Some weeks the headlines are so heavy it feels like words can barely hold them.
This is one of those weeks.
A Jewish man, Eli Sharabi, appears on the cover of TIME Magazine, sharing the first hostage memoir from Hamas captivity. His eyes tell the story of 491 days in darkness — fear, hunger, humiliation, and somehow, hope.
In the tunnels beneath Gaza, he whispered Shema Yisrael: “Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.”
He sang Eshet Chayil, the hymn of the virtuous woman, remembering his wife and daughters.
He broke stale pita, said blessings, and held on to faith when everything else was taken from him.
In one passage he writes, “Even in the early days of captivity, I find myself murmuring Shema Yisrael again and again, almost unconsciously. Like a mantra to keep me grounded.”
In another, he confesses, “I don’t know if I feel God in those moments. But I feel power. I feel connection—to my people, to our tradition, to my identity.”
If you can, read those words slowly. They draw us into the truth that even when the world feels lost, God remains near, and faith keeps us from falling apart.
Now, as his story rests on coffee tables around the world, another image spreads across social media: a banner stretched through the streets of Manchester reading, “One Solution – Intifada Revolution.”
Those words chill the heart. We have heard them before in another form — “Final Solution.”
Different century, same hatred. The language changes, but the spirit behind it does not.
How do we hold these two images together?
A man who survived the depths of hell still thanking God for life, and crowds celebrating the violence that put him there.
Into this moment, President Donald J. Trump speaks with unmistakable force:
“RELEASE THE HOSTAGES, ALL OF THEM… NOW! If this LAST CHANCE agreement is not reached, all HELL will break out against Hamas. THERE WILL BE PEACE IN THE MIDDLE EAST ONE WAY OR THE OTHER.”
It is part warning and part plea — an ultimatum echoing the world’s longing for justice.
Yet even the strongest peace plan cannot heal what only God can restore.
This war, like every war against Israel, is not only political. It is spiritual.
The darkness that dragged Eli into the tunnels is the same darkness shouting in Manchester’s streets.
It is the same evil burning Christian villages in Nigeria, where believers are hunted and homes set aflame for bearing the name of Jesus.
Different lands, one enemy — the ancient hatred of God’s covenant people and His truth.
And now, as we approach October 7, two years since Hamas’s brutal invasion of Israel, the memories return with a sting.
Seven hundred twenty-five days of hostage families waiting.
Seven hundred twenty-five days of global headlines shifting, of moral clarity fading, of Israel still standing.
How easily the world forgets what began this war.
So where is God in all this?
The same place He has always been: sovereign, present, and heartbreakingly near.
He walks before His people, even in the valley of the shadow.
He was with Eli in that tunnel.
He is with the Jewish families grieving in Manchester.
He is with the Christians in Nigeria who still lift their voices in praise while their churches burn.
What can we do?
We can pray — not as bystanders but as those chosen to intercede.
We can speak truth when the world prefers lies.
We can stand firm when silence feels safer.
And when our moment comes to choose courage over comfort, we can trust God to give us the strength to do what is right.
Eli Sharabi’s story reminds us that even in the darkest tunnel, faith endures.
As the anniversary of October 7 draws near, may we remember: when darkness speaks loudly, faith must speak louder.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” — John 1:5
Lord, let it be so again.
