something like: ‘Chaim, can you please pass the salt and ‘Oh, by the way, I have a Nazi passport in my sock drawer’?” My father responded in his usual casual fashion, “I didn’t think it was important.”

In Israel, Thursday, the 22^nd day of Shevat, 5785, will surely be a day enshrined forever in the long, storied history of the Jewish people. It may or may not register much in America, except for some blog post or possibly a newspaper article of the event. There will be sighs and emotions for a moment, which may even last a few moments, possibly even an hour. Then it’s off to Target or the JCC.

It won’t be anything like that here in Jerusalem and the whole of Israel, today. I don’t say this to cast aspersions on our brethren who don’t live in Israel. G-d forbid. I know there are millions of Jews around the world who will be heartbroken by the news and pictures. What I am trying to say is that it won’t be life as usual in Israel. Not today.

Earlier this morning, the remains of the Bibas family (or so we thought – more on that later) and Oded Lifshitz were returned from Gaza in coffins. Most of the world will yawn. But for us living in Hashem’s land, it is a day of grieving, a day full of sadness and restrained, silent rage. While other days have been weighed down by similar sorrows over the last 500-plus days, there have been none quite like this one. The entire country is in a state of shock even though most feared this day would come. Now that it has arrived, it is far worse and heavier than anyone could have imagined. A malaise has taken over the city and the country; everyone is wondering how we got here and, more importantly, how we keep from, G-d forbid, getting back here. 

In the spring of 1985, I was recruited to lead an NCSY summer program, which at the time was the only one the OU offered teenagers. They called it ISS: Israel Summer Seminar. My reluctance notwithstanding, I was encouraged to do so by a few NCSY regional directors, one of whom requested I take his NCSYers from the West Coast and be their madrich (counselor). Though I had never been to Israel before, a free trip seemed like a great idea. Our group consisted of teenagers from Florida, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Oregon, Maryland, and of course, California. I am happy and proud to say I still have relationships with a good number of those NCSYers to this day, and while I continue to refer to them as “my kids,” they are now thankfully my friends, whom I still love very much.