As I write these words, it is the early hours of the morning and I am on a bus returning from a trip with my community to Jerusalem to pray the pre-Yom Kippur penitential slihot prayers at the Western Wall.
I am glowing with an optimism for the future that I have not felt for a long time – not because of the Trump plan, although, please God, that or some other plan should bring peace to our land very soon.
No, my glow is due to something much more fundamental. Let me explain.
I, together with 50 members of my community, passed through some of the most iconic and moving sites in the Jewish world tonight, but it was one sight in particular that left me breathless with hope.
We set out with anticipation, ready to experience the awe of slihot prayers at the Western Wall in the final days before Yom Kippur. But before arriving at the Old City, we made a series of remarkable stops that reminded us of the richness of our heritage, the resilience of our people, and the vitality of our state.
A ‘menorah’ for the ages
Our first stop was outside the Knesset, before the magnificent bronze menorah (candelabra) that has stood for decades as a symbol of the State of Israel. Many pass it without pausing to reflect on its story. This menorah was not born here; it was a gift. Commissioned by the Parliament of the United Kingdom in 1956 and presented two years later, it was sculpted by Benno Elkan, a Jewish refugee who had fled Nazi Germany.
Its panels are alive with biblical scenes, rabbinic teachings, and historical vignettes – a visual tapestry of Jewish destiny. From Abraham’s binding of Isaac to Herzl’s vision of a Jewish homeland, this menorah is not just a state emblem but a reminder that Jewish history and Jewish sovereignty are inseparable. To stand before it with my community, on our way to pray for forgiveness and renewal, was to stand before the living testimony of survival and triumph.
I would love to see the current Members of the British Parliament stand in front of this monumental homage to our history that their predecessors saw fit to give us – it would be a much-needed education for them.
The library of the Jewish soul
From the state menorah, we continued to the crown jewel of Israel’s cultural revival: the brand-new National Library of Israel. A marvel of architecture and curation, the library embodies what it means to be an umah shel hasefer, a people of the book, in the digital age.
Walking through its halls, we were moved by the treasures on display. The handwriting of the Rambam – Maimonides himself – his careful script preserved across the centuries, still whispering halachic and philosophical genius into our lives today. An uncensored first print edition of the Talmud, published by Daniel Bomberg in Venice in the 16th century, revealed another chapter of resilience. Despite bans, burnings and censorship, the Jewish mind and spirit refused to be silenced.
Here, in the heart of Jerusalem, those fragile manuscripts and ancient pages rest safe and secure, visited by Jews and non-Jews alike. They remind us that Israel is not only about land and sovereignty, but also about knowledge, memory, and creativity.
Light over the city
As evening fell, we made our way to a laser and sound show overlooking the city. The lights danced across the walls, telling the story of Jerusalem in vibrant images. The voices of prophets and poets, kings and commoners, seemed to echo as technology painted their saga across stone.
It was a reminder that Jerusalem’s story is not locked in the past; it is retold, relived, and reframed for every generation.
A mother’s tears
Before reaching the Old City, we stopped at Rachel’s Tomb. One could feel the tears of our matriarch seep through the stone. “Kol b’Ramah nishma…” – a voice is heard in Ramah, Rachel weeping for her children (Jeremiah 31:15).
At a time when Jewish lives hang in the balance, when hostages remain in Gaza and families ache with uncertainty, Rachel’s tears are no abstraction. They are our tears. And yet, the verse promises: “There is hope for your future.” The promise that our children will return to their borders is as relevant now as ever.
A sea of youth at the Kotel
Then, finally, the crescendo of the night: We walked into the Jewish Quarter, expecting the solemnity of slihot. What we encountered was something far more powerful and wonderful.
The streets were alive with thousands of young people. They came from every corner of the globe –speaking English, French, Spanish, Russian, and Hebrew. Their skin tones varied, their accents clashed, and yet their voices joined in song.
There were guitars strumming, drums beating, and voices rising in harmony. Groups of young men and women in army uniform stood shoulder to shoulder, some swaying, some singing, all radiating vitality and love for Am Yisrael and Eretz Yisrael – the Nation and Land of Israel.
The sheer power of vibrant youth burst forth from these precious young souls.
I have attended many slihot in my life, in synagogues large and small, in Israel and abroad. But I have never witnessed such an electric fusion of tradition and future, of history and destiny, as I did that night.
This is what survival looks like: not just the preservation of memory, but the flourishing of youth. These young men and women are not afraid. They are proud, passionate, and prepared to carry the torch of our people forward.
Yes, the menorah outside the Knesset is a powerful symbol.
Yes, the National Library preserves the soul of our tradition.
Yes, the light show dazzles and Rachel’s tears move.
But all of these, splendid though they are, paled into insignificance compared to the sight of our youth filling Jerusalem’s streets with life and song.
In them, I saw the answer to Rachel’s weeping. I saw the living pages of the Rambam’s writings. I saw the state menorah not as bronze but as flesh and blood, radiating light.
IN AN AGE where headlines too often speak of division, of violence, of despair, it is easy to forget that beneath it all beats a strong and steady heart. That heart is the youth of Israel, and it is strong because it is connected to the past and committed to the future.
We often speak of Jewish continuity as if it were fragile, perpetually on the verge of collapse. On this night, in Jerusalem, I did not see fragility. I saw strength. I saw love. I saw a safe and bright future being built by hands that are firm, voices that are confident, and hearts that are wide open.
These vibrant young people are our answer to history.
They are our promise to the future. They are the reason that, no matter what the challenges are that lie ahead, Am Yisrael Chai – the Nation of Israel lives.
The writer, a rabbi and physician, lives in Ramat Poleg, Netanya, and is a co-founder of Techelet – Inspiring Judaism.