Life in Israel has been unimaginably difficult since October 7, but in recent weeks I have felt a particular heaviness. Much of my struggle has centered on Israel’s decision to take control of Gaza City.
On the one hand, the case for taking Gaza City seems compelling. As the largest urban center in the Strip and the nerve center of Hamas’ rule, it houses the group’s military headquarters, its underground tunnels, and its command-and-control infrastructure. Without breaking Hamas’ grip on the city, the organization will regroup, rearm, and, sooner or later, attempt another October 7. For many Israelis—including bereaved families of soldiers who fell in battle—the war cannot truly end with Hamas still entrenched. Moreover, capturing Gaza City may be the only way to secure the release of all the hostages, rather than just some.
On the other hand, Gaza City is home to nearly a million civilians packed into dense neighborhoods, with roughly 10,000 Hamas operatives embedded among them and shielded by an extensive tunnel network. Taking control requires the mobilization of 60,000 exhausted reservists already bearing the weight of a war approaching its second year. The toll would almost certainly be high, with further casualties, and the hostages—many already suffering from malnutrition—would be placed in even greater danger.
In short, every path forward is fraught, each option carrying unbearable consequences. Thus, my heart has been torn, and my spirit weighed down by the seeming impossibility of it all.
And yet, last Shabbat, a conversation at shul shifted my perspective and lifted my spirits. After I shared my worries, a friend turned to me—almost with exasperation—and asked, “Why are you so negative? I’m tired of all the negativity!” I explained my despair over Gaza and the hostages, but he pressed further: “And what about Iran, Hezbollah, Syria?” As for the hostages, he reminded me grimly that more soldiers have fallen in attempted rescues than the number of captives who remain.
His words stayed with me. And slowly, I realized that he was right.
Since Hamas’ savage assault on October 7, Israel has not stood idle. We have crippled Iran’s missile and nuclear infrastructure, inflicted devastating blows on Hezbollah, and helped bring about the collapse of the Assad regime. We have eliminated much of the Houthi leadership in Yemen. In Gaza, Israel has dismantled most of Hamas’ vast tunnel network, removed almost all of its senior political and military leadership, and reduced what was once a formidable army into fragmented guerrilla bands. While Hamas remains a threat, Israel is infinitely safer today than it was on October 6.
Yes, the battle for Gaza City looms as one of the most complex and agonizing challenges yet, with the fate of the hostages hanging over it. But it would be a profound mistake to overlook the extraordinary achievements already secured. These victories matter. They give us every reason to feel strengthened, not broken.
My renewed sense of hope and optimism was reinforced just yesterday, as I listened to a podcast highlighting the rise in aliyah since October 7—and the expectation of a great wave of new olim once the war is over. As a committed Zionist, this vision of Jews returning home filled me with deep encouragement and pride.
This shift in perspective reminded me of a mitzvah in this week’s parashah, Ki Teitzei: Hashavat Aveidah (השבת אבידה), the obligation to return a lost object to its rightful owner. The Torah recognizes the pain of losing something we cherish, and commands us to restore it, so that despair might be replaced with relief and gratitude.
If returning another’s lost object is a mitzvah, how much more so returning another’s lost optimism. Restoring hope, helping a friend recover faith in the future—surely this too fulfills the spirit of hashavat aveidah.
As we enter Shabbat, let us choose to dwell not only on the dangers before us but also on the victories already won, and the blessings yet to come. Let us reclaim and restore our lost optimism—for ourselves, and for one another.
Shabbat Shalom.
