04/07/2026
In the tiny country of Israel, with less than 10 million citizens, we all are only one step removed from one another.
The rocket hit this morning on an apartment building in Haifa, was the home of my friend’s late grandparents. It’s where her childhood memories were built.
This is what she wrote, in face of the tragedy. This is what resilience, faith, and love look like.
“A missile fell in Haifa—right next to my grandparents’ old home.
The home of my childhood.
Tonight I walked through it again, not with my feet, but in my heart—
step by step, path by path, making sure it still stands inside me.
I saw myself as a little girl, running up the stairs to the second floor,
heart racing, afraid something was chasing me from behind.
Back then, I was afraid of what was on the ground—
I never imagined something could come from the sky.
I checked everything.
The entrance. The rooms. My grandparents. My cousins.
The loquat tree in the yard.
The heavy shutters closing at 2PM, like they always did,
telling the world it was time to rest, to be quiet.
I walked the streets around it too—
the steps we took, the places we sat,
the moments that quietly built a life.
And I realized—
no missile can collapse that home.
Not the one that lives inside me.
Stones can fall.
But memories don’t.
Love doesn’t.
Tonight, words feel like the only way to rebuild what breaks—
to turn stories into stones,
and memory into something that still holds us.
My grandparents are no longer here,
but somehow, they were with me tonight—
reminding me that even when the world shakes,
not everything is lost.
Praying for true quiet.
For healing.
For the lives that were taken. 🕯️”
